Mother of Lies

DANTIO CELEBRE

sat down, having achieved his purpose. He usually avoided weddings. Partly he disliked the absurd extravagance, the inevitable waste of more wealth than families could afford. A party was always a good idea, certainly, but why did a wedding need anything extra except a bedroom near at hand? Mostly he hated the surging cross-tides of emotion, ranging from lechery to suppressed terror.

He could not complain about extravagance tonight. The hereditary ruler of one of the greatest cities of the Face was marrying her penniless sculptor in a barbaric backwoods shed without one solid gold saltcellar in sight. A few candles would have helped. Even the usual lecherous remarks from the onlookers were subdued when the bride was older than all but two of the guests. Both bride and groom were bubbling with happiness, so Benard must have decided that the burden of being a dynast’s consort was not so very terrible. Ingeld had been nominal ruler of Kosord since before he was born, and in practice she had run it alone for long periods when the satrap was away on campaign. A Hand would probably perform ceremonial duties beautifully.

Still, there was enough emotion loose to make a seer feel he was being pelted with snowballs and hot coals at the same time. Ardial Berkson was a predictable pillar of ice in the center, but all Speakers were like that. To the extrinsics present, Horth Wigson would seem another human fish; only a seer could sense the blazing exultation the Ucrist was hiding so well. Poor, lonely old rich man! His glow of triumph must mean that he believed he had blocked Fabia’s ambition to leave him and return to Florengia.

The Speaker began administering a complicated oath to Benard, who stammered and floundered in the archaic language.

A scorching anger approached Dantio’s left shoulder-Orlad, of course, seething with the frustrated bloodlust of a hunter who sees his prey escaping.

Glaring down, he said, “Well, brother?”

Back to that problem…“Well what?” Dantio said.

“How do we get to Florengia?”

The other source of rage in the hall was Fabia, but she was more frustrated than angry. Perhaps her chthonic powers let her detect a little of what Dantio himself knew-that there was a way past the impasse if they could only find it. At the moment she was intent on the ceremony.

“You want me to meddle some more, do you?”

Orlad flashed (alarm). “Not if it brings on that anathema thing you were frightened of earlier.”

Dantio turned to face him. “That I am still frightened of.”

(dismay) “I thought you were safe now? Didn’t Horold break the compact before you did?”

Yes, although Dantio had not known that at the time, so he had been guilty in spirit. “I did worse. I could have broken the compact just by refusing to answer Therek’s questions. But I lied. I gave False Witness, and that is a breach of the laws of our cult. The Eldest will have no choice but to rule against me, so our bargain still holds, brother.” He winced at Orlad’s surge of horror and forced himself to smile. “But I am not certain that her anathema will be effective on the Florengian Face, so I want to cross the Edge even more urgently than you do. There is a way. I just don’t know what it is, exactly.”

His baby brother bared fangs at him. “Oh, very helpful! You said the Pathfinder was not lying.”

“I did. And he is genuinely afraid of the danger. But when Fabia asked about following Saltaja over Nardalborg Pass, and I said that was impossible, he reacted with panic. He saw a solution! Then the Speaker arrived and we talked of other things.”

(fury) Orlad clenched his fists and-to a seer’s vision-half the muscles in his body as well. “So what did he see?”

“I don’t know. I suspect Horth Wigson does, though.”

Orlad stared angrily across at the little merchant. “Hermesk told me that Pathfinders cannot be bribed.”

“I expect they can be threatened. Nobody wants to antagonize the world’s richest man.” Who was still feeling disgustingly smug.

The room broke into cheers as the ceremony ended and Benard kissed his bride. Even as he did so, Dantio felt a sudden surge of satisfaction, which he recognized as coming from Fabia. The night had not done with surprises.

“I think,” he whispered, “that you can stop worrying. Our sweet and deadly little sister has just solved the mystery.”

Orlad chuckled. “Ah! Know something? There are times she scares me more than Stralg does!” He plowed into the press of people and benches, heading for Fabia. A moment later, his feelings welled up in satisfaction also. Dantio followed him into the throng, intending to give Benard his congratulations-and farewells, too, because it seemed as if the way to Florengia was about to open. Sure enough, even before he reached the newly-weds, Orlad’s head appeared over the crowd and his powerful voice boomed out above the chatter.

“Pathfinder!”

Hermesk had been just about to slip out the door. He turned reluctantly. “My lord?”

“Small parties travel faster than large ones, don’t they?”

(caution-deceit) The Pathfinder was wary, fearing a trap, wanting to hide something. “Not necessarily. Any party goes at the pace of its slowest member.”

“How far apart are the two passes over the Edge?”

(fear) “It varies.”

“In places they are quite close? Less than a menzil apart?”

(resignation) “Yes.”

(joy-triumph) “So if we set out at dawn tomorrow, we might be able to cut across from Varakats Pass to Nardalborg Pass and get ahead of Saltaja?”

Well, of course! Dantio should have seen that. If they could get ahead of the Vigaelians-and stay ahead-then they could live off the enemy’s food caches.

The spectators had fallen silent. Hermesk began protesting the dangers again, but Orlad would not concede. He won an admission that the early stretches of Varakats Pass were slightly easier than the start of Nardalborg Pass and that the two came close before they reached the High Ice.

The Pathfinder took refuge in outright refusal. “It is absurdly dangerous! I refuse to be involved.”

