Children of Chaos tdb-1

by Dave Duncan

  "One daughter and two sons, you promised," Horold said, methodically stripping away her clothes without even seeming to notice her struggles. When he had her as naked as he was, he carried her over to the platform. "Cutrath you agreed to later. Doesn't change the daughter. My daughter, to be dynast after you."

  He turned her to face him. "So we have unfinished business. You're fertile, I'm fertile, and we're going to settle the matter now. I'm ready; you'll never be. Will you submit or do I force you?"

  She gagged at his stench. "Get it over with, then." She lay down and closed her eyes.

  ♦

  It probably did not last as long as it seemed, but it was terrible while it did. When he rolled off her, she lay and sobbed. The humiliation was worse than the pain and the pain had been bad. The worst part was knowing that he was right. She was old for bearing, but not impossibly so, and the goddess would hold her to her oath.

  Horold stopped panting. He heaved himself along the platform until they were face-to-face again—face-to-snout. Fortunately it was too dark to see any details, but she could imagine his sneer of triumph.

  "I know you have ways, wife. You don't need to hunt out some sleazy old chthonian behind the bazaar or poke around with sticks, but you will only delay the inevitable. You are going to bear me another child. The seers will tell me whose it is, and if it's any other man's, I'll kill it and start over."

  She turned her head away. The timbers creaked as he left the platform. She saw his outline against the brighter garden when he went to find his pall and boots. She was still shaking, still close to throwing up, but she must make her prayer soon if she wanted to shed his seed.

  Sudden terror drove away the pain: Benard wouldn't come through the garden, would he? But he might be dallying out in the public part of the women's quarters. If Horold ran into him now, in his present drunken state, there would be murder done.

  He came back in, dressed. "You're bleeding." He could see in the dark better than any cat.

  "What did you expect? When you go out, tell them to send for a surgeon. I need stitches."

  "Rubbish. You'll get used to it. The girl did." He stalked across the room to the door. "Tomorrow at the same time." He slid the bolt, then turned again. "And every night until it's done, understand? That's what you tell the brides, isn't it? They owe this to their husbands?"

  If their husbands were human. "I tell the men they owe their wives respect."

  "If I find this door locked, I'll rip it down." He went out and the anteroom erupted in startled screams. Soon the whole palace would know that the satrap was bedding his wife again.

  twenty-six

  BENARD CELEBRE

  carefully set down the weighty sack he had been carrying on his shoulder. He uttered a moan of relief, hauled on the bell rope, then stood and massaged his cramped hands while he waited, nodding and smiling to passersby. When the little shutter flipped open, the eyes that peered out were as dark as his own, but much less friendly.

  He said, "It's me."

  "The lady is resting. Go away."

  Benard sighed. "You have orders to admit me at any time."

  "Not now." Swordsman Nerio shut the cover.

  Benard sighed at the unreasonableness of mortals and appealed to his goddess. He had, he pointed out, a work of art at his side that was much too heavy to lug all the way back to his shed and much too beautiful to abandon to the mercies of feral alley brats in this garbage-strewn lane. He heard the bolts click back, one by one. The beauty is in the details. He thanked Her and opened the gate.

  Nerio swung around with a curse, drawing his sword. Benard had barely had time to forget Cutrath, and here he had made a swordsman enemy. It must be a character flaw. He put his hands on his hips and tried to look unconcerned. He was, mostly.

  "I will kill you!" Nerio said, displaying very fine white teeth.

  "No, you won't."

  "But I am going to throw you out!"

  Several of Hiddi's Florengian slaves were tending the plants. They looked up in alarm, and the one called Cosimo shouted, "No, master! You know what she'll do to you!"

  Not caring to ask how Hiddi disciplined her major-domo, Benard wrestled his package in and again set it down carefully. By the time he closed the gate again, Nerio had sheathed his sword, but was within punching range.

  "Now go away! She needs to rest!"

  Benard peered past him, noting two Vigaelian bearers patiently sitting on a bench beside an unfamiliar carrying chair. Hiddi had company. Apart from them, the yard was greatly improved since he had first seen it. The crude figurines had gone, and the furniture was more tasteful.

