Children of Chaos tdb-1

by Dave Duncan

  "Indeed? And do you still have that gold Horold gave you?"

  "Don't be absurd! I couldn't keep that. Wealth is my corban. I gave it to the goddess."

  "Which goddess?" Ingeld demanded triumphantly.

  "Mine, of course! I cast a hawk."

  "You did what?" Her confidence wavered.

  "I made a rough clay likeness of a hawk, her symbol," Benard explained happily, "and coated it with wax. I carved the wax to show the details, covered it with more clay and baked it in my kiln, so the wax ran out. Then I poured the gold in and cast the hawk. I gave it to Anziel at her shrine. It was very good."

  A masterpiece, no doubt, hidden in some secret chapel, never to be seen by extrinsics. "I suppose you visit Hiddi just so the two of you can be sorry for her together?"

  Benard shrugged. "I've been redecorating her house, replacing a mosaic, organizing—"

  "At night?"

  "I can't paint by candlelight, but mosaic's easy because I remember what color the tiles are in daylight. I get a lot more done when Hiddi isn't there." He smiled apologetically. "I'm an initiate, Ingeld. I bed her, but I don't worship her goddess with her. I couldn't even make love to you in this room anymore—because of that." He pointed to Eriander in the frieze of the Bright Ones.

  It was almost unknown for a man to resist a Nymph, but perhaps Benard's unshakable innocence could impress even the likes of Hiddi. His haggard look came from working day and night.

  Ingeld had wandered too close. Benard caught her wrist and pulled her down into an embrace. She was much too aware of his strength, his maleness. He kissed her and she did not resist. It was not a sisterly kiss.

  "Run away with me, Ingeld. Go tonight. By the time he gets back tomorrow, we could be long out of the seers' seeing range."

  Merciful Mother! Had she been misreading the auguries? All her training, all her experience, taught her that the city's welfare must come first. Kosord was everything; her own comfort or preferences counted for nothing. Was the goddess offering to make an exception now?

  He felt her shock. "What's wrong?"

  "I tried to send you away once and you couldn't bear to leave your precious statues."

  He scoffed. "Statues? Statues? You think I care about the statues? We'll stop by the yard on the way and I'll smash them to gravel for you. It was you I wouldn't leave, and if you won't leave with me now, or can't leave, then I am going to kill Horold."

  "You mean this, Benard? You really, truly still want an old woman like me? You haven't grown out of it?"

  His response was to kiss her again, even more thoroughly. He needed a shave, but he kissed very expertly. She could not have broken free of his embrace had she wanted to. She didn't want to. His strength was gentle, nothing like Horold's brutality. It was years since she had been kissed like that. She had forgotten how sweet it was, but her heart had not forgotten how to respond.

  "Oh, this is crazy!" she muttered when it was over. She did not want it to be over. "Horold will send Werists upstream and downstream. Anyone who looked at me would know I'm a Daughter. We'd never get away, love." She would be dragged back and Benard would die.

  "Tomorrow night!" Benard said firmly. "I'll hire a fast boat. No, I'll get Guthlag to do it—I'm hopeless at haggling. We'll slip away during the feast. No one will know I've gone, because Guthlag won't be there to tell them, and we'll get Hiddi to distract Horold. It'll be a sixday before anyone dares tell him."

  This was starting to make terrible sense! Her heart was racing. "Saltaja's coming. We foresee her arriving tomorrow."

  "Even better. The old hag'll keep him even more occupied. Ingeld!" This decisive Benard was strangely unlike his usual impractical self. "Can you leave Kosord with me? You've always said one menzil was the farthest—"

  "There may be a way," she admitted. It was madness, total Eriander madness, but it seemed to be what the fires were telling her, and there was a way to test it. "How did you get in here?"

  "Through the gate, of course."

  Benard was greatly favored by his goddess. Anziel would grant requests from him that other artists would never dream of asking. She would reveal shapes inside solid rock to him, open locked doors for him. He lived in a shed and gave Her golden hawks.

  "Do you know the treasury of sacred vessels?"

  He shrugged. "Yes. Haven't been inside it since I was a tad."

  "Can you get in there without anyone knowing?"

  "Why do I want to?"

