Children of Chaos

Prologue

LORD DANTIO

was very frightened, clutching the rail as tightly as he could—much tighter than he needed to, because the chariot ran smoothly on the paving and Papa was not going fast. The axle squealed, the guanacos' little hooves clip-clopped, wheels rumbled, the leather straps of the floor creaked, but that was all. No other sound.

When news of the massacre at Two Fords reached Celebre, the city went mad. For three days and nights the people mourned, clamoring and wailing, blowing trumpets, beating on drums or pots. Panic-stricken crowds packed into the temples until worshipers were being trampled or suffocated. But then, suddenly, the enemy was at the gates and the noise stopped. The city fell silent—completely, appallingly, silent.

Yet everywhere there were faces, thousands and thousands of faces—massed on balconies and roofs, in every window, and ten or twelve deep along both sides of the wide avenue—and they were all staring at him. All silent. Could they not even call out just one farewell, sing a dirge for him, shout a blessing? The entire city seemed to have turned out to watch his departure. He stared straight ahead, trying to ignore all the faces and keep his eyes fixed on the great gates drawing closer up ahead. He was horribly afraid that he was going to weep, or throw up, or piddle, or do something even more terrible to shame himself and Papa.

"Almost there," Papa said. "You are doing wonderfully! I am enormously proud of you."

Dantio looked up, feeling his lip quiver. Despite all the promises he had made to himself, he had to say it: "Papa, I'm scared!"

His father winced, as if he'd stubbed a toe. "You don't look it! I told you—courage is simply doing your duty even if you are frightened. By all the gods, son, you are a very brave boy doing his duty."

Brave people did not tremble. Their mouths were not drier than salt.

"Don't let the crowds worry you," his father said. "They're counting on you, son. The whole city is counting on you. And so am I. I am so proud of you I want to weep. Celebre is proud of you."

At last the chariot rumbled under the great arch into the narrow barbican, out of blazing sunlight into the shadow of high battlements. There were no soldiers up there manning the walls, because Celebre's city guard had died with the militia at Two Fords. The noise of hooves and axle redoubled, echoing. Papa slowed down to take the curve through the outer gate.

Dantio took a quick look back. The second chariot was bringing Mama and the baby, driven by a Nastrarian in his green robe. Witness Fiorella, wearing her seer's blindfold, was driving the third, bringing Benard and Orlando. Benard's face was only just visible over the rail; he looked scared, although he had nothing to worry about—he would be coming back. Orlando was too small to see over the sides of the car at all. He would be peering out through the wicker and probably throwing a temper tantrum because he had been strapped in.

One flap of the outer gate stood open and unguarded as the doge and his eldest son rolled past them, out into the menacing world beyond, into the noontide glare. Goodbye, Celebre! The open expanse around the city served variously as fairground, playing fields, and farmers' market, but that day it was deserted, just abandoned animal paddocks and grassland already burned brown by the dry-season heat. The Sturia road was a stripe of baked red clay weaving across it to disappear into olive groves and vineyards.

Papa drove at a walking pace on the rutted surface. There was no sign of the ice devils, but they would be waiting in the shade, staying out of bowshot of the walls.

Holy Demern, the Lawgiver, had decreed in ancient times that a boy of ten was old enough to understand oaths and laws. At ten he could be sentenced to men's punishments, like flogging or even hanging. He could be taken hostage.

Dantio was eleven.

He did not know where he would sleep tonight. He could not shake off the terrible fear that he might never see his home and family again. At his feet lay a bag of clothes Mama had packed for him. The ice devils had spared the little town of Sturia when it opened its gates and yesterday had promised to spare Celebre, too, but they had warned they would demand hostages.

A chariot emerged from the trees, being driven much faster than Papa was going. The two men in it were obviously not Florengians, so they must be ice devils. Another followed it, more slowly. Dantio's knees began to shake even harder, and not just from the bouncing of the webbed floor.

"That's far enough." Papa reined in alongside a corral fence and dropped the brake. He went down on one knee and clasped his son in a fierce hug. "Well done, well done! That was the worst bit, I'm sure—all those people watching you."

Dantio did not think the worst bit had even started. He nodded and tried not to cry, biting his lip. His father's mourning robe smelled of lavender. It was the one he wore to funerals.

"Even if the Vigaelians do insist on taking you as hostage for my good faith, son, they will have to look after you well. Holy Demern gives very strict rules in His Arcana about hostages being well treated. Oh, Dantio, Dantio! We Celebrians are peace-lovers, not cowards. If we had any chance at all of defending the city, we would do it. If the bloodlord will take me instead of you, I will go gladly, but that was not what his messenger demanded.

"And I swear to you again, son, that I will do nothing to break the terms we agree on. I will give them no cause to harm you. And in a year or so, when they have learned that they can trust me, I will try to get them to send you home and take some other hostages in exchange—young men, not a child."

Dantio sniffed a few times and whispered, "Yes, Papa."

His father squeezed again and then released him. "You aren't behaving like a child. Keep being brave, always be polite, and no harm will come to you. Come along, let us go and see these Vigaelians."