  "I didn't come to bed her," Benard said, which was true as far as it went. He could always be persuaded. "I brought her a gift."

  "I'll see she gets it. Cosimo! Now go."

  Benard shook his head as the slave came running. "Cosimo couldn't lift it, and it's fragile. Twelve blessings on you, Cosimo."

  "The freeman is kind." The youth winked at him from the safety of his place at Nerio's back. The swordsman was not popular with the rest of the staff now, although he had been once.

  "Why carry it yourself?" Nerio snapped. "Why not hire porters?"

  "I have no money to hire porters," Benard said patiently.

  "Hiddi would pay them for you. They'd be happy to settle for a chance to worship the goddess with her."

  "The first time we met, you told me you couldn't speak Florengian." That was what they were speaking.

  The swordsman scowled. "I meant not on that occasion. Hiddi was present. She would have suspected I was telling secrets about her."

  Poor Nerio! He was tall and dark and trim, handsome in his sparkling-white kilt, with his bronze sword on his back, strong arms folded, golden headband restraining his curls. Hiddi had a superb eye for beauty when it came to men; it was art she failed at. It needed no artist's eye to see the signs of strain in the wild eyes and drawn features. Benard wondered what Hiddi had done to him. She could be as spiteful as a weasel. In theory Nerio was a freeman, but she had him enslaved by other means, chained on a rack of jealousy and, probably, unrequited lust.

  Cosimo went back to work. Benard tried to step around Nerio, who moved to block him. This was ridiculous!

  "Have the new tiles been delivered yet? Have the boys stripped off the part I wanted?" Benard was remaking Hiddi's house for her, and his current project was the ugly mosaic in the bathroom.

  Just then Hiddi's visitor emerged from the house and headed for his carrying chair. He was a portly man of mature years, robed very finely and seeming content with life. His servants jumped up, and he did not notice yet one more Florengian.

  Nerio unbolted the gate to let the chair out and bowed to the occupant. "May the gods bless the ground beneath your feet, lord." Then, as the man handed him a copper ring, "Oh, my lord is most generous! Sixty-sixty blessings on your noble house."

  As he bolted the gate behind the visitors, he pouted at his tip and then at Benard. "They don't come any cheaper than that one. Go sit down and I will announce you."

  Benard manhandled his package across to the nearest bench, set it on the table, and accepted a cool silver beaker from Cosimo. Another handsome but crop-eared Florengian youth laid a basin of water before him and knelt to wash his feet. Guilio began combing the road dust from his hair.

  "What is this gift, master?"

  "Unwrap it and see. Just don't knock it over." Benard sat back and relaxed while the boys wiped his limbs with cool damp cloths and soft towels. Others refilled his beaker and laid out plates of sweetmeats. Luxury would pall, he thought, but it was enjoyable at times. This was as close to it as any Hand of Anziel would ever come. The shady park fussed with birdsong and insect noises. Nerio seemed to be taking a long time.

  "Darling!" Hiddi came running. He jumped up to embrace her as she threw herself into his arms. She was wearing nothing below her earrings except bathwater, but that was not at all unusual for her. Her welcomes were always passionat
e and prolonged. By the time she released him, Guilio and Cosimo had removed the sacking from the gift, a painted pottery figurine, about half life-size. Even Nerio had joined the crowd gathered around to admire it.

  Hiddi said, "Nerio said you brought me a ... Ooh! Oh, it's lovely!"

  Yes, it was. Benard considered it one of his best creations yet, a model for the full-size Eriander he planned for the Pantheon, an ambiguous, androgynous youngster with a cryptic smile. She was naked, but clutching a cloth to her chest, and the fall of drapery concealed enough to leave her sex in doubt. The pose was oddly shy, but the sleepy invitation in the eyes was not at all ambiguous.

  "He's gorgeous!" Hiddi stooped to peer closely at the image and caress it, which is what a true art lover would instinctively do. She was no connoisseur but she recognized sensuality. She touched the cuneiform on the base. "What does this sign say?"

  " 'Eriander.' I copied it off the shrine in the Pantheon."

