Children of Chaos

twenty-nine

INGELD NARSDOR

whipped up the team and sent the chariot rattling across the yard. That had gone very well. She had not blushed like a child on seeing her lover and Benard had behaved himself as well as could be expected. Fabia could have no reason to guess their secret.

"Does he remember?" the girl asked.

"Remember what?"

"His parents giving him away—our parents."

"Yes he does. It scarred him terribly. The first time I met him, he was curled up in a ball. It was a sixday before he would uncurl long enough to feed himself." For a thirty or so, she had been the only person who could get him to straighten out. A year later—when he had finally stopped following her around the palace all the time, when he would sometimes talk with other people, even play with other children—any mention of his family, his home, the war, any of those, and he would promptly just curl up again. On some level, he was still doing it.

Fabia said, "Is he bitter?"

"Very."

"I don't. Remember, I mean. I was a baby."

"Of course not. Curse my sister-in-law! She is going to drag you away before we can even begin to get to know each other." But Fabia's arrival could have been a serious impediment to the lovers' planned flight, for she would certainly notice their disappearance, even if everyone else was too busy partying. So bless Saltaja for whipping her away again so promptly! "And you'll miss most of the feast. You don't have to eat until you're sick, but you are entirely free to do so."

The girl laughed, neither too much nor too little. She was strong and deep-breasted, not sylphlike like Benard's goddesses, but she sparkled with youth and health, and her royal breeding showed in poise and diffidence, wit and intelligence. Broad shoulders must run in the family. She would be wasted on Cutrath, who had not yet discovered that women had uses outside bedrooms.

Fabia might also be a spoiled brat, accustomed to getting her own way, overindulged by a wealthy father. Her demand that Benard drop everything to escort her, while not absurd, could have been more tactfully phrased. Her flat assertion that she would never marry a Werist was as unrealistic as some of his crazier logic. It was a rare bride who had any say in the selection of her husband, and girls with dynastic claims never did, as Ingeld well knew. Fabia would be taken to Tryfors under guard, and there her choice would be wedding ring with or without thumbscrews.

"Benard is stubborn, isn't he?" Fabia asked.

"Bena? Why, he flows as smoothly as the Wrogg."

"And only one way?" She was quick.

"Exactly one." Ingeld waved to acknowledge cheers. "He refuses to see trouble until he steps in it. Who was the man who came with you?"

"My foster father, Horth Wigson. Saltaja brought him along as hostage for the hostage. I suspect Eide is currently looting his home and business."

"Very likely. I saw him dissolve into the crowd. It was smoothly done." His absence might tempt Fabia to try an escape, Ingeld thought, and wondered if the girl knew how dangerous Saltaja Hragsdor was. "Will he be all right?"

"He will own half of Kosord within the year."

It was Ingeld's turn to laugh. "We have Ucrists here, too." Fabia's grin was impish. "Pity them."

♦

Ingeld swept into the palace like a spring flood. She summoned the flankleader of the palace guard; sent for a pair of golden rods; committed Fabia to the tender care of San-sya, who rushed her away, both of them chattering happily in Florengian; established that Saltaja had been given a room but was now closeted with Horold and thus safely out of the way; ascertained that preparations for the feast were in full roar, with edible meats due almost at once; added Thod to the list of honored guests to receive festive wreaths and robes; and settled a dozen other problems.

By then she had reached her chamber. She tossed a handful of godswood on the smoldering coals in the brazier and paced a few lengths while she went over her escape plan. She could not hope to deceive the Witnesses, but they never volunteered information. By the time Horold got around to asking questions, she should be far, far away.

Two youngsters knelt in the doorway, each clutching a gilded baton.

"Come in." She smiled to put them at ease. Neither was known to her and they were both so sweaty and dusty that they had obviously been working hard already, but she had expected as much today, which was one reason why she had summoned two. The other reason was that two rods made a message an affair of state.

"Both of you to High Priest Nrakfin," she said. "Make sure there are other priests in attendance, understand?"

They both nodded and the taller boy smiled slightly, so she need not labor the point. Nrakfin's aides would see that her commands were obeyed.

"Say to him: "The Nymph of holy Eriander known as Hiddi, who dwells in the Lesser Street of Silversmiths, has given grave affront to holy Veslih. The woman must be brought in penitent garb to the Shrine of Repentance and our gravest ban shall fall on any who delay her.' Repeat."

