Children of Chaos

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 cleverer 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 was 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."

"I wish you two would speak a language I understand," Benard grumbled.

Horth inclined his head to the Witness, deferring to her.

"There are two passes over the Edge," she said. "The Nardalborg Pass is the closer, and the kings of Tryfors taxed trade on it, although there was never much. When Stralg was preparing to move a horde to Florengia, many years ago, he naturally chose the pass nearer the city, where he could billet his men, and it is now a Werist highway, much improved. The other pass has been officially forgotten, but traders still use it. Master Wigson and his accomplices have been running a huge smuggling industry over it for years."

"You do not trade in slaves, I hope?" Benard demanded.

"Slaves can tell tales, Hand." Wigson at last protested against Poppy's inquisition, although still in the same mild tones: "Are you seeking to blackmail me, Witness? I fail to see what relevance Varakats has to this meeting."

"What relevance did it have to you, tonight? You discovered you could not release Fabia from captivity and it was unlikely you could even pass her the calabar and other nasty devices you had collected for her. So you were going to run away to High Timber. You hoped that the satrap's men would follow your trail and discover the rebel threat. That would distract Therek thoroughly, and delay the caravan's departure until after the winter. This was a massive betrayal of your friends."

"That is unfair!" Fabia shouted. "Horth was kidnapped, too, as a hostage for my good behavior. I would have been very happy if he had escaped. That would not have increased my danger in any way; it would have helped me. How long do you think Saltaja was going to keep him alive once she sent me off over the pass, anyway?"

Poppy sniffed. "I understand his desire to escape. I cannot stomach his betrayal of Varakats and High Timber."

"You do me wrong, Witness," Wigson said, still speaking softly. "I was investigating options. Learning that the Varakats Pass is still open, I was contemplating the possibility of hiring a party of dissident Werists from High Timber and sending them over the Edge to rescue Frena on the far side."

Benard jumped as if an idea had just hit the inside of his skull. He whipped around to look up at Ingeld with delight—Horold would never think to look for her in Florengia! At times she was unhappily reminded how young her lover was. What did it matter if she was pregnant and there was a war raging on the far side of the pass? She smiled and nodded.

Mist intervened with a chuckle. "I think that's enough. We all play for the same team. If we Maynists try to withdraw our support of the Fist, his men will retaliate with violence. The Eldest could announce a date when we should all remove our veils and vanish. We would have to abandon the Ivory Cloisters and generations of labor on the Wisdom—but it could be done. Our new Eldest, LeAmber, follows her predecessor in refusing to issue the command, and no one else has authority to do so. If we dissidents provoke the split, we shall bring down the Werists' wrath on all our sisters who remain on duty. Tryfors may seem a strange place to launch a revolution ... You disagree, Master Wigson!"

"I can think of counterarguments."

"Such as?"

The trader smiled. "Fords, passes, crossroads—these are all strategic places. I know you seers can read a sealed tablet, so I assume you monitor Stralg's correspondence on its way through here. Then you lecture me on betrayal?"

Again Mist laughed, breaking the tension. "Leave ethics for another day! It has taken Saltaja an amazingly long time to appreciate that, where once Stralg could promise the Heroes glory and loot, the trip over the Edge has now become a one-way road to the Old One's cold embrace. The new initiates were duped as boys and are doomed as young men. They cannot shed their collars, but they can seek out a leader who offers better hope than that. His name is Arbanerik Kranson. His horde is called New Dawn, and is camped at High Timber, not far from here. Saltaja would give both arms for that information!

"We are not required to volunteer information to Stralg's agents, and over the years most of us have become extremely skilled at deceiving without actually lying. However, when Saltaja read Stralg's first dispatches this spring, she decided to make a personal tour of inspection—escorting Fabia was incidental—and that decision was a critical turning point, what we refer to as a 'weft.' We sensed it like a clap of thunder. The journey opened her eyes to the fact that the numbers did not add up, that at least a third of the reinforcements being sent to aid the bloodlord were never reaching Nardalborg.

"Even at Kosord we still managed to hide the details from her, but after that her own guards began deserting. This afternoon she had Therek summon a seer. I knew the moment had come, so I answered the call, and I lied. I told her that the New Dawn rebels were mustering at Nuthervale and I grossly understated their number. I gave False Witness, and for that I shall be expelled from the mystery. I broke my most sacred oath, but I feel no shame or guilt."

Ingeld said, "In my opinion it is long overdue. Without the seers' complicity, Stralg and his hateful gang would have all died years ago."

"So it wasn't Father!" Fabia said. "When the Werists disappeared on the way here? It wasn't Father helping, it was you!"

Mist chuckled. "It was the riverfolk. They receive a bounty for every willing deserter delivered to High Timber. We need not discuss where that silver comes from—agreed, Master Wigson?"

"Um? No." Horth seemed to be preoccupied in studying Fabia.

Benard grunted. "I always thought Witnesses couldn't lie."

"Oh, we can sin as well as you can. We can only do it once, though."

