Dave Duncan - Children of Chaos

"That's why I keep you secret, son. That's why you must bear the shameful name of Hethson. Stralg took three of my sons. The Florengians killed them. And Karvak's two. And three of Saltaja's. Two of Horold's died on the way there." If either Stralg or Saltaja ever learned about Heth, they'd take him as well.

"Yes, lord."

"Florengian swine! I hate them, hate them! And that stinking brown whelp of a Florengian here in Nardalborg— you talked me into letting him take the tests, Huntleader! I won't forget that. Then that bonehead Gzurg actually passed him, so I had to give him his collar. I had to watch him spill his filthy blood at my feet. You made me accept an oath from a stinking brown Florengian traitor, knowing every word he uttered was a lie. I even had to embrace the scum!" He shivered with revulsion. He still wondered how he'd managed not to strangle the maggot there and then. All he needed was a word from the seer and he would do it. Personally. Why was she taking so long?

"Well, what do you want?"

"Just bringing you the dispatch and the news, my lord."

"That's a lie. You're no page. Out with it." He might not be able to see his son's face at this range, but he knew how to glare at it, and he heard the worry in the reply.

"My lord is kind. I came to say, my lord... to inform you... I have given permission for the cadets to touch the Presence. Tonight. My lord."

"No! No, no, no! That's ridiculous." Accidentally jostling a bench, Therek roared in fury and slapped it across the room; he heard it shatter against the wall. "They're not ready. They can't be. You're making a—"

"Father, will you hear me?"

Therek could not recall ever hearing Heth give him that title. It winded him. The Florengian mutineers had butchered three of his sons, he must not lose the fourth. He nodded dumbly, staring out at the eastward stars.

"Father, I have never seen a runtleader like Orlad. Every morning I tell him what I want done next and he's already done it! He's run those boys through six days' training in half that. I know it sounds impossible, but he's done it. All twelve of them! They're reeling. It's inhuman, but he's done it. They're out on their feet, but he keeps on pushing and they respond. They follow him like goslings. He treats himself harder than any and they follow. They know all the responses, word-perfect. I tested, my lord—of course I did! And I swear they are as ready to touch the Presence as any cadets I have ever seen. Don't waste this, lord! I beg you! If they don't go tonight they'll collapse and it will be a thirty before they can be brought up to readiness again—if they ever can be. Twelve cadets, Father, all twelve ready ! Gods know we need them."

Therek growled deep in his throat. Readying a man to touch the Presence for the first time was the trickiest part of initiation. The postulant must be strung to breaking point, on the very edge of snapping, or the ritual would fail, and a first failure often meant no later success. It might even kill him. Exhaustion, hunger, and lack of sleep were all vital, but too much and the boys just crumpled. Heth was rarely wrong on this.

"Take eleven and break that other one's neck." "That won't work, lord! They're following him. Without Orlad they'd just collapse in confusion. They're beyond thinking."

"No! I've told you, you can never trust a Florengian!"

That should have been the end of it. Werists did not argue. Incredibly, Heth persisted.

"Father, if what you say about the war—"

"No! He's a hostage! And a hostage for Celebre, which even Stralg admits is likely to prove critical. Saltaja asked me about him in her last letter, if he was still alive and available. Suppose the old king, or whatever he is, dies and Stralg calls for Orlad to replace him—and we send him a Werisrt What sort of puppet ruler would a Werist make?" "I can't see Orlad as anyone's puppet even now, lord."

Again knuckles rapped on the door. With relief, Therek barked "Enter!" This time it was the seer—he could make out the white blur of her robes. He barely waited for her to close the door.

"Well? What kept you? What's he thinking? He's plotting treason, yes?"

"We are not alone, lord." She was a fussy slip of a thing, this one, and young, from the sound of her voice. Women! It had been so long!

"I am well aware of that."

"As you will. The reason I took so long is that you forbade me to let anyone know what I was doing. Since I couldn't ask him direct questions, or have others do so, I had to rely on chance conversations, and he is currently so exhausted that he is barely capable of speech. The arrival of the caravan provided a fortunate opportunity for—"

"And what is he plotting? Is he subverting his entire flank against me?"

"Far from it, lord. What he says is exactly what he means, with absolutely no reservations. He is fanatically loyal to you and Huntleader Heth. He admires you so much he will not even let the cadets refer to you by the nicknames others use. He is determined to see the entire class initiated in record time, and his motive for doing so is so that he can join your brother and fight against the Florengian Werists."

"Wrong! You're wrong ! You have got to be wrong!"

The woman screamed before he reached her.

Heth jumped between them and grabbed his father in a mighty hug. "Satrap! Wait!"

Therek struggled free. "She is lying! That cannot be right. He's a Florengian himself."

"Please let the seer finish, my lord. Carry on, Witness."

The Witness was curled up in a ball on the floor. "Carry on?" Her voice was shrill and shaky. "Had you not moved so fast, Huntleader, that crazy monstrosity—"

"Get up!"

She unwound. "He was going to rip me! You explain to him what would have happened then, because I have tried and failed. The agreement between the Heroes and the Witnesses would have—"

"Oh, shut up, you prattling sow," Heth said. "And get up. He didn't touch you. Tell him why Orlad hates his fellow Florengians."

"As long as the satrap behaves," she whined, dusting herself off. "The boy doesn't hate all Florengians, at least not much. He despises the Florengian Werists, regards them all as oath-breakers, because the first initiates had sworn loyalty to Bloodlord Stralg."

"You see, Father? All his life, here in Nardalborg, he has been derided for—"

"Blood!" Therek strode back to the window to let the cold wind cool his rage. "Stupid floozy. So you tell me there is one Florengian I can trust, just one who will not turn on me the first chance he gets?"

"I do not prophesy. I say only that you can trust him now."

"Ha! So I can't trust him?"

"I repeat what I just said."

"I think what the seer means, lord," Heth said, "is that fanatical loyalty can be fragile. There is no room for compromise in such allegiance. If a man who supports a cause fanatically decides that the cause is unworthy, he will change sides and support the opposition with the same absolute zeal. Am I correct, Witness?"

"I report facts, Huntleader. I do not make hypotheses."

"Blood!" Therek said again. "A dead Florengian wouldn't even make good manure. Read me that report.",

"I am not a scribe, my lord."

"I know that, half-wit! But you can tell me what it says."

He always had a Witness read his correspondence to him, because he did not trust scribes. When he dictated anything important, he had the seer read it back to him later. He tapped claws on the floor impatiently while she shuffled the little bricks.

"All of these are from Bloodlord Stralg to you. This is the first—"

"Begin with the latest, dung-head!"

There was a pause as she cracked the clay envelope on the table edge and extracted the tablet itself.