Dave Duncan - Children of Chaos

"If you won't kill him or let me do it," he said gruffly, "I know how he can be distracted so he won't bother you."

"How?"

"I have a friend who's a Nymph. She says she can handle any Werist, no matter what it looks like."

Now Ingeld was on safer ground. "Yes, I know all about your cuddly pet. Fortunately she cannot get into the palace. If the guard didn't stop her, holy Veslih would. I've been meaning to have a talk with you about her, Benard."

"You needn't lecture me," he said grumpily. "It isn't what you think."

"Yes it is. She's one of the nastiest gold diggers I've seen in all my years as dynast. She bleeds men dry. Believe me, Mistress Hiddi is going to be heading downriver very shortly."

He sighed. "I know she's greedy. So let her loose on Horold! Let her loot the palace. At least your bedroom won't smell like a pigpen."

"Stop that! You have no right to speak to me like that!"

"Yes I do. I love you."

"Benard!" Not daring to stay close to him, Ingeld scrambled to her feet and began to pace. If Horold asked the Witnesses what men had been in his wife's bedroom, what they had done, what they had said—they would tell him. "You love Hiddi, remember? And Horold would kill her!"

"She swears he wouldn't. She says she's tamed much worse."

"She's a Nymph, Benard. She's enthralled you."

He snorted, a sound of exasperation. "She's done nothing of the kind! Hiddi is in love with me."

"Grow up, Benard! Don't you know her corban is to forsake love? Unlimited lust, but no love; that's the bargain she made with her god."

"Ingeld!" He spoke softly, but he was wearing his stubborn expression, watching intently as she circled the hearth. "I've never known you to be wrong like this before. Hiddi's corban is that she can never be loved, but she can love. She knows I can never love her. I'm sorry for her. We're good friends. I'm probably the only friend she has. Yes, we do what lovers do, but she knows it doesn't mean to me what it does to her."

"Indeed? And do you still have that gold Horold gave you?"

"Don't be absurd! I couldn't keep that. Wealth is my corban. I gave it to the goddess."

"Which goddess?" Ingeld demanded triumphantly.

"Mine, of course! I cast a hawk."

"You did what?" Her confidence wavered.

"I made a rough clay likeness of a hawk, her symbol," Benard explained happily, "and coated it with wax. I carved the wax to show the details, covered it with more clay and baked it in my kiln, so the wax ran out. Then I poured the gold in and cast the hawk. I gave it to Anziel at her shrine. It was very good."

A masterpiece, no doubt, hidden in some secret chapel, never to be seen by extrinsics. "I suppose you visit Hiddi just so the two of you can be sorry for her together?"

Benard shrugged. "I've been redecorating her house, replacing a mosaic, organizing—"

"At night?"

"I can't paint by candlelight, but mosaic's easy because I remember what color the tiles are in daylight. I get a lot more done when Hiddi isn't there." He smiled apologetically. "I'm an initiate, Ingeld. I bed her, but I don't worship her goddess with her. I couldn't even make love to you in this room anymore—because of that." He pointed to Eriander in the frieze of the Bright Ones.

It was almost unknown for a man to resist a Nymph, but perhaps Benard's unshakable innocence could impress even the likes of Hiddi. His haggard look came from working day and night.

Ingeld had wandered too close. Benard caught her wrist and pulled her down into an embrace. She was much too aware of his strength, his maleness. He kissed her and she did not resist. It was not a sisterly kiss.

"Run away with me, Ingeld. Go tonight. By the time he gets back tomorrow, we could be long out of the seers' seeing range."

Merciful Mother ! Had she been misreading the auguries? All her training, all her experience, taught her that the city's welfare must come first. Kosord was everything; her own comfort or preferences counted for nothing. Was the goddess offering to make an exception now?

He felt her shock. "What's wrong?"

"I tried to send you away once and you couldn't bear to leave your precious statues."

He scoffed. "Statues? Statues ? You think I care about the statues? We'll stop by the yard on the way and I'll smash them to gravel for you. It was you I wouldn't leave, and if you won't leave with me now, or can't leave, then I am going to kill Horold."

"You mean this, Benard? You really, truly still want an old woman like me? You haven't grown out of it?"

His response was to kiss her again, even more thoroughly. He needed a shave, but he kissed very expertly. She could not have broken free of his embrace had she wanted to. She didn't want to. His strength was gentle, nothing like Horold's brutality. It was years since she had been kissed like that. She had forgotten how sweet it was, but her heart had not forgotten how to respond.

"Oh, this is crazy!" she muttered when it was over. She did not want it to be over. "Horold will send Werists upstream and downstream. Anyone who looked at me would know I'm a Daughter. We'd never get away, love." She would be dragged back and Benard would die.

"Tomorrow night!" Benard said firmly. "I'll hire a fast boat. No, I'll get Guthlag to do it—I'm hopeless at haggling. We'll slip away during the feast. No one will know I've gone, because Guthlag won't be there to tell them, and we'll get Hiddi to distract Horold. It'll be a sixday before anyone dares tell him."

This was starting to make terrible sense! Her heart was racing. "Saltaja's coming. We foresee her arriving tomorrow."

"Even better. The old hag'll keep him even more occupied. Ingeld!" This decisive Benard was strangely unlike his usual impractical self. " Can you leave Kosord with me? You've always said one menzil was the farthest—"

"There may be a way," she admitted. It was madness, total Eriander madness, but it seemed to be what the fires were telling her, and there was a way to test it. "How did you get in here?"

"Through the gate, of course."

Benard was greatly favored by his goddess. Anziel would grant requests from him that other artists would never dream of asking. She would reveal shapes inside solid rock to him, open locked doors for him. He lived in a shed and gave Her golden hawks.

"Do you know the treasury of sacred vessels?"

He shrugged. "Yes. Haven't been inside it since I was a tad."

"Can you get in there without anyone knowing?"

"Why do I want to?"

"I'll explain later. It's very important. We'll be opening it before the feast tomorrow, but at the moment it's still sealed. You have to be able to close it up when you leave so that no one will know it's been opened."

He sat in silence and stillness for a dozen heartbeats, then muttered, "It's been so long ... There's a cord on the inside of the door going up through the roof." He was seeing that in his memory. "It must lead to one of the bells outside the guard room. I'd have to ask Her to unhook that, or I'll find myself neck-deep in Werists. And the ropes across the door are sealed?"

"Yes. Three seals." Three wads of dried clay on the knots, each marked with seven or eight people's wrist seals. He would have to moisten the back of each seal, remove it without cracking it, and then stick it back afterward. No mortal could do that without divine aid. But Benard's deft fingers could turn lumps of clay into flowers or butterflies or likenesses of friends.

"She may do that for me, if I ask properly."

"Go, then!" she said. "Hide that stupid dagger somewhere. If you find you can't get in, come back here. Otherwise I'll see you in the treasury when ..." She jumped up, led him over to the arches, and pointed to the stars. "When Ishniar is overhead. Will that be time enough?"