  "Clothed? I never seen Him with clothes on before."

  Benard chuckled, happy to see his work approved. "She's not wearing any more than you are."

  He had based this Eriander on the image in Ingeld's chamber. The features had turned out with the same tantalizing familiarity, although he had tried to model them on those of Thod's youngest sister. It must be an illusion caused by the ambiguous shifting back and forth between genders. Hiddi began jumping up and down with excitement, demanding that the new idol be brought to her bed-chamber at once, so Benard heaved it up for the last time and carried it across to the house. He had made some progress in remaking the room, but it still contained far too much clutter. Hiddi was a slow pupil when it came to understanding the difference between quality and sheer quantity.

  He set his creation in place on the sleeping platform while Hiddi removed the grotesque hermaphrodite he disliked so much.

  "What does one do with an unwanted god?" she said, puzzled. "I can't throw Him out or break Him!"

  "Give Her to the temple," Benard suggested. He took the offending plaque and laid it behind a chest, out of sight, where it couldn't watch him.

  "This one's much prettier!" Hiddi hugged him again as they admired the figurine. "You are good to me, Bena darling!" She kissed him fondly. "Won't you help me make an offering to Him, just this once?" She kissed him again, even more so.

  Knowing where this was leading, he broke free long enough to pull off his loincloth and throw it over the image of the god as a cover. "No. But I want you to do me a favor."

  "Anything." She pulled him down on the mats. "Anything you want."

  "I want you to make the first offering to the new god with Nerio."

  "Nerio!?" Suddenly she was pushing him away indignantly. Hiddi could change direction faster than a bat. "Nerio is insolent! I hate him. He doesn't know his place!"

  The place Nerio regarded as properly his was now occupied by Benard. "Dismiss him, then. Send him away and hire another swordsman. If you don't want me, I'll get started on the tiles." He reached for his loincloth.

  "No!" She grabbed his arm. "How can you possibly want me to make love to Nerio? Don't you care for me at all?" Now she was a hurt child. Her moods never seemed faked. She really felt them all.

  Benard folded her into his arms again and they stretched out on the mat. "I care for you very much and I want you to be happy. You're making Nerio miserable and he's upsetting the slaves. Your household isn't running as well as it used to. Now promise me—the next man you make love to here will be Nerio."

  Hiddi pouted. "Oh, very well. Just for you."

  "And you will be very, very nice to him? Like you used to be?"

  She was purring as he stroked her thigh. "All right. I'll pretend he's you."

  Benard muttered approval into the space between her breasts and nothing more was said.

  twenty-seven

  INGELD NARSDOR

  had never baked a loaf or plucked a goose in her life and had a staff of many sixties to run the palace for her. No matter; preparations for a major festival like the Harvest Feast of Ucr still ran her as ragged as any peasant wife organizing a daughter's wedding. Paradoxically, the knowledge that Saltaja would be arriving tomorrow had turned out to be a blessing, in that Horold had flown into a panic and fled town. Confident that she would not be molested tonight, Ingeld retired early to her chamber and knelt in prayer before the hearth. The evening was chill, and she must soon order the shutters installed in the arches, but she hated to admit that winter was on its way.

  Even the scent of burning godswood did not quite mask the reek of Horold that now hung in her chamber. He would return. Like Benard, the satrap was slow to change course, but nothing would deflect him when his mind was made up. Three nights now he had forced himself on her. Fortunately he did not know the proper rites for what he wanted, but the goddess could always waive ritual. Each time Ingeld had cursed his seed so it could not quicken her womb, but each rejection had proved more difficult than the last. She was using the goddess's blessing to defeat the goddess's purpose, and obviously that course would not prosper long. Veslih was showing Her displeasure by refusing to answer Her Daughter's pleas for guidance. Flames leapt in endless play, bouncing shadows off the darkness but showing nothing. Nothing except Benard, that is, which was a reminder that Ingeld must find time to rescue him from the bloodsucking Nymph.

  Benard, Benard... Benard behind a bush? She knew that bush.

  She jumped up and swept out through the arches into the garden, shivering as the cold air struck her heated skin. He was sitting with his knees up and ankles crossed, huddled in a dark blanket, almost invisible under the leaves.

