Olympian (Wine of the Gods Book 25) Read online

  "Son of a Camel. I need some old security vids of Endi . . . " She remembered an anti drunk spell and cast it on herself. Winced and ran for the toilet. After hugging porcelain for a few moments, she hauled out an old hangover cure, and an anti nausea spell, and chugged some water. "So . . . was that my drunken imagination, or really him?" Her reflection didn't voice an opinion, so she staggered back to the computer and replayed the scene from the start.

  Chapter Two

  15 Jumada 1398

  Paris, One World

  Paer grabbed a brush and slipped into the stall. Not her gorgeous high-powered jumper this afternoon. Right now she needed her old friend. The elderly pony was quite happy to rub his head on her and relax into her brush strokes until she'd regained her emotional balance.

  "She was so thin, Raccio. She didn't . . . bounce. She was still moving carefully. Much better than when I saw her in the hospital six months ago, just before she went home. But . . . I guess it was silly of me to expect her to be back to normal. But it's just . . . I was hoping I could forget, once I saw her again, back at work. And she did giggle." She sighed and leaned on the pony. "I'll just have to help her get even more fit. Maybe . . . maybe I should ask her to train me in martial arts . . . no, better. Magic. One knows I need the training, and she knows everything. They call her Princess, but I suspect Dancer would be more accurate. An active agent of the One. Not just an assigned watchdog. Or even an ordinary guard."

  The pony blew out a noisy breath, and she walked around and started on his other side.

  "Actually, I think both. Magic and martial arts. Then I can shield, really physically shield, and fight, and I'll never be so helpless again. A year and a half ago, I was a child. I'm sixteen now. No one should ever have to die for me . . . ever again."

  Chapter Three

  16 Jumada 1398

  Paris, One World

  The Exterior people had had longer to analyze the vid. They'd deduced hardness of the physical shield by the ricochets, and the frequency of the energy shield by a spectral analysis of the lasers hitting it. They'd worked out all the ranks of the officers. They'd compared Xeno Time to every elf world native type in the files. Analyzed his speech according to language—twenty-first century American, as the Earther linguist had said—and content. They had copies of the Geneva Accords. They had spectral analysis of his voice. "Clearly deliberately modulated. His natural speech may be in a higher range than normal human speech. Roughly half of all Elves can hear higher frequencies than we can." They too had noted the incongruity of a leather bracer with straps and buckles and electronics.

  Then they threw the floor open for questions, of which there were a few.

  Rael had them project the unaltered recording again. And pointed out the distortion. "I'd like a tech to look it over. It may well be a machine artifact. Or it could be an actual physical effect." Agni looks a bit pissed. His techs didn't notice it. "And if you could project this sequence of short comparisons." She handed over a chip and sat back to watch reactions.

  They'd had nearly three months of surveillance recordings of Endi Dewulfe. Mostly outside, coaching Paer. She'd found pictures of him making every gesture the elf had made, from about the same angle.

  Agni cursed and had them play the side by side comparisons of Elf and Endi all over again.

  Urfa swapped grins with Orde. "He's playing them, like he tried to play us."

  The president nodded. "The question is, is there really a, ahem, Disco? Is it a complete fabrication? We've had zero indication of its existence other than what Endi and his cell handed us on a platter."

  Agni snorted. "Illusions don't show up on recordings."

  Urfa grinned. "Well, if they can turn into dragons, surely they can shorten their legs and point their ears . . . "

  What! Dragons? Did that really happen? One, I have a lot of catching up to do.

  Agni turned a cold shoulder to the Presidential Director. Eyed his own people. "Search for those distortions on every recording we've got." He nodded to Rael. Grudging approval oozing into his voice tones. "Your pet Native has probably been all over these people for months. Good job spotting that."

  Orde and Urfa looked like they were trying not to laugh. The meeting broke up shortly after, and Rael was whisked off to lunch with the in group.

  "We all noticed the name, of course. But it was obviously just a coincidence; he wasn't even human." Urfa was still grinning.

  Xiat snorted. "I'm studying Endi's magic. Do you have any idea how many reports and recordings XR has in their archives?"

