Mother of Lies

HETH HETHSON

had never put much stock in old Therek’s ravings about Saltaja being a Chosen. He barely believed in Chosen at all-how could anyone worship death and evil? Now he was not so sure.

Nightmare made real, Rosebud lumbered in through the fortress gate, a hairy walking mountain, peering around with clever, hate-filled eyes. He was old, so his huge curved tusks were worn and broken at the ends, but his strength was prodigious. Treb, his Nastrarian, ducked prone to avoid being smeared against the lintel and muttered in the mammoth’s hairy ear to bring him to a halt. Men ran forward, pushing the wheeled ladder.

The howdah was shaped like a staircase up the long sloping back, a set of six benches each wide enough for two men or three at a pinch. Rosebud could carry such a load all day. Two young Heroes sat on the lowest seat, both hunched small and looking terrified, but whether they feared the woman, Heth’s rage, or simply the gods, could not be determined. Perhaps all three. At the top, near the Nastrarian, sat the Queen of Shadows and Flankleader Verinkar. He was the one who ought to be terrified, ashen-faced and gibbering, but he was smiling. When Saltaja rose to her feet and moved to discard her fur cloak, Ver jumped up and graciously lifted it from her shoulders like an awestruck boy fluttering around his first love. That was when Heth decided that he did believe in the powers of evil, and if he had had a bow in his hand, he would have let fly and nailed the hag. How dare she pervert one of his best warriors and turn him into a performing loris like that? She had effectively murdered the man.

The two warriors jumped to the ground and made themselves scarce. Black-clad Saltaja began a dignified descent of the stair with Ver close behind her, paying no attention whatsoever to Heth waiting at the bottom of the ladder, or Packleader Frath and his death squad, miserably holding the bronze manacles they had no reasonable hope of using. Verinkar was a powerful fighter, sure to take one or two of them with him. Inevitably the entire fortress knew what was in the offing. All around the courtyard, at windows, even the sentries on the walls-hundreds of eyes were watching the unfolding tragedy.

The Queen of Shadows paused a few steps up. “Huntleader Heth!”

He bowed very slightly. “Welcome to Nardalborg, my lady.”

She eyed the posse and then turned to whisper a remark to Verinkar. He nodded. She resumed her descent. He followed close.

At ground level she held out a hand to Heth. Feeling sudden revulsion, unwilling to touch her or even let her come close, he backed away and ordered a nearby Werist to lead the lady to the guardroom. She stepped aside to let Verinkar clear the bottom of the steps, but then went no farther.

Restraining a Werist malefactor was no simple task. He must be arrested by members of his own pack, for he would be less willing to harm them than he would others and they, in turn, would be less likely to leap to his defense. With a visible shudder, Frath took one pace forward. The manacles he held were massive enough to give a mammoth pause and they would be followed by fetters, chains, and stone weights, unless by then the detainee was already dead.

“Flankleader, you are charged with gross dereliction of duty and must be confined until your case is judged.”

“My lord is kind.” Ver turned around and held out his wrists behind him to be shackled.

Heth felt the shock like a physical blow and heard a collective gasp from the audience. He turned his fury on Packleader Ruthur. “Weru’s balls! Haven’t you anything better to do than stand around with your tongue hanging out? Are those men or owls? Put them to work shoveling snow if you have nothing better to do.” The courtyard erupted in meaningless activity.

It might have been better to have them start digging a grave. Heth nodded to the Queen of Shadows. “Come with me, my lady.”

The guard room was small and poorly lit, furnished with one battered table and benches along two walls. It had a distinctive musty male smell, but a pile of glowing peat on the hearth made it cozy. Saltaja headed straight for the fireplace. Heth closed the door and remained standing just inside it.

Warming her hands and not looking at him, she said, “I bring serious news, Huntleader.”

“I assumed as much from the manner of your arrival.”

Now she did look around at him. Her face was flushed by the cold, framed by a black wimple. He saw no resemblance to Therek, but he could barely remember what his father had looked like when fully human. That same high-arched, arrogant nose had arrived in Nardalborg just two days ago on Cutrath Horoldson. On the cub it had been bent out of shape by successive fists and merely looked ridiculous. On her it was striking. Her eyes were large and curiously dark for a Vigaelian.

“I regret to tell you that Satrap Therek has returned to the womb.”

That was no surprise, somehow. It was not even a cause for regret. The real man had died years ago. But it did change things. Who now ruled Tryfors?

“He will be honored in the halls of our god.”

She noted the lack of regret. “He was slain by your men.”

Oh! Heth had expected her to start complaining about rebels. That did complicate matters. If Therek Host now had no hostleader, Fellard and Karrthin would be circling like bull mammoths in musth. One of them was probably dead already. Weru’s balls! Heth still had Caravan Six available. His loyalty to Stralg required him to-

To Xaran with Stralg! Abandon the brute! Cut him off and let the Mutineer have him. This was a chance to end the war. No more endless lines of young men heading to destruction, a new life for himself and his family in a decent climate…

“My men? Are you sure?”

His aunt the Chosen pursued her lips in distaste. “He tried to murder the Florengian, Orlad, and got ambushed himself.”

“Many other casualties?”

“Tryfors Hunt lost eleven men. You lost four, I understand. Did the rest not return here?”

Heth barely restrained a smile. Brilliant! An incredible victory! Orlad was a born leader, a Hero’s Hero. Now he must be an outlaw, of course, poor kid, he and his seven liegemen. “No, my lady. He was not acting on my orders. And may I ask why you came here?”

He had no need to ask. Heth stepped to the window and stared out, so she wouldn’t see his face. The Queen of Shadows had fled to Nardalborg because Therek was dead and his men had started digging a deep hole in which to store his sister. Wasn’t that a good idea? After what she had done to Verinkar, perverting him from his duty, there was no need for further evidence, surely. The ground wasn’t frozen yet. Bury the bitch at last? Yes! He had better summon reinforcements before he tried it, though. He turned toward the door…

He found himself looking into those strangely dark eyes. So close! He had not heard her approach. My lady…