Children of Chaos tdb-1

by Dave Duncan

  Dantio said, "There are other eunuchs in the... in the cult... We don't make them, but we take them in."

  Fabia went to put her arms around him. "I thought you witnessed that Dantio died?"

  "I did," the seer told the plaster. "I was going to tell you, truly I was. I wanted to get this all settled first."

  Shamefaced, Benard scooped up the veil he had dropped, offered it. Dantio took it without looking around and covered his head again.

  "I do think," Orlad sneered, "my duty requires me to warn my liege lord that the Celebre hostages are loose and dangerous. They may even gang up on him! An artist, a girl, and a gelding! He will be terrified."

  Fists clenched, Benard strode over. "Shut your foul face!"

  "Or what, brother?" Orlad said softly, eyes gleaming.

  Caution cooled Benard's rage. Any Werist thug would relish a brawl after an emotional beating like the one Dantio had just administered. This young monster had obviously fought his share and more in the past; dangerous in many ways now, he should be placated. But Benard was too disgusted to try.

  "You should have fought sooner, Hero."

  "Meaning what, Hand?"

  "Meaning that what they did to Dantio is no worse than what they did to you. You didn't fight the foe, you joined him! You believed his lies and adopted his vile ways. You betrayed Florengia."

  The kid flushed. "Hold your tongue, artist, or I'll strangle you with it. At least he must have come by his wounds honorably. You're a human puffball, not fighting on either side, blowing in the wind. From now on remember to address me as 'my lord.' I won't warn you again." He stepped over to the table and peered in the wine jug. "Hey, No-balls, how much of this sewage would make me spew just a little?"

  Dantio turned, anonymous again. "Impossible to say. Just one mouthful might. Don't go back, Orlad! Please don't go back! They really mean to kill you tomorrow."

  Without a word, the Werist splashed some wine into a beaker and raised it in a toast. "To holy Demeter, Who witnesses all oaths!" He tossed it back. "Not bad!" He paused with his hand on the latch and seemed to reflect. "I gave you my word, so I won't report your nasty little treason. I am not an oath-breaker."

  "Don't go!" Fabia said.

  "Please don't go!" Benard said.

  The warrior scowled. "Speaking to me?"

  "My lord, if it makes you happy. Please don't go, my lord. We are your family and we want you. Siblings may bicker among themselves, but they help one another."

  "You can be chief pallbearer." Orlad walked out, closing the door quietly.

  Fabia hugged Dantio again. "What's he planning?"

  "Gods know. He doesn't. He's wildly unstable."

  "Hardly surprising!" Benard slumped down on the platform edge and put his head in his hands. "He ought to go after Therek and wring his neck."

  "He's misguided," the seer said, "not evil. Doing what he's been brought up to respect. Except now they won't let him."

  "And tomorrow?" Fabia asked.

  "Tomorrow?" Dantio sighed. "He didn't drink very much of the wine. If he has to, he will die to prove his loyalty. But Flankleader Leorth may find he has quite a fight on his paws. Orlad has nothing in the world to value except his prowess as a Hero. He'll be no easy victim." The return of anonymity seemed to have restored Dantio's confidence. He retrieved his distaff and spindle from the floor. "Please forgive my exhibition earlier. I didn't expect so much pity."

  Benard did not think he had felt pity, not at first. Repugnance, more like—deliberate mutilation of the human body was a desecration of everything he held holy. He glanced at Fabia, and saw his own guilt reflected. He said, "Brother... I am truly sorry. I should not have unmasked you."

  "No, I should have told you who I was... am. I was planning to, just not yet. It was stupid of me to wait."

  "Who did it—Saltaja?"

  "Not personally. Her orders."

  "But all the seers—even you—said you were dead. Even Saltaja believed you."

  "No. We never report that Dantio is dead, only that Dantio died. I did die. It is a long and sad story, not for telling now."

  "I knew Mist was one of the riverfolk," Fabia said. "But I only considered the women. A Florengian, a man, a slave. No wonder I didn't spot you!"

  "It can be handy at times," the seer said in a voice dry enough to empty the Wrogg. "We must make plans. Please, both of you ... will you keep my secret a little longer? Exposing me may confuse the issues we must discuss."