An uncomfortable silence settled on the room. Everyone there except Fabia was a henotheist, sworn to a mystery, and they were all breaking faith. Ingeld herself had broken her vows—in spirit if not in word—when she had invited Benard to father her child and then fled, the city with him. Benard was neglecting his art, Guthlag had broken faith with his lord, and perhaps Horth Wigson was breaking oaths to Ucr by pursuing Fabia's happiness instead of simply amassing wealth. Now the seers, too!

At last Ingeld said, "Have you consulted a Speaker? Holy Demern does allow certain oaths to be set aside—those made under duress, for example, or those that conflict with earlier vows."

"I can quote holy law to better effect than that," Mist said curtly. "That does not matter now. Tomorrow, the satrap will learn that his prisoners have vanished. He will summon his seer again. Do you think he would believe another denial?"

"So the revolution has begun?" Benard said.

Ingeld could feel the knots in his shoulders tighten even more.

Mist said, "It begins tomorrow."

"No more seers," Benard said, "but... Flankleader?"

"Hand?" The old Werist still seemed fast asleep, flat as a puddle, but he had not snored in some time, Ingeld realized, and only Benard had noticed.

"Fabia and Master Wigson have escaped from the satrap's cells. How long will it take his warbeasts to track them to this room?"

Still the old man did not open his eyes. "Ever drop a raw egg off'na table, so it broke on the floor?"

"Yes."

" 'Bout that long."

Benard looked around. "I've lived with this problem all my life," he said apologetically.

"We did think of that, Bena," said Mist. "But now you have the Witnesses on your side, which makes a difference. Poppy and I are currently keeping watch on the palace and all is calm. It's highly unlikely that the prisoners' absence will be noted before morning, but we're all going to head down to the river very shortly, just in case. We'll wait there for dawn, unless the tocsin sounds, in which case we'll sail at once. Even Werists can't follow a scent over running water—right, my lord?"

"Right," Guthlag said, opening his eyes and yawning.

"So tomorrow the satrap will find no seers in Tryfors. All of them will be heading inward along the Wrogg, spreading the word, and by the time the Eldest hears the news, it will be too late. She can anathematize us, but she will probably be too busy evacuating Bergashamm. Since we cannot continue to shield you here in Tryfors, I suggest that you and your lady accompany us."

Benard looked around to seek Ingeld's approval.

"What of my son?" she asked, trying not to show her anger. She had no love left for the brute Horold had become, but she had no love for treachery either, and news of a secret rebel army poised to strike appalled her. She feared for Cutrath, the Fist's nephew, innocently standing in its path. "Is there to be yet another civil war? Tell us what this illegal host at High Timber is planning. I would think any rebels' first logical move would be to seize Nardalborg and block the pass, to trap Stralg on the Florengian Face. What of Benard's brother?"

Mist sighed. "Orlad is as good as dead. I gave him as much warning as I dared, but his long-awaited initiation day had a black dawn, and he cannot bear it. Your son, my lady, will I think be much more valuable to the rebels as a hostage to be used against your husband than he will as a dead body. I realize that this is small comfort, but it is the best I have to offer. Tomorrow I propose to take word of our revolt to High Timber myself, but I cannot predict what Hordeleader Arbanerik will choose to do. I invite you all to come with me."

She offered no alternative, Ingeld noted. They were all conspirators now. It was death-to-traitors time.

Benard had apparently not seen that, or else he was astonishingly willing to trust this faceless seer. "Of course we will. And you, Fabia?"

"Certainly. You agree, Father?"

"Possibly. Why don't you introduce me to your other brother, Frena?"

Benard's shoulders went hard as marble.

"He calls himself Mist now," the trader continued, "but on the river he was Urth, and long ago was he not Dantio?"

When no one corrected him, it was Ingeld herself who said, "Praise the gods! Praise holy Veslih, who cherishes families! All four of you?" It was a long time since she had felt such a pain of joy in her throat.

The reunion was tainted. When the seer removed his veil, he revealed a youthful Florengian face, but his features were no more masculine than his voice. "How did you work that out, Master Ucrist Wigson?"

"It was fairly obvious, Master Witness Celebre," Horth said with his usual diffidence. "From what 'Mist' just told us, 'she' had been in Kosord and even Skjar at the same time we had. Then 'she' arrived in Tryfors on the same day we did, so I knew that 'she' had traveled with us in our convoy. After that it was merely a process of elimination. When none of the riverfolk I remembered fit, I was left with their Florengian slaves, and I recalled that one of them, Urth, had a treble voice and no beard, so obviously had been castrated in boyhood and was therefore no prisoner of war. He was Mist's size. In age he would match the 'deceased' Dantio, and... Well, I do know your sister very well, Witness, and when she came in here she was bursting with some secret. Although she was pleased to have her brother Benard back again, she was much more interested in you." Wigson's eyes were still as bland as wren's eggs.

"It is wonderful to have you back from the dead!" Fabia said.

"It is wonderful to be able to greet my sister and brother without deception." Dantio shook his head sadly. "This is the day I have dreamed of since our parting, fifteen years ago. I have worked for it unceasingly. Today I return and the family is complete again. Today we are reunited at last. But tomorrow we lose Orlad."