The Fireseed Wars

Tortha smiled indulgently; sometimes he forgot that Kostran was still a youngster, not a day over sixty. "Don't worry so much. Theovacar needs us even more than we need him. The House of Verkan is his only window into Hostigos as well as his only contact with King Kalvan. He'd have to go from seriously worried to raving idiot to forget that-not that it hasn't happened outtime before, mind you. Still, I think all is well for the moment. Use some of Verkan's financial reserves and buy some better ears at the palace; there's always someone in every palace who can use a quick cash transfusion. I know Verkan planted some micro transmitters the last time he was in Theovacar's private audience chamber. I'll try to place some more today.

"However, if you even get a hint that he's about to arrest the Greffan Study Team, get them the Styphon out of here! Chief Verkan doesn't need another fracas with Dhergabar University about the Paratime Police not protecting its professors-even if they are complete idiots, like the former Hostigos Study Team."

"Thanks, Tortha. The Greffan Study Team has been here since we started the Verkan Fireseed Works. Being around those professors all day at the trading house is worse than being stuck in a chicken coop. After a while, you stop thinking like a cop and start thinking like a civilian. I can't wait until Verkan gets back and can spell me for a couple of ten-days."

"Don't hold your breath. Vail still has to explain to Kalvan by which god's miracle he survived a sucking chest wound. But, before that, he'll have to convince the Executive Committee why he should be allowed to return to Kalvan's Time-Line at all. Frankly, I'm surprised the Paratime Commission hasn't already grounded him from traveling outtime-probably because they're afraid it will put another arrow into the Opposition Party's quiver."

The storm had loosened more than tiles, as Tortha discovered as they approached the center of the city. They had to let their horses pick a slow path around shutters, doors, dead dogs, barrels and barrel staves, and what had once been a set of scaffolding three stories high, with all the masons' tools but apparently none of the masons themselves.

Fortunately the main or "royal" streets of Greffa were wide. The city had been laid out as the permanent camp of a tribal confederation of mounted warriors, and it was still an offense to narrow a royal street so that two large wagons could not pass in either direction. The route to the palace lay mostly along the royal streets, which were not only wider but mostly paved either with granite blocks, or at least with split logs. Some of the logs had sunk out of sight overnight, but they were still better than the side streets which had mostly turned into quagmires.

Tortha passed one spot where half-a-dozen small boys were swimming back and forth in a sinkhole before a leaning tenement building.

A brisk wind was still blowing, driving away the reek of curing leather in the Street of the Tanners and the smell of tar in the Street of the Coopers. At the far end of that street a small temple had collapsed completely except for part of one wall. Rubble as high as a man's waist blocked half the street and lay scattered across the other half, leaving only a narrow meandering path for mounted traffic. A gang of men had already dug out the votive image and were setting it upright. He recognized Lytris-or Lystris as the Weather Goddess was called in the Middle Kingdoms-carved with a woman's head (not a falcon's as the Zarthani carved her) with a mocking, even cruel expression on her face.

Tortha reached for his purse, to make a donation toward the rebuilding of the temple, but Kostran stopped him. "Those are just ordinary workers, not temple people. Wodan knows where the silver would end up if you gave it to them, Master.

"And don't worry about the priests finding money to rebuild, they'll get enough to rebuild three times over-once from the farmers, once from the sailors and once from the gamblers, who consider her their patroness."

Tortha had been amused to find Lystris in that role the first time he heard of it, but after studying the climatic history of Greffa he was no longer amused or even surprised. Like every city at the foot of the western sea, on every time-line, Greffa City had a reputation for extremes of heat and cold, and for mercilessly changeable weather to make things worse. There was a brief period of stable weather in the spring, but beyond that, one might as well pray to a weather goddess and make her temples and shrines rich. Nothing else seemed to do any good.