  Benard and Fabia said "Of course!" together. He added, "Family secret!," and she said, "Where is Horth?"

  "He's here." Dantio chuckled shakily. "Ucr is just a little slower than Anziel at opening jails." He held the door for Fabia. "Bena—those window bars you ... your goddess . .. removed for you—would She put them back, too?"

  "She might. Why?"

  "Just to upset Saltaja. Petty of me, I'm afraid."

  Benard thought about it. "The building must look very unbalanced without them. I can ask."

  forty-one

  INGELD NARSDOR,

  truant light of Veslih on Kosord, self-exiled dynast of that city, runaway wife of its satrap, and cradle-robbing mistress of Master Artist Celebre, was indulging herself by munching yet another peach, her fourth since she had refused the evening meal. Just to be ashore again was pure delight. To be under a roof, dry and snug before a crackling fire, and with someone new to talk to, was unimaginable heaven. Her hostess on the other side of the hearth, Witness Poppy, was probably the light of Mayn on Tryfors, although no one had said so and she clearly deferred—like everyone in this curious secret warren—to Witness Mist, who had arrived that morning and was presently elsewhere. Ingeld did not particularly care where, except that Benard had gone with her and might therefore be in danger. She did not know how many of the dozen or so residents of the refuge were Witnesses. All of them, veiled or unveiled, were friendly, courteous people. She had always thought of seers as vile snoops and sneaks, Stralg lackeys, without seriously considering that they might hate their servitude.

  "Matters came to a head this spring," Poppy said. She rarely directed her words to her listener, but rather turned her head at random as if she studied events unfolding far beyond the walls. The timbre of her voice confirmed that she was old, but clearly her mind was sharp as a thorn. "The previous Eldest died, although the news has not long reached us in Tryfors. It was she, Witness Raven, who had made the compact with Stralg, years ago. I would not reveal more, but since you are suddenly caught up in hectic events, you deserve to understand the source of your danger."

  The source of Ingeld's danger was her insane love for Benard, absurd though it was in a woman her age. "I shall not betray your confidence."

  "The cult has long been divided over our support of Stralg. Most were content to obey the Eldest's dictum that we must wait for his death, which cannot now be long in coming. Then the infamous compact would also die and set us free. Mist's faction argues that the greatest power behind Stralg is not Weru, who may be very terrible but is still one of the Twelve. They hold to the opinion that Saltaja Hragsdor is a Chosen of the Foul One."

  Poppy's lecture was interrupted by an ear-destroying roar, which could have been the sound of a felled forest giant parting from its stump, but was in fact merely a reminder that Packleader Guthlag lay stretched out on the sleeping platform. He had celebrated his disembarkation with several bowls of beer and in at least one of the Sixty Ways available next door.

  "She is my sister-in-law," Ingeld said, "and that would not surprise me at all. But surely you can tell?"

  "Never with certainty," Poppy told the fireplace. "Much of her life is hidden from us, but we cannot prove that this is the Ancient One's doing. Also, the powers of chthonians seem to vary."

  "They live long lives?"

  "There are records of some doing so. Since we can rarely identify them, those that we can may be exceptions."

  Ingeld said cautiously, "In my experience Saltaja has always seemed much clev
erer than any of her brothers, and I've met all of them. She may well be the genius behind the bloodlord."

  "Did you ever meet Hrag?"

  "No. I met all his children, but he himself was never mentioned."

  "It is curious," the old lady said, nodding, "that we can find no record of his death, but the present Eldest, like her predecessor, refuses to listen to arguments not based on proven fact."

  "Mist is the chief of the rebels?"

  Poppy allowed herself a discreet chuckle. "There can be no rebellion when the Eldest's authority is absolute and no secrets are hidden from her. She is aware of our discontent and ignores it, although we represent a majority of our order. Mist is best described as our most outspoken spokesman for our views. We maintain that the evidence linking the Hrag family to the Old One is strong enough to nullify the treaty, while recognizing that revocation by us will undoubtedly engender drastic retaliation from the Werists."

