Children of Chaos

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 be 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.

Travel began to seem more appealing. The clothes were unfamiliar—the women wore neck-high robes, brighter and more elaborate than simple Skjaran wraps, the men mostly just pleated kilts. Hair was longer, smells were spicier, laughter louder, and even the alley dogs seemed to bark in an unfamiliar accent.

"I will be honest," Ingeld said, expertly driving, acknowledging the plaudits of the crowd, and making conversation, all at the same time. "My son is far from ready for marriage. A mother should not say such things, but five years would not be too long. Weru's training cultivates crass and overmuscled juvenile horrors. I was forced into marriage with one. Horold was a stunningly handsome man and certainly the pick of the litter, but life with him has not been easy." She bit her lip. "You know all about the children of Hrag, of course?"

"I understand that the sister rules the brothers, except maybe Stralg."

Golden eyes shot a sideways glance at Fabia. "Have you heard any rumors that the Queen of Shadows is not their sister?"

"No, my lady, I mean Ingeld ... What else could she be?"

Ingeld smiled softly at the alley ahead. "There are dark whispers that she is their mother, Hrag's widow. She has also borne four sons to Eide Ernson. Her remarkable preservation is taken as evidence that she is a Chosen."

"No one doubts that in Skjar."

"Chosen look after their own. She raised Horold. She can still terrify him. I am taking you to meet your brother. That is agreeable?"

"Oh, yes! I always hated being an only child, and now I learn of three brothers!"

"You did not know your history?"

Fabia told of her upbringing by the wealthy merchant and his Florengian wife, and what she officially knew of her past. She heard in turn about Benard's arrival as a stricken child and his blossoming into the finest artist in the city, perhaps in all Vigaelia.

"He is not the most practical of men, but we all love him," Ingeld concluded.

"I hope my return to Celebre will not put him in danger," Fabia said warily.

Another stab of the brilliant eyes: "I hope so, too. We must persuade him to accompany you to Tryfors for the wedding."

"Would he not be safer here?"

"No! Absolutely not. There he is. As you see, there is quite a lot of him."

The chariot had emerged onto empty ground, a sunburned weed patch beside a high, circular building. At the far corner three white statues stood incongruously in front of some sort of storage shed. Two men were working on them—a leggy Vigaelian boy and a Florengian. Fabia's heart was racing. Fable was about to become reality and produce a genuine, living, breathing brother.

The man had been crouching beside one of the figures, polishing its leg with a cloth and abrasive. He looked up, scowling angrily at the interruption. Then he rose, and she saw that he was not unusually tall, just very wide and thick... his black hairiness was barely concealed by a leather overall that seemed to be his only garment... dusty, sweaty, unshaven, unkempt. Unprepossessing. A quarry worker—with a wrist seal.

He saw Ingeld and a smile like summer sunrise turned him into a huge, overgrown boy, black stubble and all. As the lady skillfully brought the chariot to a halt without ever reaching for the brake, Benard's dark eyes switched to Fabia and stretched wide.

The apprentice came running forward, all awkward arms and legs and gaping smile. "My lady! Great honor.. ."

"Veslih bless you, Thod!" Ingeld said. "Will you water them for me? And walk them a little?" She accepted the boy's hand to descend and gave him the reins.

Fabia left the car without noticing she had done so. Benard was still staring at her as if she were a sending from the Dark One. She could do no better than stare back at him. Twenty-three was not really old at all. He had incredible arms ... wavy black hair down to his shoulders ... eyes black, lustrous.

She stopped just before she walked into him.

"Fabia?" he said in a sort of squeak.

"Brother!"

"Mother's eyes." He touched her face with a hairy knuckle. "Cheekbones from Father, but the rest is all Mother... They told me you were dead!"

"No one ever told me about you at all."

