Free Wings of Omen - Thieves World 06 by Robert Asprin

entire royal family," Lowan Vigeles reminded, "at least those within Theron's reach. Chenaya and I barely escaped, and they may hunt us here. You too. Brother."
    Molin frowned; then the frown vanished. "That's why we need the Beysib. They will protect Kadakithis. They are completely loyal to Shupansea, and she seems to dote on the Prince these days."
    Chenaya shot her father a look; a barely perceptible nod of his head silenced her. "What about the 3rd Commando?" Lowan insisted carefully. "They placed Theron on Ranke's throne, and they know Kadakithis is the legitimate claimant to that throne. Did Theron truly exile them, or are they here to commit another murder?"
    Molin frowned again and rubbed his hands. "I know nothing about them, except that they were originally formed by Tempus Thales when he served the Emperor." Chenaya stomped into a boot. "Tempus!" she spat. "That butcher!" Molin Torchholder raised an eyebrow. "How many have you slain in the arena since I've been gone, child? For Tempus Thales, death is a matter of war or duty." He looked down his nose at her. "For you, it is a game."
    "A game that fattened your own purse," she shot back. "Do you think I don't know about the bets you placed on me?"
    He chose to ignore that and turned to her father, extending his hands. "Lowan, trust me. Kadakithis mustn't leam about his brother's death. You know what a young, idealistic fool he is. He would ride straight to Ranke to claim his throne, and Theron would cut him down like late wheat." He turned to Chenaya now, genuine pleading in his voice. "Better to keep him here, safe in Sanctuary, until we can formulate a plan that will give him his birthright." With every word that fled his mouth, Chenaya remembered the small green serpent the beynit her uncle called it-that wound about the Beysa's wrist. Molin was a snake; she knew that from long experience. He did not hiss so horribly, and he concealed his fangs, but nonetheless, she felt him trying to tighten his coils about her.
    "Uncle," she breathed, struggling with the other boot, "you make a big mistake to assume me such a fool. I know my Little Prince far better than you will ever know him. I did not go to the palace to tell him of events in the capital, but to see a friend I've missed." She stood up and began to buckle the straps that were more decoration to her costume than utilitarian. "And to get a feel for the grounds and the palace itself. I plan to spend some time there. Your precious Beysib will not be the only protection Kadakithis has to count on." She took a sword from the chest, a beautifully Grafted weapon, gold-hiked with tangs carved like the wings of a great bird and a pommel stone gripped in a bird's talons. She fastened its belt so it rode low on her hip. Lastly, she donned a manica, a sleeve of leather and metal rings favored by arena fighters; a strap across her chest held it in place. "Theron will never reach him; I promise you that."
    "My niece is confused about her sex," Molin sneered. "Can a common gladiator guard the Prince better than the garrison? Or the Hell-Hounds? Or our Beysib allies?"
    She shook back her long blonde curls and set a circlet of gold on her brow to hold the hair from her face. Mounted on the circlet so it rode the center of her forehead was a golden sunburst, the symbol of the god Savankala. "I am no common gladiator," she reminded him coldly, "as you well know, old weasel." Much as she regretted ever telling him, Molin was the only man to share the secret of her dream and the rewards given to her by the chief of the Rankan pantheon. Himself. But she was very young then, only fourteen, and could be forgiven the foolish confidence. He was a Rankan priest; who better to tell about the dream and Savankala's visitation and the three wishes he granted her? Moi . had tested her; he knew the truth of her dream. She ran her hands teasingly over her breasts, reminding him of the first of those wishes. "Did I not grow into a beauty. Uncle?