  "Their revenge may be very terrible," Ingeld agreed. She bent to toss her peach pit in the fire and flinched as an image of Horold flashed out at her. She threw the pit at it. How long until he caught her? She savored every moment of her freedom with Benard, knowing how brief it must be. She lay awake at nights listening to his soft breathing, feeling the heat of his body, worrying over the inevitable vengeance bearing down on them.

  "We are about to have company," the seer said before the door opened behind her—nobody knocked on doors in the lodge. A small, middle-aged man walked in and peered around nervously. The door closed behind his back.

  The seer did not turn. "Welcome, Master Wigson. I seldom need a name, but when I do I am Poppy. My lady, this is Horth Wigson, Fabia's foster father ... Lady Ingeld, Daughter of Veslih, dynast of Kosord."

  "I am indeed honored!" He bowed to each in turn.

  Ingeld was surprised. She understood that Horth Wigson was one of the wealthiest men on the Vigaelian Face, if not the wealthiest, and had built his fortune entirely with his wits. This newcomer seemed impossibly insignificant. He had a head like an inverted pear that would barely come up to her shoulder if she stood, and he tapered downward from there, stooped and wizened. True, she would not expect a merchant to be built like a Werist—or a sculptor—but surely there should be a flash of razor intelligence lurking in unfathomably calculating eyes? This man's eyes were as banal as boiled wrens' eggs.

  "I understand that you have just been rescued from the satrap's cells, Master Wigson," she said. "I congratulate you on your escape."

  "Oh, er, thank you, my lady."

  "Fabia has also been released and is here in the lodge."

  "So I am told." Wigson blinked like a bewildered owl.

  "We have very effective friends here."

  Poppy sniffed pettishly. "The Witnesses had nothing to do with Master Wigson's departure from the palace dungeons. He organized that himself. We merely intercepted him on the street and offered to bring him to a safe place to meet with Fabia."

  "I am doubly impressed, Ucrist!" Ingeld said. "I understood you arrived in Tryfors only this morning and were thrown in jail right away."

  He should not have had time to organize anything on such short notice, let alone a jailbreak. He did not explain. In the absence of a vacant seat, he perforce remained standing, hands clasped in front of him like a child reciting lessons.

  Guthlag released another stupendous snore.

  "He set it up when he was in Kosord," Poppy said. "His accomplices there sent a fast boat ahead of him to enlist the help of our local harbor master, who tailors the seamy underside of Tryfors. Wigson made himself known by an agreed signal on the strand this morning, and later the harbor master bribed the night guards to release him. He also provided Horth with several curious items not readily available in the bazaar, didn't he, Master Wigson?"

  "Indeed he did, Witness." Horth smiled shyly, showing no surprise or alarm at having his secrets thus exposed, which was evidence of commendable control, if not necessarily razor intelligence.

  Ingeld did not inquire what those curious items might be. "And how do you propose to remain at large when the satrap discovers your absence?"

  "My plans were still, er, fluid, my lady. I had originally hoped that Frena and I could escape tonight by boat. Alas, whereas I was merely in the town jail, I discovered that she was being held in the palace proper, guarded by Werists. Polytheists can be bribed, Heroes cannot. I was balked. Naturally, I was overjoyed to learn that she had already been, um ... sprung." His wishy-washy smile faded on and off. "So I cannot answer your question, my lady. I do not know what is going on."

  "You are not the only one, although I expect our hostess can tell us?"

  "In good time," Poppy snapped. "Fabia is on her way here. She has been meeting with the youngest of her brothers, who has proved to be a very stubborn young man."

  "You amaze me. Benard has a head of solid brass."

  Wigson cleared his throat. "Frena herself can be quite determined at times."

  On cue, Fabia burst in the door and hurled herself at him. "Father! Oh, you're safe! I was so worried!"

  And so on. She was taller than he was and certainly louder. No doubt she had the makings of a charming young lady, if she could just be taken in hand by someone with suitable knowledge and skill... plus a strong arm and a switch. Someone like Ingeld herself. About three years should do it.

  "It is known that you met Lady Ingeld in Kosord," Poppy said.

  "I did have that honor." Fabia bobbed to Ingeld.

  "Then why," the seer persisted, "are you not surprised to meet her here, so far from home? Did Benard mention her to you?"