Dantio jumped down, onto his shadow on the clay, and Papa followed. The other two chariots had halted alongside, and the Nastrarian was already in control of all three teams, stroking the guanacos' necks and murmuring as if he were talking to them. Being an initiate of the cult of holy Nastrar, he probably was talking to them; he would keep them standing there happily for hours, and be quite happy himself just doing so. Nastrarians never cared for people much.

Papa lifted Mama down, with Fabia still in her arms. Benard ran at once to his mother. Witness Fiorella unstrapped Orlando and set him down without letting go of him—she had no need to call on the wisdom of her goddess to know he would try to run away. He screamed and kicked. She would be needed in the parley, so Dantio went to take charge of Orlando. It would be for the last time.

"Come," he said. "Come and see the ice devils. They're very fierce."

The family terror decided that this sounded promising and went quietly. He even let Dantio hold his chubby little hand, although that would not last long.

The first ice devil chariot had stopped at a distance. One man had stayed aboard to control the team and the other was striding forward to meet the Celebrians. He was unarmed and very big. Some of the wilder stories had described the Vigaelians as monsters, but this one seemed quite human, apart from his bizarre coloring. He wore what seemed to be a black woolen blanket wrapped around his body, leaving his arms and legs bare. His head and face glinted with golden stubble; sunlight flashed on a golden collar around his neck. His eyes were a sickly blue. He stopped and looked around, waving angrily for the other chariot to hurry.

He had bigger muscles than even Markeo, the palace wheelwright.

Markeo had died at Two Fords.

"Why is that man red?" Orlando demanded.

"The sun burned him," Dantio said.

"Why?"

"Because." Dantio had heard that the ice devils' skin was pink instead of brown, and he could see that some parts of the man were pale, but most of him was blistered and peeling. He glanced back and saw the roofs and walls of Celebre packed with people, watching to see what would happen, waiting to learn their fate.

The second ice devil chariot arrived, and stayed just long enough to deliver a very oddly dressed person, draped from top to toe in cloth that had once been white. Since even her face was completely covered, she must be a seer. She scrambled down awkwardly, but more as if hampered by her long skirts than as if she were blind. How could she stand such clothes on such a hot day? Her driver drove the chariot away and she minced forward to stand at the big man's side. Only her hands showed; they were pink.

" 'Anto, is that man hurt?" Orlando demanded. He must think she was bandaged.

"No, she's a seer, like Fiorella," Dantio said.

Orlando turned to frown up at Fiorella, who wore a respectable ladylike gown of dark brown and a blindfold to show she was on duty. Witnesses saw with the eyes of their goddess.

Papa bowed. "I am Doge Piero, ruler of this city. I have come to parley, as we agreed, and have brought all my children, as you requested."

The white-shrouded woman spoke. She would not be able to speak Florengian, or even properly know the words, but seers could always tell meaning, just as they could hear lies or recognize poison in a glass of wine. The man in black scowled and replied in a deep, rumbling voice, as if he were gargling rocks. When he had finished, Fiorella translated.

"He says he is Stralg Hragson, bloodlord of the Heroes of Weru, and he did not come to parley. He never requests, he gives orders. He is here to accept your submission and oath of allegiance."

Papa said, "I have agreed to give them. And he promised he would swear to respect our lives, property, and laws."

The Vigaelian seer interpreted. The bloodlord rumbled again.

"He says you already have his word."

That was not fair! If Papa had to take a solemn oath, then the murderous Vigaelian should certainly do the same, not just quote a promise sent through a messenger. More rumble.

"He asks who the woman is." Fiorella added softly, "Be careful, lord!"

Papa hesitated, but no one could deceive a Witness, so he had to tell the truth. "Oliva, my wife." He did not say that he had refused to bring Mama at first, but she had insisted she would not trust Fabia to a nurse. Dantio had overheard the argument yesterday.

Rumble. "The bloodlord also says that if you do not immediately kneel and kiss his feet in submission, she will be first to die."

Orlando let go of Dantio's hand. Dantio caught his arm instead. Orlando opened his mouth to scream and Dantio said "Shush!" so fiercely that he actually obeyed. Benard was hiding behind Mama, who was having trouble with Fabia. The baby could smell her milk and wanted to suck.

Horrible! Papa walked forward and sank to his knees in front of the hateful monster in his black shroud. Dantio looked away, unable to watch this humiliation of the father he loved.

Far to the northwest, under a sky of indigo, sharp young eyes could just make out the glimmer of white that marked the Ice, where no one normally went. Only a few brave traders ever ventured over the Edge to the Vigaelian Face. Even fewer returned, and the goods they brought back were always small items, valued mostly as curiosities. Mama had shown Dantio a rather ugly little jade pot in the ducal collection and told him that it came from Vigaelia.

But this year, soon after the end of the rainy season, a horde of starving, sickly-pale men had streamed in from the Edge and started rounding up herds on the Altiplano, eating them raw and killing any herders who objected. They had converged eventually on the little hill town of Nelina. Seeing that the invaders had no siege equipment and seemed to have no weapons at all, Nelina had closed its gates on them. The ice devils had swarmed straight up thecliffs and the sheer walls above. They had killed every living thing in Nelina, even the cats and the birds in the trees, it was said.