  "I'll explain later. It's very important. We'll be opening it before the feast tomorrow, but at the moment it's still sealed. You have to be able to close it up when you leave so that no one will know it's been opened."

  He sat in silence and stillness for a dozen heartbeats, then muttered, "It's been so long ... There's a cord on the inside of the door going up through the roof." He was seeing that in his memory. "It must lead to one of the bells outside the guard room. I'd have to ask Her to unhook that, or I'll find myself neck-deep in Werists. And the ropes across the door are sealed?"

  "Yes. Three seals." Three wads of dried clay on the knots, each marked with seven or eight people's wrist seals. He would have to moisten the back of each seal, remove it without cracking it, and then stick it back afterward. No mortal could do that without divine aid. But Benard's deft fingers could turn lumps of clay into flowers or butterflies or likenesses of friends.

  "She may do that for me, if I ask properly."

  "Go, then!" she said. "Hide that stupid dagger somewhere. If you find you can't get in, come back here. Otherwise I'll see you in the treasury when ..." She jumped up, led him over to the arches, and pointed to the stars. "When Ishniar is overhead. Will that be time enough?"

  "Plenty." He kissed her again and again she melted like a dewy maiden at her betrothal. Oh, it had been so long!

  "Don't get yourself killed, love!" she said, but he had gone.

  ♦

  Never had the sky turned slower. Ingeld fidgeted and fretted, paced, tried to pray. She could see nothing in the embers, which was hardly surprising in her jittery state. There was no real danger, she told herself over and over—no real danger as long as Benard had remembered to dispose of the dagger. If the guards heard the bell and went to investigate, they would merely arrest him and shut him up in a dungeon overnight—as long as he didn't try anything stupid, like trying to knife a Werist. It was her palace, so when the prisoner was brought before her, she would just pardon him.

  The stars had frozen in place. She went to kneel before the embers. She was tempted to make a vow that she would not move from there until Veslih showed her it was time to go, but threatening goddesses was never wise. And then, as if her goddess had taken pity on her, she saw him. He was kneeling by a door, patiently working on the lowermost seal on the crisscrossed ropes. He had ajar, a lamp, and a cloth—and the dagger! He was gently loosening the clay on the back of the seal. The other two seemed to have gone already. She watched in terror. The guards were supposed to patrol the palace all night long, but she knew they rarely bothered to visit the cellars, and with Horold out of town they would be even less vigilant than usual.

  Benard lifted away the third seal and set it down a safe distance from the door. He began untying the ropes. All he had to do now was pull the bolt and haul the door open. He must be confident that the bell cord on the other side had come untied. Or perhaps mice had already chewed through it, because holy Veslih must be cooperating in this, two goddesses combining to foil the god of war.

  Ingeld jumped to her feet, snatched up a dark gown, and ran out into the anteroom. The palace was dark and silent. Steering mostly by memory and fingers trailing on the wall, she hastened to the Daughters' chapel. Tene and an acolyte were on duty there. Their alarm and guilt as they sprang up suggested that they had been very close to asleep, but that was good news, for it meant that there had been no alarming sightings.

  "I shall keep the vigil for a time," Ingeld said, and swept on into the adytum. No one argued, especially the m
ousy little acolyte keeping watch over the sacred fire. Ingeld chased her out also. Let them wonder! A city dynast need not explain her decisions to anyone.

  She closed the heavy, bronze-scrolled door, locking it with bolts hidden within the tracery. She dropped her cloak around her and knelt to offer a wordless prayer. No calm needed now. Calm would be out of place, and the flames were full of joy—showing Benard also, of course, but mostly joy and celebration. So she had read the auguries correctly and divined why Benard Celebre was so important to Kosord. What would happen after tonight she could not see. No boats. No dead bodies, either, but no promises that her lover would live even until dawn. He was about to fulfill his destiny. He might hold no interest for the gods after that.

  The Holy Keeper had made Her will known, and Her light must obey.

  Ingeld rose and crossed to the secret panel. The little hatch was heavier than she remembered it on the day her mother had shown it to her. She pressed on one side, pushing hard, sinking her bare feet into the rugs. When it had turned on its central pivot far enough to show a crack along either edge, Benard's thick fingers appeared beside hers, and hauled.