They parroted it back, watching each other's lips for timing.

"Good. Go."

They did not merely go; they fled. It must be ten years since Ingeld had threatened anyone with exile, and old Nrakfin would gibber if he understood. His aides would pass the thunderbolt on to the light of Eriander, and it would be up to her to deliver the package.

Flankleader Guthlag was next, beaming toothlessly and bowing in proper Werist fashion—a move he had been quite unable to make before Ingeld's last attempt to ship Benard out of town.

"You sent for me, lady?"

"Indeed I did, Packleader," she said, giving him the rank he had borne in the days before Horold. "I want to ask a favor."

"Anything at all, of course."

"Not unlike the last one I asked of you. When the hostages check in today, can you arrange to see them alone?"

Only one hostage was required to register at the guard room these days, and the old man caught her meaning at once, leering his pleasure. She had never doubted that he would aid her flight. Quite apart from his lifelong loyalty to her, he had always had a soft spot for Benard and now additionally credited Bena with finding an excuse for him to battleform and so cure his rheumatism. That was not how Benard told it, but Guthlag looked ten years younger than he had before their escapade in the summer. He was even staying sober.

"No difficulty, my lady. I was thinking of taking a stroll down to the temple." Meaning he could talk privately with Benard there.

They exchanged a few meaningless remarks and the Werist departed. Guthlag would do his part, but last night Ingeld had given Benard a bag of silver for expenses. She hoped he would not mislay it before Guthlag got there.

Now back to the feast—the anteroom was again full of people with problems.

♦

Ingeld's everyday dress as a Daughter was ostentatious enough, but her festival robes were a state treasure, copiously decorated with amber, coral, topaz, rubies, car-nelians, jasper, and garnets. She could not sit down in them, but she could fill a small room, and her headdress was an eruption of red and gold feathers that posed problems in all but the highest doorways. She had long ago learned to tolerate the weight and discomfort in exchange for the awe she could provoke in almost anyone. By the time she was made ready for the feast, the garden outside was shadowed and the sky burned sunset-red.

She was advised that the two Celebre hostages were awaiting her pleasure in the anteroom. She was also informed that a woman in penitent garb had been delivered to the Shrine of Repentance. She sent for Tene and Sansya.

"There is a vicious old baggage Nymph in the Shrine. Tene, summon a Witness and scribes for a trial. We'll make it quick and run her out of town. Sansya, take three or four acolytes, and don't let her within arm's length of a man, whatever you do. Show her the shackles, whips, and branding irons, and explain how they are used. Then bring her here... Go around by the Great Corridor and Crystal Court..."

She outlined an itinerary that would show Hiddi the wealth and grandeur of the palace. She would walk high-vaulted halls and wide corridors, see polychrome murals, mosaics of semiprecious stones, paneling of fruit woods and alabaster, furniture of gilt and ivory, tin and amber, rare fabrics and soft furs. She would pass early feasters starting in on meats and fruits piled high on gold and silver platters; heaps of fish and beans, dates, peaches, innumerable cheeses, cucumbers, and poultry; rivers of beer fortified with mead; wine cooled in the palace cellars, all being served by many sixty servants. She would see the dancers and tumblers, hear the musicians and the laughter of jeweled nobles reclining on their couches. If that didn't do it, Ingeld thought, she was sadly misjudging her victim. Sansya looked puzzled, but went off to obey.

Ingeld called for the Celebres and threw more godswood twigs on the brazier.

Fabia entered first and Ingeld saw she had been too hasty to judge someone who had spent many sixdays on the river without a single attendant. Not sylphlike, no, but the girl did have beauty beyond the mere glow of youth. Surprisingly, her dresser had robed her in dark colors, a gown of deep blue and costly purple that gave her a strange air of mystery, and whose simple lines made her seem taller and slighter than before. It was a curiosity of Kosordian costume that the men covered their chests for festive occasions and the women bared theirs. Fabia's decolletage would have shocked Skjaran society to the marrow, but she had the figure to justify it and apparently the confidence also. The high black coil of her hair sparkled with amethysts.

Benard, in blue-green festive cloak and garland of roses, was a maiden's dream, an astonishing contrast to his habitual scruffiness. Ingeld wondered briefly which god he could model after himself, and decided with amusement that it would have to be holy Demern. Only the Lawgiver should portray that rocky stubbornness.