  "Just what do you think you are doing?"

  "Waiting."

  "Get up!"

  He rose, big and sheepish. The blanket cape did not quite conceal the shape at his side. Ingeld peeked and confirmed that he was armed with a dagger. A dagger with a jeweled hilt, no less.

  "Where did you get that?"

  He pulled the cloth from her fingers. "Borrowed it. How long until he gets here?"

  It was so pathetic she wanted to wrap him in her arms and comfort him like a child. Benard as killer? "Who told you?" she said.

  "Guthlag. The whole palace knows."

  "The whole palace knows my husband goes to his wife's bed? Is that so extraordinary in Kosord? Come inside before you catch cold."

  Benard said, "No!"

  "Sit here, then. You'll have a long wait. Horold has gone hunting. He won't be back before morning." She stepped over to a bench by the pool.

  He sat beside her, wrapping a meaty arm around her, so the blanket enclosed them both. "I am serious, Ingeld. I know you aren't accepting him voluntarily."

  "And you really think you would have a chance against him? Oh, Bena, Bena! Even if you could creep up on him when he's—busy, let's say—which you couldn't, and even if you stuck that knife in his back, it would not kill him. He'd battleform, heal the wound, tear you to pieces, and go back to what he was doing." She felt him shudder.

  But it was wonderful to have that arm around her, someone who really cared. Cutrath was long gone. The man she had married had been transformed into an animal. Bena was all she had left.

  "Surely your goddess doesn't expect you to endure that monster!" he said. "Can't you curse him—burn him or something?"

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. "My holy mistress would not approve of husband immolation as proper wifely behavior. Horold is within his rights and Veslih is on his side. No, listen!" she said as he tried to protest. "I'm getting old, Benard, but I still owe my city and my goddess a daughter to rule after me. Horold remembered that, or someone reminded him, and he wants to be her father. The seers will tell him whose child I bear."

  "Will they tell you what it's going to look like? Will it have hooves? Claws?"

  "If you're going to shout you'd better come inside." Ingeld rose and headed back to the hearth. She knelt on the rug, and a moment later Benard's big shape settled beside her. The firelig
ht made him seem haggard, as if he had not slept for days.

  "If you won't kill him or let me do it," he said gruffly, "I know how he can be distracted so he won't bother you."

  "How?"

  "I have a friend who's a Nymph. She says she can handle any Werist, no matter what it looks like."

  Now Ingeld was on safer ground. "Yes, I know all about your cuddly pet. Fortunately she cannot get into the palace. If the guard didn't stop her, holy Veslih would. I've been meaning to have a talk with you about her, Benard."

  "You needn't lecture me," he said grumpily. "It isn't what you think."

  "Yes it is. She's one of the nastiest gold diggers I've seen in all my years as dynast. She bleeds men dry. Believe me, Mistress Hiddi is going to be heading downriver very shortly."

  He sighed. "I know she's greedy. So let her loose on Horold! Let her loot the palace. At least your bedroom won't smell like a pigpen."

  "Stop that! You have no right to speak to me like that!"

  "Yes I do. I love you."

  "Benard!" Not daring to stay close to him, Ingeld scrambled to her feet and began to pace. If Horold asked the Witnesses what men had been in his wife's bedroom, what they had done, what they had said—they would tell him. "You love Hiddi, remember? And Horold would kill her!"

  "She swears he wouldn't. She says she's tamed much worse."

  "She's a Nymph, Benard. She's enthralled you."

  He snorted, a sound of exasperation. "She's done nothing of the kind! Hiddi is in love with me."

  "Grow up, Benard! Don't you know her corban is to forsake love? Unlimited lust, but no love; that's the bargain she made with her god."

  "Ingeld!" He spoke softly, but he was wearing his stubborn expression, watching intently as she circled the hearth. "I've never known you to be wrong like this before. Hiddi's corban is that she can never be loved, but she can love. She knows I can never love her. I'm sorry for her. We're good friends. I'm probably the only friend she has. Yes, we do what lovers do, but she knows it doesn't mean to me what it does to her."