Dave Duncan - Children of Chaos

The girl laughed, neither too much nor too little. She was strong and deep-breasted, not sylphlike like Benard's goddesses, but she sparkled with youth and health, and her royal breeding showed in poise and diffidence, wit and intelligence. Broad shoulders must run in the family. She would be wasted on Cutrath, who had not yet discovered that women had uses outside bedrooms.

Fabia might also be a spoiled brat, accustomed to getting her own way, overindulged by a wealthy father. Her demand that Benard drop everything to escort her, while not absurd, could have been more tactfully phrased. Her flat assertion that she would never marry a Werist was as unrealistic as some of his crazier logic. It was a rare bride who had any say in the selection of her husband, and girls with dynastic claims never did, as Ingeld well knew. Fabia would be taken to Tryfors under guard, and there her choice would be wedding ring with or without thumbscrews.

"Benard is stubborn, isn't he?" Fabia asked.

" Bena ? Why, he flows as smoothly as the Wrogg."

"And only one way?" She was quick.

"Exactly one." Ingeld waved to acknowledge cheers. "He refuses to see trouble until he steps in it. Who was the man who came with you?"

"My foster father, Horth Wigson. Saltaja brought him along as hostage for the hostage. I suspect Eide is currently looting his home and business."

"Very likely. I saw him dissolve into the crowd. It was smoothly done." His absence might tempt Fabia to try an escape, Ingeld thought, and wondered if the girl knew how dangerous Saltaja Hragsdor was. "Will he be all right?"

"He will own half of Kosord within the year."

It was Ingeld's turn to laugh. "We have Ucrists here, too." Fabia's grin was impish. "Pity them."

♦

Ingeld swept into the palace like a spring flood. She summoned the flankleader of the palace guard; sent for a pair of golden rods; committed Fabia to the tender care of San-sya, who rushed her away, both of them chattering happily in Florengian; established that Saltaja had been given a room but was now closeted with Horold and thus safely out of the way; ascertained that preparations for the feast were in full roar, with edible meats due almost at once; added Thod to the list of honored guests to receive festive wreaths and robes; and settled a dozen other problems.

By then she had reached her chamber. She tossed a handful of godswood on the smoldering coals in the brazier and paced a few lengths while she went over her escape plan. She could not hope to deceive the Witnesses, but they never volunteered information. By the time Horold got around to asking questions, she should be far, far away.

Two youngsters knelt in the doorway, each clutching a gilded baton.

"Come in." She smiled to put them at ease. Neither was known to her and they were both so sweaty and dusty that they had obviously been working hard already, but she had expected as much today, which was one reason why she had summoned two. The other reason was that two rods made a message an affair of state.

"Both of you to High Priest Nrakfin," she said. "Make sure there are other priests in attendance, understand?"

They both nodded and the taller boy smiled slightly, so she need not labor the point. Nrakfin's aides would see that her commands were obeyed.

"Say to him: "The Nymph of holy Eriander known as Hiddi, who dwells in the Lesser Street of Silversmiths, has given grave affront to holy Veslih. The woman must be brought in penitent garb to the Shrine of Repentance and our gravest ban shall fall on any who delay her.' Repeat."

They parroted it back, watching each other's lips for timing.

"Good. Go."

They did not merely go; they fled. It must be ten years since Ingeld had threatened anyone with exile, and old Nrakfin would gibber if he understood. His aides would pass the thunderbolt on to the light of Eriander, and it would be up to her to deliver the package.

Flankleader Guthlag was next, beaming toothlessly and bowing in proper Werist fashion—a move he had been quite unable to make before Ingeld's last attempt to ship Benard out of town.

"You sent for me, lady?"

"Indeed I did, Packleader," she said, giving him the rank he had borne in the days before Horold. "I want to ask a favor."

"Anything at all, of course."

"Not unlike the last one I asked of you. When the hostages check in today, can you arrange to see them alone?"

Only one hostage was required to register at the guard room these days, and the old man caught her meaning at once, leering his pleasure. She had never doubted that he would aid her flight. Quite apart from his lifelong loyalty to her, he had always had a soft spot for Benard and now additionally credited Bena with finding an excuse for him to battleform and so cure his rheumatism. That was not how Benard told it, but Guthlag looked ten years younger than he had before their escapade in the summer. He was even staying sober.

"No difficulty, my lady. I was thinking of taking a stroll down to the temple." Meaning he could talk privately with Benard there.

They exchanged a few meaningless remarks and the Werist departed. Guthlag would do his part, but last night Ingeld had given Benard a bag of silver for expenses. She hoped he would not mislay it before Guthlag got there.

Now back to the feast—the anteroom was again full of people with problems.

♦

Ingeld's everyday dress as a Daughter was ostentatious enough, but her festival robes were a state treasure, copiously decorated with amber, coral, topaz, rubies, car-nelians, jasper, and garnets. She could not sit down in them, but she could fill a small room, and her headdress was an eruption of red and gold feathers that posed problems in all but the highest doorways. She had long ago learned to tolerate the weight and discomfort in exchange for the awe she could provoke in almost anyone. By the time she was made ready for the feast, the garden outside was shadowed and the sky burned sunset-red.

She was advised that the two Celebre hostages were awaiting her pleasure in the anteroom. She was also informed that a woman in penitent garb had been delivered to the Shrine of Repentance. She sent for Tene and Sansya.

"There is a vicious old baggage Nymph in the Shrine. Tene, summon a Witness and scribes for a trial. We'll make it quick and run her out of town. Sansya, take three or four acolytes, and don't let her within arm's length of a man, whatever you do. Show her the shackles, whips, and branding irons, and explain how they are used. Then bring her here... Go around by the Great Corridor and Crystal Court..."

She outlined an itinerary that would show Hiddi the wealth and grandeur of the palace. She would walk high-vaulted halls and wide corridors, see polychrome murals, mosaics of semiprecious stones, paneling of fruit woods and alabaster, furniture of gilt and ivory, tin and amber, rare fabrics and soft furs. She would pass early feasters starting in on meats and fruits piled high on gold and silver platters; heaps of fish and beans, dates, peaches, innumerable cheeses, cucumbers, and poultry; rivers of beer fortified with mead; wine cooled in the palace cellars, all being served by many sixty servants. She would see the dancers and tumblers, hear the musicians and the laughter of jeweled nobles reclining on their couches. If that didn't do it, Ingeld thought, she was sadly misjudging her victim. Sansya looked puzzled, but went off to obey.

Ingeld called for the Celebres and threw more godswood twigs on the brazier.

Fabia entered first and Ingeld saw she had been too hasty to judge someone who had spent many sixdays on the river without a single attendant. Not sylphlike, no, but the girl did have beauty beyond the mere glow of youth. Surprisingly, her dresser had robed her in dark colors, a gown of deep blue and costly purple that gave her a strange air of mystery, and whose simple lines made her seem taller and slighter than before. It was a curiosity of Kosordian costume that the men covered their chests for festive occasions and the women bared theirs. Fabia's decolletage would have shocked Skjaran society to the marrow, but she had the figure to justify it and apparently the confidence also. The high black coil of her hair sparkled with amethysts.