Most Florengians were polytheists, but some belonged to mystery cults, secretive orders of henotheists sworn to the worship of a single god. There were Witnesses of Mayn, like Fiorella. There were Sinura's Healers who cured sick people, Speakers of Demern to quote the laws, and many others. But, as Papa had sadly explained to Dantio, Florengia had no Werists—men who, like these Vigaelians, had sworn to the god of war—and that lack was clearly going to be Florengia's downfall.

After decimating Nelina, the Vigaelians had moved on to Sturia. They spared Sturia when it submitted, though they claimed the small fee of looting its food stocks. Papa, as ruler of the largest and richest city in the northwest, had hastily organized an army of all the able-bodied men within marching distance. They had met the enemy at Two Fords. Although they had outnumbered the invaders by at least three to one and been well armed with bronze swords and spears, the Werists had slaughtered them all, sparing only two wounded boys, whom they had sent back with news of the massacre. And now they were at the gates of Celebre, which had no way to resist them.

When Papa finished repeating the oath the Stralg monster dictated, he was told to rise. He backed away from the bloodlord, bowing repeatedly.

Now, Dantio supposed, he would be taken as hostage for Papa's good faith. He was so full of rage and hate that he no longer felt afraid. They were subhuman brutes! Soon the gods would destroy them.

"Noble Stralg says that he requires three sixty strong youths to begin training as Werists. His men will choose them."

"As the bloodlord commands. I beg him to allow me a day or two to warn my people of this."

"He gives you until tomorrow. And he requires food for three sixty-sixty men, delivered to these gates before sundown, every day until you are told to stop."

"So shall it be, as long as our stocks last. Ask Bloodlord Stralg why he is doing this. What does he hope to gain by bringing his horde over the Edge and slaying so many people? Does he expect to move great trains of loot over the Ice? Does he not fear the wrath of the Bright Ones?"

A translation, then the Vigaelian sneered and replied at length.

Fiorella said, "He says the only god he fears is Weru and warfare is His worship. We Florengians are timid and neglect the Terrible One, so we must be taught... to fear Weru until we wet our legs at the mere mention of His name. You and your wife may return to the city. He will keep your children as hostages for your continued obedience."

Papa flushed scarlet. "No! This is my eldest son, lord Dantio. He is eleven years old. I brought the others only to show that they are too young."

"He says all of them."

"Benard is eight and Orlando only three, in the holy names! The Lawgiver wrote that only males over the age of ten may be taken as hostages."

Stralg turned and waved a signal. Men started walking out of the woods behind him. They stopped as soon as they came into view, but then more appeared, a line of them standing about an arm's length apart, a line growing longer and longer until it stretched off into the distance in both directions. They were unarmed, and yet that was how they had slaughtered every man sent against them at Two Fords. A great moan went up from the city, as if the stones themselves grieved.

"The bloodlord says that he gives the laws here."

Orlando squirmed free of Dantio's grasp and made a break for freedom.

Stralg held out his hands. Orlando, always wayward, went to him, trotting on stubby legs. The Werist lifted the toddler high overhead. Orlando laughed at being so high above the world. The ice devil stepped over to the fence.

"The bloodlord asks if you want to see the inside of your son's head, lord." Fiorella's voice turned shrill. "He means what he says! He will kill the child."

"My sons, then!" Papa shouted. "Let him take the boys, but my daughter is a babe at suck. Holy Demern has written—"

The big man roared, not even waiting to have Papa's words translated.

"The bloodlord says he will take the cow, too, so the calf can feed. He says you must give them all up or watch them all die, and then he will put out your eyes."

Benard was sobbing and gasping with terror. Mama knelt to put an arm around him and Fabia began to cry, too. Dantio felt cold drops of sweat race down his ribs. Terrible, terrible man!

Papa fell on his knees. "I beg him to show mercy to a mother and her babe! Does holy law mean nothing to him? Has he no pity?"

"He says no, he has no pity. He has never had pity. You must decide."

Time stopped. Dantio realized he had forgotten to breathe and took a deep gulp of air.

Fiorella said, "I sense great greed, lord, and regret. He regrets his promise not to loot the city, now he sees how big and rich it is. He is not trustworthy and his intentions toward your lady are not honorable."

Mama said, "What happens to us does not matter, Piero. Remember what you told Dantio about courage. You must not give the monster any excuse to sack Celebre!"

Papa said, "I will yield my children."

The Vigaelian seer had translated it all. The bloodlord sneered and set Orlando down. Orlando decided he did not like Vigaelians after all and ran to join the others mobbing Mama, wanting his share of attention.

Dantio was not going to be alone! He would have Mama and the others for company. He felt a wonderful rush of happiness at that and hated himself for it. What sort of slimy worm was he, to enjoy having his family share his misfortune? But he would not be alone.

He ran to help. He picked up Orlando. "We are going for another ride in a chariot—won't that be fun?" He took Benard's hand. "Come, Bena! Say goodbye to Papa. We have to go with the nasty man. Don't be afraid. Mama is coming with us, and I will help her look after you."