Whereupon Master Artist Celebre uttered a scream that raised pigeons from half Kosord. He grabbed his sister, swung her up like a child, spun around several times. Setting her down again, he kissed her and yelled, "Fabia, Fabia, Fabia, Fabia!" He was stronger than the Wrogg in flood and gentler than thistledown. Where had he been all her life? "Oh, Fabia!" He kissed her again.

Fabia's eyelids prickled painfully. She hugged him in return, and kissed him, all stubbly.

"You two know each other, I see," Ingeld remarked.

He roared, "Why didn't you tell me she was coming?" Which was no way to address the dynast.

"Because I didn't know. Are you going to crush her to death?"

He laughed and apologized and kissed Fabia yet again, all at once, and finally he let her go. For a moment it seemed as if he would grab Ingeld and kiss her also, but he remembered his manners and bowed low.

"Benard, you'd better know this right away. I told you your father is very sick. He may have returned to the womb already. Fabia is on her way home to Celebre."

His face went wooden. "Female succession? What of Dantio? Is he not the heir?"

"He's dead. You know that." She spoke to him like a mother or a teacher. "And it wouldn't necessarily be him, even if he weren't."

"You are not plotting to make me a doge, I hope?"

"Only the gods do miracles. Benard, Fabia is to marry Cutrath."

He turned almost as pale as a Vigaelian. He yelled, "No!"

"Benard—"

"No! No!"

Across the yard the echoes agreed, "No! No!"

"Benard—"

"No! I am her eldest surviving male relative and I absolutely forbid—"

"Don't be such a puddle-brained, idiotic—"

"Over my dead body and any other bodies I—"

Fabia concluded that they were not going to sit down in some comfortable, shady place for a family chat. Back in Skjar artists ranked just above laborers, well below merchants and artisans, while Ingeld sprang from a long line of royal foremothers—twelve generations in Kosord alone—yet here these two were screaming at each other like bazaar hucksters in a slow spell. Thod, walking the team slowly by, stared with owl eyes at the unseemly squabble.

One might conclude that Benard did not approve of Cutrath Horoldson and that Ingeld thought he was being unrealistic, but the quarrel had sprung up much too fast to be only that. Fabia had seen the same pattern in her friends, in her father's employees, and even in the riverfolk. She was almost certain that Benard and Ingeld were yelling about this because they dared not yell about some other, more important thing. Curious!

"You want my opinion?" she asked.

Benard wheeled on her. "No, I do not..."

Ingeld said, "You keep out of ... Yes, of course we do."

"Tell us, Sister," he said hastily.

"With no disrespect to your fine son, Ingeld, I will not marry a Werist. Any Werist. Benard, if Stralg wants to use me to control Celebre, then he will leave no rival claimants alive. Saltaja will see you dead before she leaves here, and yelling at each other won't help the situation."

The disputants eyed each other warily and declared a truce.

Benard folded his massive arms. "How do you plan to escape the Cutrath disaster?"

"I shall need your help. As my nearest male relative, you have a duty to escort me to Tryfors."

He pouted. "Satrap Horold would rather I remain here in Kosord, in an unmarked grave."

"We'll discuss it tonight," Ingeld said firmly. "Um, everything all right for tonight?"

He grinned with what seemed like sheer boyish glee. "She's willing!" He did not deign to explain to his sister who was willing to do what.

"Get your hair cut," Ingeld said, sounding more like a mother than dynast of the city. "I'll send a chariot for you. The brother of the bride must be present at the feast. Did your robe arrive? I'll send one for Thod, too!"

Benard's huge grin flashed back, wiping ten years from him. "He'll eat himself sick and his mother will die of pride!"

"That's what feasts are for." Ingeld waved to the boy to bring the chariot.

Fabia had just taken her first proper look at the three silent bystanders, the marble goddesses. Horth would give gold by the bucket for such art. "Benard, you carved these? But they're ... beyond words! Oh, I am so proud to have a brother who can do this. This is holy Mayn, of course? And this one? ..."