  Urfa growled. "And they hoard them like misers. Agni just about exploded when he found out one of the old Info Agents sent us a data dump of everything his team had collected on an extended deployment."

  Rael grinned. "Is that because his people found something he didn't like in it?"

  Orde shook his head. "Worse. They never looked at them. Office politics and new agendas and 'somehow' all that data was accidentally deleted, so they'd just have to get on with their preferred projects. One of the old Info's had tucked a copy of everything away, One knows where, and produced it as soon as he was finally recalled from the field."

  "Really? A Teamer who'll stand up to Agni? I didn't know any such was allowed to exist."

  Urfa grinned. "I got the distinct impression that Agni has tried sending him to the most dangerous worlds he could find."

  Rael snickered. "But he survived? I wonder how long he was on Target Forty-two? He's bound to know more than me. I only had one Native to study. And he wasn't giving out much information." I hated those interviews. I was still in the hospital, still paralyzed during the early ones. I hated having to make my every memory of him public. Hard to cherish those memories when you have to dissect them in public, with both friends and enemies present. But they aren't memories of the last man who will ever love me. They never were. They're memories of a spy who used his . . . damned fine body. . . and dimples . . . and dark eyes to accomplish his mission. And I will be loved again. I will love.

  Her eyes dropped to her comp. I have a lot of reading to do, to catch up before the next gate, and new information. Seven months out of date. What are you doing right now Endi-Xen-Xeno?

  Chapter Four

  18 Jumada 1398 yp

  Paris, One World

  "I don't mean to sound like a whiney teenager, but it is so frustrating, the pathetic sort of things that are all they let us do."

  Rael snorted. "Where have I heard this before? Meditations? Ommmm . . . "

  Paer nodded. "Yes. In these stupid group classes Dad insisted on. I can't wait for the show season to start so I can get away. Except, except . . . I have to learn to control it in the show ring, or I'll be disqualified."

  "Right. No magic allowed in the show ring. Hmm, come out for some martial arts training in the morning, and I'll give you a few hints about the magic along the way." Rael sighed. "I'm still . . . not back in shape, so don't laugh."

  Paer looked worried.

  "Don't worry. You won't have to lift weights." Rael grinned. Poor kid. It's not her fault, nor her father's. The would-be assassins are the ones to blame. Kinda hard to dump on, though, since they're all dead.

  "The morning run . . . well. I'll be back in to do some early work around six."

  Paer looked a little dubious, but was waiting in the gym when Rael staggered in from the run.

  "Oh, drat. I can't collapse and set a bad example." Rael plopped down on a bench and untied her shoes.

  Mail snickered as she walked past. "At least you made two kilometers today."

  Rael made a rude gesture and kicked the shoes under the bench. "C'mon. Have you had any karate?"

  "Six months, when I was eight. Then I started riding." She copied Rael's stance and followed her through a slow basic kata, then a more advanced one, then a bit faster. Then even faster.

  Don't push it, the first lesson. "Huh, anyone would think you were an athlete or something." Rael led the way over to the big south f
acing windows. "Sit down in the sun, feel the heat."

  One dammit. Sitting cross-legged, she could still feel tight muscles pulling her off balance. But she rested her hands on her knees, palms up. Lowered her shields to incoming thoughts and emotions. Closed her eyes and could feel the girl's leaky, instinctive shield. Strong glow.

  Oh, girl! If you aren't a 216, I'll cash in my Princess credentials. You need to learn control, fast.

  "To collect power, you'll need to lower your shields. Then I'll show you how to make stronger, tighter, shields."

  Paer was a bit hesitant about the shield. "I kept . . . everyone keeps looking at me."

  Girls have a different problem than boys, when their power starts. And she's about a year older than my other student.

  "Yep. You've got a good start on a mental shield, but it still leaks too much. Relax and let all that defensiveness go. Everyone here is perfectly capable of shielding themselves from our brilliance." Rael grinned at the girl's blush, and her glow brightened. "Feel the warmth of the sun, soak in it, soak it up. Try to empty your mind and just exist. Feel the heat and imaging it soaking through your skin into your bloodstream, being pulled deep into your body, becoming part of your body." Rael kept her own shields soft, open enough to incoming to see how the girl was doing, barely enough that Paer couldn't accidentally hurt her.