  "After what I have seen tonight, I shall never be surprised by anything. Here he is!"

  Benard shambled in, reacting to the sight of Ingeld by turning on his goofiest grin. It was less convincing than usual. He was upset by something—so much so that he was trying to hide his feelings, for once.

  "No luck with Orlando?" she asked.

  "Like making soup with live cats." Scowling, he flopped down on the floor beside her stool. "It's horrible, what they've done to him. He's become a death-before-dishonor fanatic!"

  "I know someone who was prepared to die for his art."

  "No, you don't." He leaned back against her leg. In Ingeld's wildest nightmares she could never imagine Horold sitting at her feet like this. Moving to pat his shoulder in motherly fashion, she was annoyed to discover that her hand held a half-eaten peach. The empty basket he had just pushed aside had contained at least a dozen when it arrived. They were small, but why did Oliva have this mad craving for peaches?

  Ingeld moved the fruit to her other hand and stroked the nape of Benard's neck. She felt the tension knots there, despite his pretense of calm, and wished she were alone with him so she could knead them away. Never in her life had she been a clinging vine. It was as if her departure from her city had changed her into another person altogether—not necessarily one she approved of, just one she was insanely happy to be, at least for now. Love!

  A Witness tall enough to be Mist entered and closed the door. The little room was now very crowded. Fabia, lacking a proper seat, pouted and perched on the edge of the sleeping platform beside the rumbling Guthlag. Wigson clasped his hands behind his back again. The newcomer remained standing where she was.

  "I am Mist. You all know one another. I suggest we pool our resources, because cooperation will help all our causes. Let us begin by stating our aims, to make sure they do not conflict. The Witnesses—those in our faction—wish to hasten the downfall of the Fist and all he stands for. Lady Ingeld?"

  Ingeld decided she hated all masked women. "Benard and I seek a comfortable hiding place where we may live in peace. I have left my husband. Holy Veslih warns that he is following me."

  "Satrap Horold is unlikely to find you without the aid of seers, so you must favor our revolution. Master Wigson, what do you seek?"

  The little man shrugged. "Happiness ..." He paused as if waiting for someone to protest that he wa
s a Ucrist, then smiled and added, "for Frena. With respect, Lady Ingeld, my foster daughter does not wish to marry your noble son."

  "No offense taken." It would be harder to imagine a less promising match than those two.

  He bowed. "On the other hand, if she is entitled to succeed to the throne of a great city, then I should be very selfish if I did not do everything in my power to assist her achieve this goal."

  The girl smirked, no doubt contemplating the prospect of Celebre without Cutrath.

  Poppy uttered a snort almost as loud as Guthlag's snores, apparently indicating disbelief. "Does that explain why your purchases from the harbor master included a packet of marsh calabar seeds?"

  Ingeld suspected that the old lady's obvious dislike of Horth stemmed from frustrated nosiness. If Veslih and Xaran could block the seers' sight, it was a reasonable assumption that Ucr could.

  "Not a fatal dose," the merchant retorted blandly.

  "Physic may have unpredictable effects in the Edgelands."

  "Just what is marsh whatever-you-said?" asked Benard from the floor.

  "A medicinal herb. In excess it causes a severe loss of muscle tone, which can last for half a year or longer. Crossing the Edge is a severe test of endurance. Furthermore, in males, calabar may cause prolonged penile dysfunction."

  Horth, Ingeld was pleased to see, was carefully not looking in her direction. She would just hate for him to catch her eye and drop dead. She would strangle him later.

  Minx Fabia smirked shamelessly.

  Poppy continued her interrogation. "In your private conversation with the harbor master, you questioned him at length about Varakats."

  "Varakats?" Horth repeated vaguely. "There is nothing illegal in discussing Varakats, is there? A very beautiful mountain, I am told. My eyes are not what they used to be." Most people when threatened turned either very red or very pale. This little man remained unruffled, maintaining his mousy pose—which the seer obviously thought concealed a rat.

  "That depends on what is discussed. You also asked about High Timber. You were trying to lay a false trail to mislead us Witnesses and hence divert Satrap Therek tomorrow."