  The floor of the treasury was lower, so he was looking up at her. His eyes went wide with astonishment, black crystal with the sacred flames dancing in them. He stared at the central hearth and the five dark-tiled walls rising into mystery.

  "Where?"

  "It is the adytum of Veslih, Her holy of holies."

  He bit his lip. "I may not enter such a place. It is forbidden to me."

  "That is possible," she admitted. "But did not your goddess open the treasury door for you?"

  "So She did!" He smiled the huge grin she always associated with young Bena, softening his blocky face back to boyishness.

  When he started to move, she put out a hand to stop him.

  "Wait! Benard, only once in a generation may a man enter this room, and for only one purpose. You must enter unclothed and here give your seed to Veslih, renouncing all claim on the child you will sire. Do you accept those terms?"

  He stared at her in disbelief, working it out, then nodded. Then his eyes narrowed. "You will use me to block Horold. I don't mind that, but you promised we would go away."

  "So we shall. This must come first."

  His smile twisted with a young man's lechery, so that he was again the adolescent lover she remembered. He fumbled at his waist. "Can I try for twins?"

  How typical! Despite the solemnity of the moment, she laughed. "You have all night. Go for triplets if you're man enough."

  She shed her robe and returned to the brazier. By then he had stripped and clambered up; he closed the panel with no obvious effort. He knelt beside her, unashamedly aroused.

  "You're sure I'm not too old to interest you?" she said.

  "Do I look as if I had doubts? Oh, Ingeld! This time forever?"

  "Forever," she promised. "As long as the gods allow."

  Arms embraced, lips met, she closed her eyes.

  There was a little more lovers' babble: "You make me feel like a girl again."

  "You taught me how to be a man."

  "All these years? All those women?—and don't deny them—and yet you want me again?"

  "I never stopped wanting you. They were all you. And none of them was."

  Then no more words.

  ♦

  Horold's savagery had left her sore, but even as a youth, Benard had always been a careful lover. And a playful one. No doubt all previous impregnations performed in this chamber had been cold-blooded ritual, dour state consorts doing their duty, but Benard as lover could never be anything but joyful. He teased and tickled and tongued her until he had her helplessly aroused, gasping and pleading for release. And perhaps the goddess added Her approval, for when the ecstasy came, it was inexpressibly prolonged and sweet, as if all the years of denial were being rewarded in one single, overpowering passion.

  ♦

  Later, while he was leaning on an elbow, studying her body by firelight and tracing out its contours with fingertips, he said, "Holy Veslih must have kept you young for this. You haven't changed at all! If you had gained one wrinkle I would notice."

  "I enjoy flattery more than I used to. You've changed, though. You're bigger and cuddlier and a lot hairier."

  "And I have more stamina."

  "I doubt that," she said. "But I'm willing to be persuaded."

  "In a moment. Explain why this was necessary."

  "I think you know. What was your mother's name?"

  "Oliva. Why?"

  "Part of the ritual. And now I can leave Kosord, because Horold will kill Oliva if he finds out she's yours, and obviously she cannot flee without taking me with her."

  He touched tongue to nipple. "What absurd logic! But I'm not complaining." He nibbled, sucked, inspected his handiwork. "I think we can start work on the second triplet now."

  twenty-eight

  FABIA CELEBRE

  said softly, "In Kosord, Father, you must visit the Jade Bowl."

  For days she had been seeking a chance to pass on the Witness's advice. Now the two of them were leaning on the gunwale, in the bows where the wind would carry her whisper away, and no one was watching them except a snoopy white bird on the fore post. All other eyes were on the landing ahead as Beloved of Hrada eased in toward the bustling waterfront of Kosord.

  "What is the Jade Bowl?"

  "I have no idea. A friend told me." She considered telling him that there would be no wedding yet, and decided that the risk was not worth it. He would learn that in a few minutes.

  Horth was still a man of infinite surprises. His pale eyes appraised her narrowly. "Did this friend also mention Huntleader Hrothgatson?"

  Perag had died after three days of agony, which was what he had inflicted on Paola.

  "The subject may have been raised."

