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33

KOLGAN COADJUTANT AND GOLBFISH HORDELEADER HURRIED OVER to the door and departed. Dosh sat in dread stillness, his wrists and ankles bound to a chair. Fear churned in his belly, making him nauseous.

D'ward was hunched over again, head in hands. After a long moment he looked up and forced a smile.

"Relax!" he whispered. "I'm not Tarion."

Of course he was not Tarion, but the memories were terrifying. "What are you going to do with me?" Dosh was ashamed to hear the quaver in his voice. "You won't leave me for the Thargians?"

"No! No, of course not!" The Liberator straightened up wearily. "I just don't want you rushing off to the shrine to report to Tion. That's what you would have done, isn't it?"

Dosh fumbled for words that would not come. "But . . . but, Battlemaster! Surely you don't think you can keep a god from knowing what's happening?"

"Yes, I do. Yes, I can, for a while anyway." He smiled thinly. "I know more about gods than you do, my lad! Why does Tion need you to report to him if the gods already know everything, mm? I don't think he would tip off the enemy, but one never knows. You won't be hurt if you behave."

He heaved himself to his feet and walked over to the stairs. He disappeared up them, moving like an old man.

Dosh strained at his bonds, with no success. He could probably trust D'ward's promise not to leave him behind, but he was still determined to escape. His master's orders gnawed at him, compelling him to rush to the shrine and report this new development. And just being tied up was a torment in itself.

He glanced around the shop. There must be something . . . . Yes, there had been a pile of scrap iron lying in the corner where he had sat during the meeting. If he pushed with his feet, he could tip the chair over backward. Then he would break his arms or wrists. Try something else.

If he could somehow tip himself forward to put his weight on his feet, then he might manage to shuffle across the room like a snail carrying its shell. He had been left some movement in his shoulders, so if he tipped the chair back a little with his toes, then threw his weight forward, he might manage to rock it enough to—

A voice said, "Stop that."

He stopped.

A girl was standing over him with a balk of timber in her hands.

"Hit him on the head hard enough to dent a cooking pot—that's what D'ward told me to do."

"Would you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then I'd better behave myself, I suppose." He had not met Ysian more than two or three times, had not exchanged a dozen words with her. Anguan alone took a lot of satisfying and for variety there had been other playmates around much safer than Ysian Applepicker—D'ward's mistress had been off-limits.

There was something different about her . . . her hair. She had gorgeous dark auburn hair, which she had worn in a thick pile on top of her head. He had often wondered how she would look with it hanging loose and no clothes on, and how it would feel to play with. Now she had cut it short. Criminal! It made her look even younger. It made her look boyish, for she was short and thin. Her nose was small and peppered with freckles. She wore a long dress of some dark material, a shadow in the fading light of evening. He could make out a tightness to her jaw, and he decided she was capable of carrying out her threat. The glint in her eye suggested that she might even enjoy doing so. Definitely boyish.

"Pull up a chair," he said. "I won't run away."

Ysian thought for a moment solemnly, then sat down on the pile of planks D'ward had used, watching Dosh fixedly and still holding the club.

"We may be here some time," he said.

"I expect so."

"Tell me about yourself."

She kept her eyes on him like an agate idol. "What is there to say? This was my home. When D'ward took it over, I came with it."

"What happened to your family?"

For a long moment she did not answer, but when she spoke her voice was unchanged. "My aunt and uncle are out there in the woods somewhere. My cousin died in the battle."

D'ward had been right, as usual. The guerrillas had been keeping the women in town informed; the women who had fallen in love with their masters had passed them the news. It was inevitable that Ysian would be one of those traitors. The Liberator's charm could melt warriors twice his age. A juvenile mistress would not have a chance.

"I am sorry," Dosh said. "Truly, I am! I did not start this war. I am not even a warrior."

"I know. You were the other prince's plaything."

He withheld the obvious retort that she was D'ward's. "You are wellinformed."

"We women gossip."

That might be humor or cynicism, he could not tell. How much of his life story had he told to Anguan, and how much had she babbled to the women of Lemod? Ysian's features had not changed expression since she arrived. She was only a kid, but he sensed he was matching wits with a very shrewd woman.

"What else do you know about me?"

"That you are a liar."

"All men are liars!"

She did not reply. Admittedly his position put him at a considerable disadvantage, but he was annoyed that she was besting him in the conversation.

"I have never lied to D'ward."

"Yes, you have!" She glared. "He asked you to find him a copy of the Filoby Testament, and you told him there were none in the town. I know there were. You threw them in the river."

"That is not true!"

"I saw you. I followed you."

He gritted his teeth. "Does he believe that?"

"I told him about the books, but it was too late. You had found them all. He said he was not surprised. He said you had been sent to spy on him and that was why you had taken service with the prince, back last summer. He said there is a prophecy about him and a prince and you never mentioned it to him, so he knows you are not to be trusted. He thinks you are one of those people who cannot help lying all the time."

That was probably true. Telling the truth always seemed sort of risky. Still, lying was probably just a habit. He was as loyal to D'ward as his other loyalty permitted—but he could not explain that.

"You told D'ward about Moggpass."

She did not deny it, just sat and watched him as if he were a cake on a griddle.

"If he cannot trust me, how can he ever trust you? You betrayed your people to the leader of the army that killed your cousin. Why? What sort of woman does that?"

"He knows he can trust me."

Dosh snorted. "But you cannot trust him!"

"I trust him absolutely." Her confidence was stupidly childlike and infuriatingly unshakable. He felt a sudden urge to crack it, to hurt.

"He took the city! He slew your family! And you think you can trust him? What madness is that? He is going to leave you tonight! What will your own people do to those who have aided the enemy?"

"I am coming with you tonight. I shall be your guide."

"He told the troopleaders that none of the women would come."

"Except me."

"He will not take his own woman and make his men leave theirs. He is not that sort of leader!" Why else had she cut her hair off, though?

Ysian shrugged—the first gesture he had seen from her. "I was raised on the south bank. I know Moggpass. I can help."

"He is lying to you, you know."

"No!"

Aha! Now the tinder was starting to smoke.

He sighed with great sadness. "Women in love are rarely reliable judges of character, Ysian Applepicker."

She bared her teeth at him. He chuckled, imagining her as wrestling partner. Usually he preferred boys tough and girls tender, but he would relish a sharp tussle with this firecub.

"What makes you think I am in love, Dosh Envoy?" she demanded.

"Ha! He is the Liberator. No one can refuse that man! I just watched him twist thirty warriors to the shape he wanted, all at the same time. Even I really do try to please him, as much as I can. No woman could resist him for a moment!"

Ysian tossed her head, perhaps forgetting that she had cut her hair. "You are jealous of me, Houseboy! Jealous because I live with D'ward!"

He flinched at the use of his former name, then sudden inspiration . . . .

"Why are you laughing?" she shouted.

"I don't need to be jealous of you, girl! Do I? Nothing to be jealous of!"

She blushed furiously, confirming his guess. She really did look ready to club him, and for some reason that made him laugh even harder.

"We have more in common than I thought!" he taunted. "There's another way to win a woman's loyalty, isn't there?"

Only D'ward would have thought of that, or been capable of it.

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Framed