Mother of Lies

FABIA CELEBRE

had never seen anything as flat as her first view of Florengia. The floodplain of the Wrogg at Kosord had been mountainous by comparison. Dantio called this the Altiplano, and it looked as if it had been raked and rolled, fine gravel stretching off in all directions forever, coated with brownish lichen, not one blade of grass anywhere. Behind them, a ruled white line below the indigo sky marked the Ice they had left two days ago, but even the Ice had been much smoother on this side of the Edge than in Vigaelia. Straight as a javelin, the trail ran ahead, a line of different color rutted by wheels and stained by many years’ animal droppings. Beyond it the world ended in the usual mistiness of the wall, with just faint hints of very distant hills visible late in the day, when the sun was at Fabia’s back. Every fresh heap of dung was a landmark, and proof that the pass was still being provisioned and patrolled.

A new world and a new year. This morning at sunrise, Dantio had pointed out the holy star Nartiash, whose heliacal rising heralded the turning of the year.

The constant eye-watering cold wind was one problem and Dantio’s limp another, but the gravest concern was water. The shelter at First Ice had been stocked with shabby leather canteens, obviously left there so travelers would know to fill them at the seasonal meltwater pools. There had been nothing at last night’s shelter except timber windbreaks and some jars of pemmican. Now the second day was drawing to a close and the canteens were running dry. The world ahead was flat gravel and more flat gravel.

“Are we nearly there yet?” Waels asked, yet again. The joke had worn as thin as the soles of Fabia’s boots. If he weren’t a Werist, someone would hit him.

“It is not known,” Dantio said, “but it is suspected, that we are nearly somewhere. There’s a dip ahead. I can’t see it, but I can sense it, just barely.”

Waels did something that briefly made his face twist out of shape and his eyes bulge. “Bless my fangs and talons! You’re right.”

Fabia wondered what they would they do when they got “there,” wherever “there” was. Veritano, the Florengian equivalent of Nardalborg, was supposedly a smaller settlement. They had hoped to slip past it unseen, for it would be manned by Stralg’s men, but on this terrain a mouse would be conspicuous.

“Has anyone thought up a good fable yet?” Dantio asked the landscape, tactfully not asking Fabia directly.

Xaran was the Mother of Lies. If anybody could think up a workable cover story, it should be the family Chosen. Fabia had prayed for guidance in the night, but none had come. She was in little danger because she could claim to be a hostage from some obscure place on the far side of the Face. Dantio was merely an escaped slave. But Orlad and Waels would have to talk very fast to convince any Vigaelian Werists they met that they were not Cavotti rebels.

“Not me,” she said. “I can only suggest we tell the truth and call for a seer to verify it.”

“Stralg can’t have many seers left. I very much doubt that he’ll have one stationed out here.”

Waels sighed. “Pity to come all this way just to bleed to death.”

“If the gods are kind,” Orlad said, “there will be someone at Veritano who knew us back at Nardalborg.”

“And what do I say when they ask why I changed color?”

“Look blank and say, ‘I did?’”

From Orlad that was good repartee, so the others laughed.

“You had better start practicing,” Dantio said, “because we are about to have company. Dust ahead.”

This time both Werist faces deformed, their eyes swelling until Fabia turned away, unwilling to watch.

“Chariots. I make it six, my lord.”

“Six it is. A flank on patrol.” After a moment Orlad added, “But they’re Florengians. We don’t have to bleed yet.”

The chariots were low wickerwork structures on two wheels, drawn by teams of four furry things like long-legged, long-necked black sheep. Although smaller than onagers, they could move their little hooves to good effect. Each car carried two brown-skinned young men. They bore no visible weapons, but brass collars encircled their necks and their black hair and beards were close-cropped. Three chariots turned off to one side and two to the other. The leader pulled up in the road ahead, the driver turning the car at the last moment so his superior could look down at the strangers instead of having to stare along the length of his team.

These Werists wore what seemed to be wool blankets, draped over the left shoulder and pinned on their right side, so they left the right arm bare and covered the other down to the elbow. The leader’s was blue and the others’ brown.

The leader looked over the filthy, ragged, and hairy wayfarers with distaste. “What have we here? Deserters?”

