Children of Chaos

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 firelight 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."

"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 mousy 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."