Huntleader Nils intervened. “Oh, come, Herm! It isn’t winter yet. The Milky is still running. The rain’s washed away the snow.”

Hermesk set his jaw. “It is still a risk. What fee am I being offered?”

The huntleader said, “Where is our Ucrist? Master Horth, you have contributed so much to the overthrow of the Hrag tyranny, you will help the cause some more, I hope?”

The little man’s bland smile did not waver. Nobody but Dantio would sense his internal torment. He shifted his ground-slightly. “If brave Hero Orlad is adamant on taking the risk, I will happily finance his expedition. But Fabia will not go with him. She will be returning to Skjar with me.”

“No!” Fabia pushed between two Werists to reach him.

He looked up with bland stubbornness. “Frena, my dear child! The journey is a ridiculous risk, and the war in Florengia is a worse one. Why go there, for the gods’s sake? Your parents are nothing to you now, nor you to them. Here I can give you anything you can possibly want. What can Celebre offer you that Skjar cannot?”

Seers knew how deceptive some people’s appearance could be, but even Dantio marveled that such a predator hid behind Horth’s ovine exterior. His protest was logical, and it hurt Fabia. (love-pity-sorrow-anger-determination) She truly loved him. He was her father in all but blood, and to wound him in any way must be the worst sort of ingratitude. He was old and unwell. He had no one but her. He could reasonably demand her company until she married.

Alas, he was fighting destiny. Fabia knew about seasoning. She could see, as well as any mortal could, how the gods had set the House of Celebre against the House of Hrag. Horold and Therek were gone. Benard and Dantio had played their parts. Only Orlad and Fabia were left, against Saltaja and Stralg. Why else had she been Chosen, if not for this purpose? She probably could not resist her own grim goddess; it would be great folly to try.

“If I stay, will that make you happy, Father?”

Oh, brutal! Horth recoiled in dismay. Happiness was his corban. Nothing in the world could ever make Horth Wigson happy.

He rallied. “I am sorry, my dear, but I insist. An unmarried woman is subject to her father, or foster father in your case. If you do not believe me, ask the Speaker. I cannot possibly let you embark on such a perilous journey.”

“Very well, I will ask him,” Fabia said angrily. She called through the crowd. “Speaker Ardial? If a woman is unmarried and her true parents are unavailable, who has authority over her-her guardian or her brothers?”

“Guardian?” The Speaker made the word roll like a carillon. “Was she given into the keeping of this guardian by her father according to procedures set forth in the Arcana, chapter six, clause eighty-two?”

Of course not, she had been stolen. Only males over the age of ten could legally be taken hostage. With a few deft quotes and citations, Ardial Berkson decreed that under the third duty and various obscure clauses, Fabia belonged to Benard Celebre-not her eldest brother, to Dantio’s relief, because he had forsaken the world when he joined the Witnesses.

Dantio would not gamble a stale crust on Fabia being any more obedient to Benard than she was to Horth.

Benard clearly thought the same. “You want to go with Orlad?”

“Yes, I do.”

The Hand grinned. “Then I put you under his authority. Put that in formal language, Speaker. Good luck, brother.”

Fabia grabbed Orlad in a hug. He lifted her and spun her around.

But Pathfinder Hermesk promptly hurled another rock into the emotional pond, sending ripples surging. “I still want to know my fee! What am I offered to risk my neck traveling upcountry at this time of year with a bunch of crazy children?”

“You could keep it unbroken,” Waels muttered on the sidelines, but even he must realize that violence was not an option when the Pathfinder was a close friend of Hostleader Nils.

The room fell quiet. Pathfinders could not be bribed.

Fabia detached her Werist brother and returned to Horth. She took his hands in hers.

“Father? You have given me so much! Will you not grant me this last gift of freedom? That is a parent’s last sacrifice. Let me grow up and fly away?”

She might be using chthonic powers to change his mind, but all Dantio detected was rank ingratitude. He felt the entire room squirm. If she had learned her ruthlessness from the Ucrist, the pupil now surpassed the teacher. Horth had met his match.

(resignation) “Name your price, Master Hermesk.”

(surprise-greed) “Another ten years on Yeti Pass.”

All that meant to Dantio was that Pathfinders could apparently be bribed after all.

The Ucrist understood, though. “Agreed.”

“So we can leave at dawn?” Orlad shouted. (jubilation) “Fabia and Dantio and Waels and me? You won’t mind if I put a guard on your canoe overnight, Pathfinder, will you? You will provide supplies for us, my lord?”

Excepting Waels, his Werists started shouting that they wanted to come, too.

“No room in the canoe,” Orlad said. “But I can suggest honorable employment for all of you now. The new state consort of Kosord is not a Hero, but he is worthy of Heroes’ service. Lord Benard, can you use some tried and true, well-blooded young warriors?”

Benard had been gazing blissfully into his wife’s eyes. He looked around and said, “What? Oh, I’m sure we can. I have to win back my wife’s city, my lords. The odds will be at least two sixty to one, none of this easy stuff Orlad has been giving you.” He grinned, showing his shattered teeth. “As consort of Kosord, I hereby appoint Guthlag Guthlagson my hordeleader. Speaker, will you administer whatever oath he has to swear? Then he can start recruiting.”

“Told you it wasn’t difficult, dearest,” Ingeld said.