It was time to remember that he was not what he seemed to be, though it was a very difficult thing to accept. It seemed that he had always been like this. This was a natural state of being for him. There were no concerns, there was no worrying. It was easy to be this way. He rather liked it.
But he knew, he knew. He was not a horse. He was a man. And it was time to stop being a horse. To do that, he had only to want to be a man again.
Did he want to be a man again? Yes. So…
Now.
He was down on his hands and knees in the stall, naked. The floor reeked of dung.
"Yuck."
He got up, bent to gather straw, and cleaned himself. Then he looked about. No one. Nothing was stirring. He wondered where Telamon was, and if his magical transformation had reversed yet.
He moved cautiously out of the stall, unlatching the gate carefully. He looked up and down the mews. It was dark and he heard not a sound.
He walked from stall to stall, searching for white stallions. He saw horses, but none white.
He came to a seemingly empty stall and looked in.
His servant Strephon rose from a crouch out of the darkness.
"It is I, master."
"Where's Telamon?"
"I saw him. He is looking for you."
"Go find him, bring him here."
"Yes, master."
Strephon walked off into the darkness of the stable. Very soon he returned with two men. Trent smiled at Telamon and his servant Ion.
Trent asked, "Where are the other two?"
"Still in their stalls, waiting."
"Send Ion to get them. They've reverted, haven't they?"
"Yes. I think we all reverted on schedule. You are a brilliant sorcerer, my friend. I really, truly was a horse. I saw the world as a horse sees it. It was… strange. Yet absolutely marvelous."
Trent nodding, smiling. "It is an amazing experience. You get the idea that it might be better to be an animal rather than a human."
"Yes. Remarkable. Go, Ion. Fetch the others." Ion stole away into the gloom.
"What now?" Telamon said. "Can we find weapons?"
"Easily, though we mustn't be seen by anyone who is still awake. I saw enough passed-out troopers out in the mews to accommodate us all. We strip them and take their weapons. And then move down the hill, quietly, quickly, and take the north tower. From the sound of things out there, I'd be surprised if we found one sober Troadean."
"I also heard a lot of commotion earlier. Drunken revelry."
"After two years of hard siege, for it suddenly to be lifted would give one cause to celebrate."
"Indeed," Telamon said.
"But we have to move silently and quickly. Not everyone is unconscious, surely, and there might be one or two guards who take their jobs seriously."
"Understood. Here are the others. They know what to do.
"Okay." Trent counted. "All six accounted for. We pair up and go out and forage, then report back here when we have weapons. Clothes are optional. We don't really need them to do our work. If the man you're rolling shows any sign of coming to, kill him quickly and silently. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Above all, make no noise."
"Also understood."
"Telamon, you take Ion. I'll take Strephon. You and you are a team. Okay, is everybody ready?"
Nods.
"Right," Trent said. "Telly, you first. I'll wait sixty beats of the heart before I send the next team out. Okay, go!"
Ion and Telamon left.
"Strangest thing, I was beginning to feel like Mr. Ed, there, for a while."
"Master?"
"Never mind."
The streets were dark and quiet. The wind had grown gusty, its dull roar making it all the more easy to make their way through the city with complete stealth. Following twisted streets, they came down from the acropolis with its grand palace and its temples, into the city proper.
Silence ruled. Windows were dark. Not even an alley cat made an appearance to mark their passing until they got to the poorer sections of town. They heard voices and dispersed into the shadows.
Two drunken soldiers were escorting a drunken woman between them. The three weaved down the street and negotiated the next corner.
Trent watched them. The woman shrieked once, far off. Whether a belly laugh or a cry of dismay, he couldn't tell. It became quiet again. Trent signaled Telamon, and the commando team resumed their mission.
Troas was small, no more than five hundred yards in circumference. A legend even in its own time, it was nonetheless little more than a fortress. They reached the north circuit of the outer wall in short order.
Trent surveyed the battlement from the shadows. Nothing seemed to be stirring above. If lookouts had been posted they were not manning their positions.
He had expected the city to let its guard down, but the extent to which this had occurred was surprising. Had everyone in the place swilled themselves into oblivion? In and around the stables the soldiers they'd rolled hadn't moved a muscle. It had been like undressina manikins. Trent was sure one man had been dead: alcohol poisoning, heart attack, or he'd choked on his own vomitus.
Was everyone in town completely smashed, passed out? Well, they'd soon find out at the high watchtower, the one that guarded the northern gate of Troas.
Those legendary topless towers. Trent regretted mightily having to burn them. But when Anthaemion's lookouts saw the signal fire Trent's men would set, the Arkadians would return in force, in the middle of the night. Trent would then open the main gate of the city and let them in.
And then the bloodshed would begin. The slaughter. The Troadeans wouldn't have a chance. The Arkadians, maddened by two long frustrating years of stalemate, would give no quarter. No mercy. They'd easily kill all the males of military age, probably males of every age, including infants, especially the children of nobility. They'd rape most if not all the women, then carry them off as concubines, servants, and slaves.
And when they'd done all that, when the slaughter and plundering and looting were done, they'd put Troas to the torch.
The sack of Troas.
Damn. Trent did not want to do this. But he had to. He'd given his word.
He gave the signal to move in. Telamon sprinted across the street and flattened himself against the base of the tower. Ion followed.
The honor of opening the door devolved to Trent. It was secured from the inside, of course. Secured very early this evening. But Trent had it open in a trice with a simple door-opening charm. There was no lock; the massive oak door was barred with a heavy wooden beam which a bit of levitation took care of handily (after Trent had used his clairvoyant powers to see behind the door).
They slipped into the tower and closed and barred the door after them. It was pitch-dark inside, save for the light spilling through tiny embrasures on every floor. They climbed the narrow stairs single-file.
It happened on the fourth level. The stairway was locked; with what, Trent could not see. It felt like a stack crates or trunks. Puzzled, he reached behind him, took Ion's hand, waited for him to link with the others, and led into the adjacent chamber.
They were suddenly jumped, and a fight in total darkness ensued. Before he could begin to draw his sword, Trent had several sets of hands laid on him. He kicked out but didn't connect. In answer, a solid clout to the head knocked him down.
Light blossomed. A beam of light stabbed his eyes. A flashlight beam?
He heard a familiar chuckle. Three Troadean soldiers had him pinned. The fight was already over, his commando teammates all subdued.
"Who the devil are you?" Trent said to the man holding the flashlight.
The man turned the beam upward to illuminate his own smiling face. "Inky!"
Incarnadine's apartment in the palace was luxurious. "How long have you been mage to the court of Troas?" Trent asked as he stuffed himself with a very late supper. He had to admit the fare was better than the oats and timothy he'd enjoyed earlier. Actually, it was good to be human again.