  Horth sighed and went back to studying the front. She realized that he would not comment further, neither now nor ever. Lately she had seen the truth in Master Pukar's warning that Horth Wigson refused to know things he did not wish to know. Marriage to a Chosen must require some such denial.

  "It seems we were expected," he said.

  "I expect the Bright Ones are watching over us."

  Horth just frowned.

  Fabia was unimpressed by her first view of Kosord. The high palace was imposing and the unfamiliar vegetation added an exotic touch, but the city itself was only a shaggy, overgrown thatched village, unworthy of its ancient fame. The waterfront was an elongated madhouse bazaar, although part of the confusion was being caused by an honor guard of Werists, which was seriously disrupting traffic. Brazen notes of trumpets had already greeted Saltaja's disembarkation from Blue Ibis. Some god had forewarned the satrap of their arrival. He was greeting his sister; the woman beside him was no doubt his wife, Fabia's mother-in-law-elect.

  She walked up the plank behind Horth and Ern, with Cnurg breathing on the back of her head as usual, to meet a monster that could only be Horold Hragson—a boar pretending to be a man; or a man and several boars mashed into one. Saltaja was a tall woman, but she seemed like a child beside him as she waved Horth aside when he would have made obeisance. Fabia genuflected to the satrap. Streets were never exactly fragrant, but there was a particularly horrible local stench somewhere nearby.

  "Rise!" He leered around his tusks at her. "You are welcome to our realm, young mistress." His voice grated like a corn mill. "And to our family, also."

  "Eventually," Saltaja said. She was dangerously displeased. "Your bridegroom has gone on upriver, child."

  "Left for the Edgelands about a thirty ago," the satrap rasped. "Hot blood, you know. Eager to get to the war."

  "Alas!" Needing to look relieved-pretending-to-be-disappointed, Fabia sent a quick appeal for aid to the Mother of Lies.

  "We shall follow and hope to catch up before he leaves Tryfors," Saltaja proclaimed. "Acting Packleader Ern, inform the boat masters that their continued service is required. They will b
e paid when we reach Tryfors, with an extra measure of silver apiece. Post guards to make sure they do not slip away in the night. We shall embark at dawn tomorrow." Her orders sounded like military bugle calls.

  "Ah... feast of Ucr begins tonight," Horold protested.

  "You expect me to cook for it? Carry on, Packleader."

  "As my lady commands. Um..." Ern gulped nervously. "The masters will need funds for rations."

  "Horold, have the boats provisioned."

  Fabia was amused to watch the ogre flinch. He was just as afraid of his sister as the youth was.

  "Don't I get to meet my future daughter-in-law?" The woman who spoke was a human flame in red-gold robes almost the same shade as her hair, younger than Fabia had expected; her smile lit up the plains. She was obviously a Daughter of Veslih, and in this case dynast of Kosord, but she embraced Fabia before she could drop into a curtsy.

  "This is wonderful news! You are very lovely, my dear. My son is indeed fortunate! We all are, for Benard has always been one of the family to us, and now he really will be, as your brother." The lady's eyes twinkled like golden gems as she added, "And I know how heartbroken you must be to hear that you have missed Cutrath."

  Such teasing could be a trap, but even without Witness Mist's testimonial, Fabia would have trusted this woman. "Marriage is a daunting prospect, my lady."

  "Benard calls me Ingeld. So must you. Horold, Fabia can ride with me. You two will have much to discuss—Sister?"

  Saltaja merely shrugged.

  Ingeld glanced around at the mass of Werists, both homegrown and newly disembarked. She tossed her red-gold tresses in disgust. "Call them off, Horold. Nobody's going to be running away. Come, Fabia."

  Horth had apparently been forgotten and had already made good use of the situation by disappearing. With sudden dismay, Fabia wondered if he might just vanish out of her life, so that he could never again be used as a hostage against her.

  She had no time to worry, for in moments she found herself standing in a splendid chariot of gilded bent-wood, drawn by two sprightly piebald onagers. The lady drove fast and skillfully along the winding, crowded alleys, but already it was evident that Ingeld would do everything skillfully. People cheered as she went by, some fell on their knees, and youngsters ran ahead to clear the way for her. No one ever cheered Saltaja! There was not a guard in sight.