“My lord,” Dantio said, “you are a welcome sight! I am a Witness of Mayn.”

The flankleader raised a skeptical eyebrow, but he tucked his left hand behind his back.

“Two,” Dantio said. “Three. Thumb only. All five now.”

“So you are!”

“And we always speak truth.”

“So they say. Welcome back to Florengia, Witness. I am Flankleader Felice Serpanti, proud to serve in the Liberators.”

Dantio was grinning all over, like a boy left to guard a sweetmeat stall. “It is good to be back! I am Dantio Celebre, eldest son of Doge Piero. Orlad Celebre, my brother, formerly a flankleader in the Tryfors Host, now his own man. Hero Waels Borkson, his liegeman. Lady Fabia Celebre, our sister.”

“Welcome all!” Felice looked to his driver, whose eyes were wide with astonishment. “Know any of them, Dimo?”

Dimo was younger and slighter, his beard patchy. His steady stare at Fabia was flattering, especially considering how rumpled she was from her travels. “No, my lord. Before my time. But the doge did have four children taken hostage.”

“Now we are back,” Dantio said. “Three of us. I gather that Veritano has fallen to the, er, forces of freedom?”

“Last night. And the Mutineer plans to burn it tomorrow. Your timing is admirably chosen, lord Dantio.”

“Praise the gods! How goes the war? Our father?”

“The war goes well, but the ice devils have not been brought to bay yet. The doge still lingers, I think. Right, Dimo?”

The boy nodded. “The girl looks very like Dogaressa Oliva, lord.”

“The war goes very well beyond the Edge,” Dantio said. “We bring wonderful news. Do I gather that the Mutineer himself is at Veritano?”

Felice laughed uneasily. “I did not say that. Is there anyone behind you?”

“No. We burned the bridge at Fist’s Leap and closed the pass.”

If a seer said so, it must be true. Fabia had not told the others about her nightmares.

The flankleader said, “Weru’s b-buttocks! Closed the pass? I am going to take all four of you to Veritano directly.” He took the reins from his driver. “Dimo, you can have the honor of reporting that we are returning.”

“My lord is kind.” Dimo turned and was gone in a swirl of cloth. He dove from the chariot, hitting the gravel with two front paws, and a black warbeast streaked off over the plain. The furry things shied, tossing their heads and humming oddly, but they did not panic as onagers would have done. Felice, who had caught the brown chlamys before it dropped, bundled it up and put it at his feet inside the car.

The tension had eased. Felice barked out commands to the rest of his men. Men sprang down from chariots when he named them. His dark eyes looked over the visitors and settled on Fabia with a smile that showed white, regular teeth and an invitation to flirt. Florengia must be full of young men with that glowing brown skin, although surely few of them would show it off as well as this one. For far too long she had been limited to the company of men who were not interested.

He offered a hand. “Lady Fabia? Will you honor me?” Realizing that she had no further use for the smelly, dirty bedroll she had carried so long, she tossed it aside and accepted his hand up. She grabbed the rail as a flip of his reins sent the rig shooting forward. The car was small enough to be intimate and would be a tight squeeze for two big Heroes.

“All right?” He wrapped an arm around her, enveloping her in his chlamys.

“ Quite all right, thank you, Flankleader. I am no stranger to chariots.”

“Pity.” He left his arm behind her, but gripped the rail instead of her, which was an acceptable compromise. Why did he bother? She had never felt so like a midden in her life. Her clothes were rotting off her. Her hair, her skin…

“You actually walked over Veritano Pass, all the way?”

“My boorish brothers refused to carry me.” The chariot rode more smoothly than hers had, back in Skjar, although the flatness of the terrain helped. Three more teams were following, leaving two chariots and seven men stranded on the Altiplano until another party could be sent to pick them up. “Marno Cavotti is here, at Veritano?”

“I did not say so.” His smile said so.

Incredible fortune! Or was it? Cavotti would soon devise his own plans for the Celebre hostages, and their own wishes might not carry much weight.

“He will be surprised to meet us.”

“Yes, even Marno could not expect to find you here. Of course,” the flankleader added mischievously, “he may have some surprises for you, too.”

“What does that mean?”

“Wait and see.”