  The girl sat there and glowed. From the soft footsteps, attracting everyone in the room.

  "Now what you need is a double mirror. Picture a mirror curving around your head, Reflecting in, but the outside is reflective as well."

  "What about the top, and the bottom. What about my neck?"

  "One of the reasons we start with a strip mirror for mental shields is so that we don't have any nasty accidents when we start on physical shields."

  Paer sputtered, snickered. "Do you really mean that?"

  "Only a little. Very few people start out with strong enough physical shields to do any damage." Rael suppressed a squirm. The Black Horse guards were watching, with their shields up more strongly than most Oners . . . but there was a blank space . . . Well, maybe no one was there, but she didn't remember any object that would have them avoiding the spot. It . . . bothered her. She hauled her attention back to Paer.

  "So just think about the mirror strip for now."

  The girl's glow dimmed, flickered, dimmed. Nice and steady.

  "Now, the heat of the sun is running through your body. Just push a tiny trickle of it out of your forehead and let it power the mirror." Rael smiled at how fast the girl picked that up. Her glow dampened down to a bare trickle.

  "Now ease up just a little on the power. Excellent. That's the right amount of power to put into it, to produce the right amount of glow to show in polite society." Rael opened her eyes and looked at the girl. Sweating.

  "Now, relax and let go of the heat. Push it away, let it seep into the floor, into the air. Relax the mirror and let it go for now."

  Paer heaved out a deep breath, and her instinctive shield jittered into place . . . still leaky, but give her a week and it'll be solid, and automatic. And she'll be able to control it at will.

  Rael grit her teeth and concentrated on the careful movements that would get her gracefully back on her feet without being too obvious that she couldn't just leap up, like Paer was doing. She turned, and stopped.

  A boy was standing in that blank spot. A shield so hard he didn't even register as a living thing. No, not a boy, a young man. He looked, at first glance, about Paer's age, but he was too serious and intent to be called a boy. Wary and dangerous. His hazel eyes were cold, angry. Black hair, pale skin. Handsome in a sharp boned untamed fashion. Dressed for karate.

  "Oh, hi Ra'd. What are you doing here? Get kicked out of school again?" Paer's eyes were assessing. Obviously she found him unthreatening, but she sound a bit irritated, or perhaps, impatient?

  Must be the son of one of the Black Horse Guards. One! That is an impressive shield!

  "There was an issue." Ra'd shrugged dismissively. "I am not at all sure that acculturation is a useful goal."

  "You have to live . . . in the here and now, Ra'd." Paer's voice warmed a bit, sympathetic.

  Definitely a High Oner. But despite the Arab nickname, he looks to not have much Arab in him. A Colonial, perhaps? And having a problem adjusting to Parisian society, not to mention high school.

  Paer glanced at Rael. "Ra'd's uncle is the new trainer for martial arts. Ra'd, this is Princess Rael Withione."

  Ra'd's hazel eyes were assessing, giving away nothing. "Princess, an honor to meet you."

  A bit of a zing as they shook hands. More than she usually got from other Oners—they were all descended from the same thirty-three Prophets, so they were all distantly related—but she usually knew any relative close enough to give her this much zap.

  I know random mixing throws out similar gene sets all the time. But I'll still bet he's got some Montevideo Clan in his family tree.

  Major Eppa strolled over. "You'll need more conditioning before you spar with Isakson. He seems to think bruises speed the learning process." He frowned a bit at the boy. "And I'm sure that Isakson will not reinjure you."

  Ra'd's shoulders stiffened and his face got even more haughty and cold. "Isakson is well acquainted with wounded warriors and will not offer insult to one."

  Rael blinked. Where the One Hell is this young man from?

  Paer cleared her throat. "Why don't we observe? It's . . . interesting in a painful sort of way."

  Ra'd snorted and moved away.