He could hardly take his eyes off his newfound sister, but when he saw Ingeld in full regalia, he sobered and dropped on one knee. Fabia was already down.

"Up, up!" Ingeld said. "This is a family conference, not a temple ceremony. Fabia, you look breathtaking! The feast has its queen. Are you not proud of your sister, Benard? What goddess will you style after her?"

He frowned and stared at Fabia. And she stared right back—cryptic, inscrutable, waiting.

"I... I don't know," he muttered. "Hrada, perhaps?"

Fabia was amused. "Me? With a loom or a needle? Or are you thinking stonemason's mallet and chisel?"

He shook his head and did not reply, still frowning.

"Come over here, dear," Ingeld said, "this is Cutrath."

"It's a good likeness," Benard growled from behind them, "except that in reality his ears are bloated like cabbages, his nose is all bent over, his teeth—"

"That will do, Benard!"

Fabia made some tactful remarks about brawn, but clearly would still not admit that Cutrath had relevance for her.

Ingeld explained the rest of the images—her parents and the twins. Then she pointed up at the frieze of the Bright Ones—Cienu with his wine jug, Nula comforting a child, and so on. "That is Benard's work. You have a very talented... What's wrong?"

The girl had lost color. "Nothing ... nothing at all... Is that not Bloodlord Stralg, my lady?"

"It's not a great likeness," Benard said. "I barely remember him."

"It's close enough to give me nightmares," Ingeld countered.

"But you were only a pudding, so you can't possibly remember," he told his sister. "So how—"

"I do believe Saltaja showed me his picture once," Fabia said hastily, seeming flustered. "In Skjar. And of course he is your brother-in-law, my lady! I suppose he is an appropriate model for holy Weru ... And that is you—as holy Veslih, of course! Oh, it's wonderful! Who are the rest, Benard?"

He was grinning again. "Most are composites of several people. Can you recognize any more?"

"No. How could I?"

"Holy Nula is based on Mama. Now you see how I recognized you this morning? Demern, over there, is Papa. They're not true likenesses, just childhood memories, and of course the coloring is Vigaelian, not Florengian."

"You are most wonderfully clever! I am honored to have such a brother. Will you draw Dantio and Orlando for me?"

Benard winced. "I never think about Dantio. Orlando was so young that my memories would mean nothing. He must be a grown man by now."

Fabia had made a very good recovery, but Ingeld was certain it had not been Stralg that had startled her. She had been looking toward Nula, and while Master Artist Benard might see a resemblance between the picture and the girl, Ingeld had not until he pointed it out. Fabia had not exclaimed, "That's me!" If she had been taken from her mother as a babe, how could she have retained any memory of her face? And why lie about it if she had? Curious! Nor could Ingeld recall seeing any likenesses of Bloodlord Stralg in Skjar the time she had visited her sister-in-law there.

Now it was past time Ingeld took her place at the feast, and she still had Hiddi to settle. "Benard, I do think you should ask Saltaja to let you accompany your sister to Tryfors for her wedding."

He frowned. He was hopeless at lying, and almost never did, but he must see the need to keep their plans secret even from Fabia.

"You heard the bride's views on the wedding," he said. "It will not happen. Why should I want to go to Tryfors? I remember it as an absolutely horrible place." Never had Ingeld seen him look more like a mud-brick wall. "I have a commission to finish here. I have obligations to my apprentice. You can have Celebre, so far as I am concerned, Sister. Congratulations. Give Mama my regards."

Ingeld caught Fabia's eye and they pulled faces in unison. Men!

"How about Papa, if he still lives?"

Benard shrugged. "Him, too, if you want. Ingeld worries that Horold will kill me if I stay here, but she knows that her son would certainly kill me if I turned up in Tryfors."

Amusingly, the girl now looked equally stubborn. Accustomed to getting her own way, she was close to losing her temper. "It seems a shame after all these years to find my brother and so soon have to mourn him."

To keep up the pretense, Ingeld had to say, "She's right, Benard."

His scowl became even more mulish. "I don't think so. You're proposing I evade murder by committing suicide. Horold won't kill me until I've finished immortalizing Cutrath for him. You know that. Come, Fabia, I want to show you off. By your leave, my lady? If this is to be my last feast, I mustn't miss any of it."