“How long does it take to go from Veritano to Celebre?”

“About a sixday by chariot. The Mutineer can do it in less, but he needs many relays of guanacos.”

“I must go to my mother,” she said, feeling a sudden lump in her throat. Not that she could remember Oliva. It must be the idea of motherhood that affected her-that, and pity for a woman whose life had been so blighted. “I was only a baby when I was torn from her arms. And now my father is dying. This just doesn’t feel real.”

“Our news is a few days old, but the last I heard, the Liberators and ice devils were still feinting at each other near Celebre. So far neither has tried to occupy the city. I heard the… heard someone say just last night that Celebre could be critical. There will have to be one big battle before this thing is over.”

“What will you do with the prisoners when it is over?”

Felice’s face hardened. “I don’t know that word. Prisoners?”

That was a chilling reminder that she was in a war zone, and not a mere bystander either, if Celebre was important.

The road dipped into a gully, which rapidly widened and began to wind, heading steeply downward. Side gullies merged with it. When the trail grew rough, Felice slowed the team, but not so much that he and his passenger would not be bounced together at every lurch. He wrapped his arm around her again, holding all the reins in one large hand and letting the guanacos follow the trail more or less by themselves, taking corners on one wheel. She knew he was showing off, but she was impressed anyway. The cliffs grew higher, sculpted into bizarre pinnacles and towers. Patches of green appeared, brightening the arid ground.

Soon huge black birds screeched and flapped, some fighting up into the air, others just cavorting along the ground. Vigaelia had similar creatures, although smaller. Whatever their names, they fed on carrion. As the chariot hurtled past the first kill, she caught a glimpse of a large, yellow-furred dead thing, ripped and bloody, a glint of brass. Then she saw more of them. Some of them were visibly human, some indeterminate. No black or brown ones, though. Those would have been treated with more respect.

“Last night’s losers?”

“They tried to break out to the pass,” Felice said carelessly. “Of course our leader had anticipated that and posted a full hunt here to stop them. You should thank the gods that none of them got past us.”

Thinking about that, she did not speak again for a while.

The valley was still spreading out on either side, flat bottomland carpeted with lush vegetation and flanked by cliffs receding into the distance. She was amazed at how far they had descended. The air was gentle, wonderfully easy to breathe. Florengia was much warmer than Vigaelia, Orlad had warned her, quoting his friend Gzurg. According to Dantio, much of the time it was a steam bath. Thinking of which…

“Is that steam?” She pointed at the nearest of several plumes.

“Warm springs,” Felice told her. “The source of the Puisa.”

“Who?”

He gave her an odd look. “The river that flows through Celebre. Veritano is famous for its hot baths.”

“Now I know I’m dreaming. Don’t make any loud noises.”

Soon they passed a string of chariots heading out to rescue the rest of Felice’s men. He released Fabia long enough to make a hand signal that probably meant the situation had not changed since Dimo’s report. The other leader waved acknowledgment.

Brown and black guanacos grazed in emerald fields. Obviously that was Veritano ahead, a complex of adobe buildings with red tile roofs and strange, feathery trees-and several lazy columns of steam.

“Finest place in the Altiplano,” Felice said. “Used to be a sanctuary. Lords and ladies came here to enjoy the warm springs. When the Fist took it over, Sinura left.”

“Smart goddess.”

The car rattled through an arch into a wide courtyard. Along one side many chariots stood in rows, their shafts pointing skyward. A small paddock had been railed off on the other, and men grooming guanacos there stared in surprise at Felice’s passenger as he drove past them, heading to a gate at the far side. She noted signs of neglect-tiles missing, walls crumbling, creepers and other greenery running riot. The chariot rattled to a halt.

At the gate stood a giant, fists on hips. Fabia had seen big Werists and bestial Werists, but this one was both, grotesquely misshapen and thickly furred with black hair. All of him, especially his face, seemed cruelly lopsided. A stub of horn the size of a thumb protruded from his forehead and massive brows overhung his eyes like the roof of a cavern, while his chin was lost under a toothy protruding muzzle. He wore the same sort of knee-length chlamys Felice did, but his was green, and linen instead of wool. Oddly shaped boots and a brass collar completed his attire. Could this monster be the celebrated Mutineer, the man who had outwitted and outfought Bloodlord Stralg?

