Disclaimer: Discworld and its denizens, elephants and all, are the property of the remarkable Terry Pratchett. Ienska is mine. So are the horses.
NB: Ienska is pronounced with a long "I" at the beginning.
Minor Gods is set immediately after Lady Vetinari and is a continued unraveling of my little snag on the Trousers of Time.
This particular fic is dedicated to all the wonderful people who reviewed Assassin's Bane and Lady Vetinari. Thank you so much, and I hope you all enjoy this one as much as the other two.
~
Havelock Vetinari closed his eyes in resignation. "I am going to die."
Ahead of him on the road, Ienska Tineshan rolled her eyes. "I didn't tell you to come with me, you know." She walked a few more steps, leading her bay, trying to ignore her companion. Usually Vetinari was very reserved and almost frighteningly detached from human emotions. Except, it seemed, in this once regard.
Vetinari sighed. It was an expressive sigh, detailing the eventual destruction of humanity followed by the slow collapse of the Ramtop Mountains. Ienska rolled her eyes heavenward in a mute appeal to any deity that might have been bored enough to listen*.
It had been a long week. About two days out from his mother's manor, Vetinari had started acting oddly. And then he had begun sighing and moaning…well, sighing and complaining eloquently, Vetinari wasn't really the sort of person who moaned, as such. But she could hear the threat of a moan, had he been just a little less of a gentleman. And that wasn't the worst of it…Ienska heard both his and his horse's footsteps speed up as he hurried to join her further along the road. Oh no…
"It will be a slow death, I think," he said in a conversational tone.
"You're not going to die," said Ienska, exasperated.
"Perhaps a slow breakdown of the mental process followed by clawing out my own throat."
"You're not going to die."
"Or I could plunge into the depths of despair and starve from neglect."
"You're not going to die."
"Or perhaps I could simply fall into a senseless stupor that I am unable to awake from," he paused to consider this. "That would probably be the least painful, but a little anti-climatic, don't you think?"
"You're not going to die!" Ienska stopped dead in the middle of the path. "For gods' sake! No one, and I mean no one, dies from lack of coffee!" She took a deep breath. "Unless it's at the hands of those of us who have been listening to them for the past day and a half."
"You wouldn't," he said easily.
"And why not?"
"Because then you'd have to figure out how to ride without me."
Ienska glared up at the big animal plodding along behind her. Well, sort of big. All right, so it was downright tiny for a horse, but it was taller than her. "Why, again, did we have to bring them?"
"To escape any pursuit my mother might have sent after us. And, considering the alternatives, I personally would rather err on the side of caution."
Yes, considering the alternative, which involved a white dress and a ring, Ienska had to agree. Not that she'd ever admit it. Agreeing with Vetinari was like…well, like agreeing with Vetinari.
Her horse nickered.
"Oh, hush. You don't have to be smug about it."
~
"When I die, I think I would like to be cremated," said Vetinari, swinging gracefully up into the saddle of his white giant later that day.
"Good," grunted Ienska, struggling to climb up onto her own horse. He rarely saw her looking so awkward. No wonder she hated the horses. "I can use the fire to boil some water for tea."
"You remembered tea?" he asked, in a suspicious voice.
"I, unlike others, actually packed before fleeing for the great unknown."
"No need for that tone," said Vetinari, watching her as she hung from one stirrup. "Would you, by any chance, accept a hand up?"
"No." Surprise.
Waiting, he idly inspected his surroundings for the fifth time. The lack of coffee was making him feel rather out of control, a sensation he was unaccustomed to and was coming to despise with a passion. Well, as much passion as he ever felt, anyhow. The breeze shifted, bearing a new smell in their direction. His head snapped up.
At about the same time, Ienska finally managed to get herself seated firmly in the saddle. "What is that?" she asked, squinting into the distance.
Vetinari sniffed the air delicately. "Salvation, I believe."
She shot him an odd look.
"I mean that, on the horizon," she amended, pointing in the opposite direction from the wonderful aroma of fresh coffee. "It looks like a curtain."
"Probably rain," he said, attempting to sound disinterested so that she would allow them to travel away from the anomaly and toward the scent. Despite his illicit desire to break and make a dash for the smell, however, he continued to stare at the odd, silver sheet on the horizon.
"It's not moving," she pointed out. The quick glance she threw his way didn't escape his notice. "Shall we have a look?"
He shrugged, trying to appear uninterested. "It could be intriguing. However," he inhaled deeply once more. "Perhaps we should look for a place to spend the night a little further from such unknown circumstances?" It was hard to maintain his dignity when he wanted nothing more than to breath deeply and ride out in hunt of coffee. Unfortunately, the girl seemed to notice something was wrong.
"What are you talking about? It's barely noon."
"Ah. Right, of course. Nonetheless…" He took a deep breath to refocus his attention.
"Are you hyperventilating?"
"No, of course not."
Eyes, narrowed, she took a deliberate, deep breath. "I should have known."
"Yes, perhaps you should have," he admitted. "Now, might I convince you to take a short detour before riding out to explore the curtain?" The lack of coffee, he felt, was sorely affecting him if he was actually asking her permission before acting.
"Will you stop moaning?"
"I do not moan."
She raised an eyebrow.
"However, if you agree to allow me my coffee, I shall cease any hypothetical noises of misery."
She rolled her eyes. "Close enough. Lead on, Lord Vetinari."
"Of course," he said, trotting by, wondering vaguely why the girl seemed to consider his title a mild insult. "Especially since you don't know how to steer your horse."
Whatever her response, it was lost in the rush of air as he kicked his ride up to a fast gallop. He did, however, hear her shout of protest as the bay she was riding accelerated as well.
* Possibly the god of annoyed travelers or Strangler the Put Upon.