Gods Concubine by Sara Douglass

He was also very thin, and he had on a tightly-belted, calf-length brown coat, and a

curiously-shaped soft hat pulled low over his long, thin, pale face.

Even so strangely disguised, I could recognise what he was.

A Sidlesaghe. Not Long Tom, but one of his kind.

His soft voice reached me again. ―Is that my cup of tea? I will have it, if you please.‖

I looked down at my hands, and noticed several things all at once. I was no longer

dressed in my robe and cloak, but a tightly-belted dress of starched white material that seemed

like linen and yet was not. My legs were encased in fine, woollen-like stockings, and on my feet

were brown leather shoes of sturdy construction.

I no longer held the golden band of Troy, but a small round platter on which stood a cup.

Both were made of a fine white pottery. The cup held a steaming, milky brown substance.

―My cup of tea, old thing, if you don‘t mind.‖

Again the Sidlesaghe‘s voice cut into my thoughts, and I walked over to him.

His eyes locked into mine.

―On the table, there‘s a dear.‖

I hesitated, then placed the cup before him.

The instant I set it down he reached out a hand and grabbed my wrist.

―The band is safe for the moment, but you must be careful, darling. He”s coming up the

stairs.‖

I knew immediately who he meant, if not quite what he meant.

Asterion.

―Flee,‖ the Sidlesaghe said.

FOUR

The Game stretched, and grew. Not in power so much as in potential.

One band had been moved and the Game‘s boundaries had been physically expanded.

Five more to go.

Asterion had assumed his natural appearance the instant it was safe for him to do so

unobserved.

Power was so much easier to manipulate when he walked in his man-bull form.

London was quiet and dark, save for that glow in the northern section where a building

appeared to be afire. Asterion knew well what that was—a distraction, something to keep the

watch occupied while the real crime of the night took place.

Asterion was close to glow-in-the-dark furious. She—she!— was moving a band.

Not only was she shifting the band, but she accomplished it under a cloak of such

enchantment that he had difficulty sensing any information about it at all.

To know that a band was so close, so tantalisingly exposed, and yet still so out of reach…

And how? How? The unknowingness in that how only fed Asterion‘s rage.

Asterion roamed the streets of London, seeking something, anything, that could provide

him with a clue.

Nothing.

How could he have so misjudged her?

His pace became ever more frantic, his fury edging ever closer to the out-of-control, but

still…nothing.

Quiet, dark streets.

Here! Ah! Nothing but a dog, a cur of a beast that was hiding behind the wheel of a cart.

Asterion slaughtered it.

He moved on, dashing in short bursts along the streets, pausing to sniff the air, to peer

closely into shadows, then lay a hand to a wall and feel, feel for anything, anything at all…

And, just before dawn, he did feel it. Just a suggestion, nothing more.

A memory that tugged insistently in his mind…Troy. Troy.

Troy!

Asterion had been there for the final destruction of Troy as he had participated in the

majority of the destructions Ariadne had worked with her Catastrophe. He had walked through

the ruins, through the raging fires, through the piles of bodies—adding to fire and ruin and death

whenever he had the chance. During that wonderful day Asterion had known of the escape of

Aeneas, the Kingman who had then worn the kingship bands of Troy.

Then, of course, Asterion had not known what role these bands would play in a later life,

but even so Asterion had tried to snatch Aeneas. It had been for fun, for joy, for amusement, for

the pleasure of the hunt. Aeneas was the son of Aphrodite, he was wearing the golden bands that

allowed him to play the Game, and Asterion had thought it would be more than entertaining to

tear the man apart limb by limb. One more Kingman dead, one more set of bands destroyed, one

more nail in the coffin of the Game.

But Asterion had never caught Aeneas. He‘d tracked him through the ruins and through

the rivulets of blood. He had heard and seen and smelled him, but Asterion had never managed

to catch the man. Aphrodite had aided Aeneas, of course—how else could he have

escaped?—but even so Asterion had felt the trickery of the man and his damnable bands…

And he was feeling something similar here this night in London.

Asterion was close to the western wall of London when these memories flooded back to

haunt him, and he stopped, and paused.

He sniffed the air, his magnificent bull‘s head held high.

He sniffed again…and then he hunched over, arms held out as if he were ready to attack.

And then…he vanished.

He rushed through the bloodied, tumbled remains of Troy, their smell and sight as vivid

as the day he‘d participated in the city‘s destruction.

She was somehow using this landscape to do it.

And why not? Asterion could understand. The bands were of Troy, they had breathed the

same air, and she was using that ancient escape route to effect this one.

Grinning from ear to ear, Asterion jogged through the ruins. He followed the path of the

band, he could smell it, and any moment, any moment…

Any moment he would be upon her…and the band would be his.

Asterion could have howled with joy, but he didn‘t; not when he was hunting. He ran

lightly, effortlessly, down the path, his feet splashing through puddles of water and blood, his

eyes fixed ahead.

His right foot splashed down into a puddle of water, and before he could lift it again a

white, thin hand reached out of the water, and grasped Asterion‘s ankle tightly.

The Minotaur tumbled over, hitting the ground with a hard jolt. Within the instant, he had

half-risen, his own hands reaching for the hand that had his ankle. Before his hands could reach

it, the strange hand vanished amid a tinkle of feminine laughter.

Asterion scrambled to his feet. A trap left by Aphrodite, he had no doubt. Even dead that

goddess was proving more than trying, but that was of no concern to Asterion at this moment.

What he needed to do was catch that person who trod the path just a twist or two ahead in the

ruins.

But he was too late. Just as he rounded a corner, sure to find there the person he sought,

the landscape of Troy fell away, and Asterion found himself standing in the midst of a trackway

that wound between several low farm buildings.

There was no one there.

FIVE

The instant Caela materialised on the trackway before him, the Sidlesaghe, Long Tom,

reached out and grabbed her.

She gave a cry of terror. ―Asterion!‖

―I know,‖ the Sidlesaghe said. ―He will be here at any moment. The band…it is safe?‖

She nodded. ―Yes, but—‖

―There is no time for ‗buts‘ now. Quick, quick, if the band is safe, if it is here, then we

can escape.‖

He dragged Caela towards one of the farm buildings, pushing aside the unlatched, rough

door with a shoulder and all but threw Caela inside.

Inside there were no cattle, or sheep, or pigs, nor even piles of new-mown hay. Instead

there stretched one of the Game‘s strange tunnels.

―New built,‖ said the Sidlesaghe, the relief evident in his voice as he hurried Caela

forward. ―The instant you laid that band in its new resting place.‖

―Asterion?‖

―He cannot follow us down here. The Labyrinth, the Game, is still protected by those

enchantments Brutus wove over it. More protected, now that one of the bands is moved and the

Game has expanded. Now, hurry, hurry, hurry. Dawn is close, and Edward‘s eyes will shortly

open. Hurry, hurry, hurry.‖

Asterion stood in the centre of the trackway, feeling the escape of the damnable

band-shifter, but not able to do anything about it.

Then he caught at his thoughts, and he flushed hot at the realisation that he didn”t have to

do anything about it, did he?

She could move the bands all she liked, but so long as he managed that one small task

that lay ahead then it was of no matter. That one, single, pleasurable task, then she could move

them to the very sun and it wouldn‘t matter, would it?

―My dear,‖ he murmured. ―You think you know which way the attack will come. But you

have no idea, do you?‖

The Sidlesaghe led Caela to the place in the Game‘s magical tunnel that lay beneath her

solar.

―Asterion smelt you,‖ he said. ―When you walked the path to Chenesitun, what path did

the game construct for you?‖