He was the most repulsive parody of a man she had ever seen. Even Horold Hragson had seemed more human than this.

She liked him even less when he smiled, for that muzzle was all teeth, too many huge, onager-sized teeth. He stepped forward and offered a very large hand. Fabia had trouble not shuddering as she accepted it, noting black claws tipping the thick fingers.

Murmuring, “Thank you, Flankleader,” to Felice, she stepped down.

“Lady Fabia? I am Marno Cavotti.” He did not bow, and for her to curtsey in the rags she wore would be ridiculous.

“I used to be Fabia Celebre, my lord. I hope to be so again, once I have bathed and dressed. I am happy and honored to meet you. All Vigaelia knows your name and supports your cause.”

He bore a strong animal odor-not as repellent as Horold Hragson’s had been, but not human. He glanced over his shoulder. A woman emerged from the gate and came to stand at his side. Her simple wrap clung to an angular, bony figure. She was not young-white-streaked hair, care-lined face, penetrating eyes-but women aged rapidly during their bearing years. His wife?

She said only, “I am Giunietta, my lady.”

“I am honored to meet you.”

The second chariot had arrived. Dantio stepped down, favoring his gimpy ankle. He bowed-to the woman. “Witness Mist, sister.”

She smiled as if caught out. “Witness Giunietta, brother.”

Another bow. “Dantio Celebre, my lord Mutineer. I am greatly honored to meet you again.”

Cavotti responded with a bend of his bull neck. “I would not have known you.”

“Boys notice their elders more than their juniors. I remember you, but only dimly.”

“Faugh! My own mother would not know me now. Welcome home, lord Dantio. You arrive at an interesting time.” Again he glanced at Giunietta, and they exchanged the sort of looks that couples exchange. He was puzzled by this soft-spoken young man; she was saying she would explain later.

Orlad sprang down and saluted. He introduced himself and Waels in very stilted Florengian. Fabia noted Cavotti’s manner cool. A Florengian who had been initiated in Vigaelia was suspect. “Piero had a fourth child, as I recall.”

“Benard,” Dantio said. “He remained behind, having just become consort of Kosord.”

“Kosord? Why is that name familiar?”

Dantio grinned. “Because it was previously ruled by Horold Hragson. You want the news, my lord Mutineer? Brace yourself. Benard killed Horold with a little help from Orlad and his men. Orlad killed Therek Hragson with his own bare, er, teeth. Hordeleader Arbanerik and his New Dawn rebels took Tryfors and were poised to take Nardalborg when we left. Saltaja Hragsdor tried to flee over the pass with a large escort of Heroes. She closed the road behind her, but we closed it ahead of her, leaving her trapped near the Edge without supplies or a way out. She may be presumed dead.”

“Hands of death!” Cavotti roared. “Is any of this true, love?”

“All of it.” Giunietta clapped her hands. “Oh, most wonderful news!”

Cavotti bared teeth in a monster’s leer. “You Celebres don’t play for cakes, do you? Hero Orlad, I hail you as worthy of our god!” He grabbed Orlad in a bear’s embrace, lifting him right off the ground.

Orlad did not like that. The moment he was set down he snarled, “And you likewise, Mutineer,” and treated the giant likewise. Just to show he could, probably.

Cavotti laughed and thumped his shoulder. “The whole foul brood dead except for Stralg, then?”

Fabia did not want to reveal her suspicions yet, but she could not leave him misinformed. “A warning, my lord. I agree that Saltaja’s position seemed hopeless, but you know that the Queen of Shadows has always been a tool of the Ancient One. When we burned down the bridge at the Leap, we inadvertently left our Pathfinder on the other side. No one knows any other way to cross the Dust River, but if there is one, he will have found it for her. You should post a watch on this end of the pass, my lord, just to be quite certain.”

She had not mentioned that possibility to her companions, but their frowns were nothing compared to Cavotti’s. He said, “I will do so, with orders to kill her on sight. What comes first, my lords and lady-hot water? Food? News? Talk? Sleep?”

“You have the right order exactly,” Fabia said. She doubted they would have much time left over for sleep.