Ingeld nodded permission and he left with his sister on his arm.

♦

Like a huge brown caterpillar, the Nymph shuffled on bare feet into Ingeld's chamber. Penitent garb was the ultimate in indignity, a narrow, sleeveless sack that left only the upper half of her face visible. She could neither sit nor kneel, and to move at all she must struggle to hold up the trailing hem and take tiny steps. Hiddi had been prodded along on her tour of the palace by two husky Daughter acolytes armed with long toasting forks.

Ingeld posed in state on the platform, a white-shrouded Witness stood near the arches, and two cross-legged scribes held styli ready. Tene and Sansya had chosen to attend, wanting to learn how to conduct such a trial. If this one went as planned, it should not seem difficult.

"Witness of holy Mayn," Ingeld proclaimed, "I am dynast of this city and I have summoned the Nymph Hiddi here before the holy Bright Ones to answer my charge that she has abused the powers granted her by holy Eriander. Do you recognize this court?"

"I do," the Maynist said.

"Are the holy ones present?"

"Their images testify that They are."

"Is the prisoner the accused I named?"

"She is."

Ingeld turned her attention to Hiddi. What could be seen of her face was scarlet with fury, and her eyes glittered like bronze knives. Ingeld could only hope that Benard had explained why this charade was necessary.

"Nymph Hiddi," Ingeld continued, "you worship Eriander in your own home instead of in the temple and enrich yourself with gifts that should have been made to your god or not made at all. I abhor you and your like. You pervert your god's purpose. Instead of dispensing His joy, you torture men with unslaked desire. The powers He gives for your defense you use to enslave. I have lost count of the wives who have come to me in tears because their husbands have given away everything to holy harlots like you, so that they and their children will be sold into slavery to pay their debts. In the last year, at least three have told me that you were the leech responsible. Do you deny these charges?"

"They are lies!" Hiddi screamed.

"Witness?"

"She is guilty."

"Then I can pronounce sentence. Nymph, will you plead for mercy?"

"Bitch!" Hiddi screamed. The onlookers gasped in horror. If that was fake anger, it was well done.

"I am the light of Veslih and greater than you, slut. I sentence you to confiscation of all your property plus eight sixty lashes with an oxhide whip, followed by eviction from our city, living or dead."

Hiddi muttered something inaudible but unrepentant.

Ingeld waited for the scribes to catch up. "We shall remit part of that sentence if you will confess your victims by name, beseeching your god to release them evermore from your toils."

"How much will you remit?"

"That will depend on how repentant I judge you." Ingeld nodded to the scribes. "We shall not have the names of innocent men recorded. You may leave. And you, Tene. Sansya, please stay."

The moment the door closed, Ingeld smiled and stepped down from the platform. "I hope I did not frighten you, Hiddi? You do understand that this was the only way I could get you in here?"

"But you were enjoying it!"

"And you earned it. Sansya, will you help Mistress Hiddi out of that appalling garment, please? There is a robe for her on that chest and I have some sweet wine here."

Sansya gaped at her. Possibly the Witness did, too, under her shroud, because Ingeld and Benard had done most of their plotting in the adytum, where Mayn was not permitted to pry. Hiddi was extricated from her penitent's sack and provided with a gown of finest silk. She was much younger than Ingeld had expected and quite obviously the model for one of Benard's goddesses.

She perched on an ivory chair and accepted wine in a carved crystal goblet, suspicion crawling over her pretty face like maggots. "Now what?"

"First you release your victims and the Witness testifies that you are sincere in your petition to the god. This room is consecrated. Eriander is up there."

Hiddi looked up and regarded the frieze. "That's Benard's work!"

"Yes it is, and if it satisfied High Priest Nrakfin, it will do for you. After that I shall remit all the rest of the sentence—I'll let you keep your loot, because I suppose some of it you earned. You may sleep here tonight. I will see that my husband comes to join you. You know what to do then, and I wish you every success."

Hiddi smiled, catlike. Sansya was aghast.

"I'm only doing this for Benard!" Hiddi said.

"You mean you won't accept presents from the satrap?"

Hiddi shrugged. "Maybe one or two."

"He's dangerous, Hiddi. Be very careful, because he can see in the dark like a bat. Remember, too, that he has violent followers who may try to rescue him."

"Men!" Hiddi said contemptuously. "Animals. This is very high class wine, Ingeld."