  Eppa sighed. "That boy's flat out scary." He glanced at Rael. "His whole group lived in the mansion here for three months. Now they're out in houses, and attending school. Most of them are starting to fit in. Get Urfa to read you into their history, he's keeping it classified, for now, to protect the kids from . . . notoriety." He watched Paer trotting over to the mats being spread out on the floor. "Everyone is just praying Paer doesn't fall for him."

  Granite Peak, perhaps? But then why any secrecy? Everyone knows about Granite Peak. Rael sauntered over to stand beside Fool.

  Isakson, in contrast to his nephew, was very Arabic. From the white Keffiyeh and green agal to the beard . . . pretty arrogant, wearing the green agal. At least the beard is trimmed. He must be pretty damned good to get away with the headdress of a Warrior of the One.

  He stepped out to the center of the mat and summoned his nephew with a crook of his finger.

  "Uh oh. Ra'd going to catch it for getting sent home. Again." Fool murmured. "Not only is this the most public beating you'll ever see, the truant gets to hit back."

  Old man and young bowed to each other, thunderstorms of anger gathering around them as they snapped into motion. Blow, counterblow, blocks and kicks. Rael reached for speed and watched in astonishment. Crap, they are both fast. Holy One! The old man transcended the anger that allowed him to reach top speed—cooling down but staying fast. The young man was furious the whole time. The three minute whistle blew with both still on their feet, but the boy had been on the defensive for most of it, and bowed. Taking deep breaths and subduing the anger he'd used to reach the top speed.

  The young man stepped off the mat. The old man narrowed his eyes and studied Rael. Still in her running shorts. Not ready to spar like that. Crooked his finger.

  Oh. Shit.

  Rael stepped out, careful to walk evenly, to stand square. Bow, settling into her center and reaching for all the speed she had.

  The old man was as fast as she was, stronger, longer reach, very well trained—and very careful how he hit her.

  She was on the defensive the whole time and only managed to hit him three times in three minutes. Two left hand blows, one left side kick. The whistle blew. She stepped back and bowed.

  Isakson bowed in return. "We will work on how to strike with your right, and how to not signal that weakness. I will think on a training program." He looked past her at the watchers. "Did you see her speed? How cool she started and remained? How
she remembered to not strike with her right hand? I will attempt to teach you all how to fight so intelligently."

  He summoned another man out to the mat as Rael retreated.

  "Holy One, Rael." Mac grinned. "You hit him three times!"

  Rael sighed. "Yeah, rub it in. That was dismal."

  Everyone around turned and stared.

  Eppa shook his head. "Rael . . . oh, never mind. Just, watch this."

  The next five guys got two hits total. And after each bout, they all got slow motion lessons and a few quick exchanges.

  "So far six people have managed to make him break a sweat, Ra'd and three of us. Qayg and Izzo."

  "Xiat's Interior Analyst boyfriend?"

  "Yep. I think I may have spotted a bead on his forehead when he was done with you. But maybe it was just left over from attempting to thrash the scary boy. So don't expect sympathy from us when you managed to hit him three times the first time you ever faced him."

  Rael eyed Mac. This afternoon, I'll ask Urfa about him. And his young nephew.

  She eased out of the crowd and headed for the shower. She had definitely sweated.

  ***

  In two days she'd made serious inroads into the backlog of data on Target Forty-two. Today a new data dump from Exterior.

  Rael had seen the location in other reports. The Earthers' beacon—they called it a gate anchor—was a three meter diameter ring of steel, flattened at the bottom. No doubt, like theirs, the gate phenomenon continued underground, positioned so that a flat plate on either side, the width of a standard wheelbase, would allow vehicular traffic easy passage. The cam was aimed so that she could easily see through the circle. Slight heat distortions from the desert floor were the only indication of the extreme range the vid cam was shooting from. Good equipment.

  She could see, now, a change in the circle, and suddenly she could see the small boxy cars they called gyps lined up to come through, and behind the first three, the tanks they called tanks . . . they drove through, and more came after them. Some larger trucks, curved sides and tops to maximize the volume they could carry through . . . a gyp stalled, a break in the streaming convoy as they hustled it out of the way.