Dave Duncan - Children of Chaos

Benard, in blue-green festive cloak and garland of roses, was a maiden's dream, an astonishing contrast to his habitual scruffiness. Ingeld wondered briefly which god he could model after himself, and decided with amusement that it would have to be holy Demern. Only the Lawgiver should portray that rocky stubbornness.

He could hardly take his eyes off his newfound sister, but when he saw Ingeld in full regalia, he sobered and dropped on one knee. Fabia was already down.

"Up, up!" Ingeld said. "This is a family conference, not a temple ceremony. Fabia, you look breathtaking! The feast has its queen. Are you not proud of your sister, Benard? What goddess will you style after her?"

He frowned and stared at Fabia. And she stared right back—cryptic, inscrutable, waiting.

"I... I don't know," he muttered. "Hrada, perhaps?"

Fabia was amused. "Me? With a loom or a needle? Or are you thinking stonemason's mallet and chisel?"

He shook his head and did not reply, still frowning.

"Come over here, dear," Ingeld said, "this is Cutrath."

"It's a good likeness," Benard growled from behind them, "except that in reality his ears are bloated like cabbages, his nose is all bent over, his teeth—"

"That will do, Benard!"

Fabia made some tactful remarks about brawn, but clearly would still not admit that Cutrath had relevance for her.

Ingeld explained the rest of the images—her parents and the twins. Then she pointed up at the frieze of the Bright Ones—Cienu with his wine jug, Nula comforting a child, and so on. "That is Benard's work. You have a very talented... What's wrong?"

The girl had lost color. "Nothing ... nothing at all... Is that not Bloodlord Stralg, my lady?"

"It's not a great likeness," Benard said. "I barely remember him."

"It's close enough to give me nightmares," Ingeld countered.

"But you were only a pudding, so you can't possibly remember," he told his sister. "So how—"

"I do believe Saltaja showed me his picture once," Fabia said hastily, seeming flustered. "In Skjar. And of course he is your brother-in-law, my lady! I suppose he is an appropriate model for holy Weru ... And that is you—as holy Veslih, of course! Oh, it's wonderful! Who are the rest, Benard?"

He was grinning again. "Most are composites of several people. Can you recognize any more?"

"No. How could I?"

"Holy Nula is based on Mama. Now you see how I recognized you this morning? Demern, over there, is Papa. They're not true likenesses, just childhood memories, and of course the coloring is Vigaelian, not Florengian."

"You are most wonderfully clever! I am honored to have such a brother. Will you draw Dantio and Orlando for me?"

Benard winced. "I never think about Dantio. Orlando was so young that my memories would mean nothing. He must be a grown man by now."

Fabia had made a very good recovery, but Ingeld was certain it had not been Stralg that had startled her. She had been looking toward Nula, and while Master Artist Benard might see a resemblance between the picture and the girl, Ingeld had not until he pointed it out. Fabia had not exclaimed, "That's me!" If she had been taken from her mother as a babe, how could she have retained any memory of her face? And why lie about it if she had? Curious! Nor could Ingeld recall seeing any likenesses of Bloodlord Stralg in Skjar the time she had visited her sister-in-law there.

Now it was past time Ingeld took her place at the feast, and she still had Hiddi to settle. "Benard, I do think you should ask Saltaja to let you accompany your sister to Tryfors for her wedding."

He frowned. He was hopeless at lying, and almost never did, but he must see the need to keep their plans secret even from Fabia.

"You heard the bride's views on the wedding," he said. "It will not happen. Why should I want to go to Tryfors? I remember it as an absolutely horrible place." Never had Ingeld seen him look more like a mud-brick wall. "I have a commission to finish here. I have obligations to my apprentice. You can have Celebre, so far as I am concerned, Sister. Congratulations. Give Mama my regards."

Ingeld caught Fabia's eye and they pulled faces in unison. Men!

"How about Papa, if he still lives?"

Benard shrugged. "Him, too, if you want. Ingeld worries that Horold will kill me if I stay here, but she knows that her son would certainly kill me if I turned up in Tryfors."

Amusingly, the girl now looked equally stubborn. Accustomed to getting her own way, she was close to losing her temper. "It seems a shame after all these years to find my brother and so soon have to mourn him."

To keep up the pretense, Ingeld had to say, "She's right, Benard."

His scowl became even more mulish. "I don't think so. You're proposing I evade murder by committing suicide. Horold won't kill me until I've finished immortalizing Cutrath for him. You know that. Come, Fabia, I want to show you off. By your leave, my lady? If this is to be my last feast, I mustn't miss any of it."

Ingeld nodded permission and he left with his sister on his arm.

♦

Like a huge brown caterpillar, the Nymph shuffled on bare feet into Ingeld's chamber. Penitent garb was the ultimate in indignity, a narrow, sleeveless sack that left only the upper half of her face visible. She could neither sit nor kneel, and to move at all she must struggle to hold up the trailing hem and take tiny steps. Hiddi had been prodded along on her tour of the palace by two husky Daughter acolytes armed with long toasting forks.

Ingeld posed in state on the platform, a white-shrouded Witness stood near the arches, and two cross-legged scribes held styli ready. Tene and Sansya had chosen to attend, wanting to learn how to conduct such a trial. If this one went as planned, it should not seem difficult.

"Witness of holy Mayn," Ingeld proclaimed, "I am dynast of this city and I have summoned the Nymph Hiddi here before the holy Bright Ones to answer my charge that she has abused the powers granted her by holy Eriander. Do you recognize this court?"

"I do," the Maynist said.

"Are the holy ones present?"

"Their images testify that They are."

"Is the prisoner the accused I named?"

"She is."

Ingeld turned her attention to Hiddi. What could be seen of her face was scarlet with fury, and her eyes glittered like bronze knives. Ingeld could only hope that Benard had explained why this charade was necessary.

"Nymph Hiddi," Ingeld continued, "you worship Eriander in your own home instead of in the temple and enrich yourself with gifts that should have been made to your god or not made at all. I abhor you and your like. You pervert your god's purpose. Instead of dispensing His joy, you torture men with unslaked desire. The powers He gives for your defense you use to enslave. I have lost count of the wives who have come to me in tears because their husbands have given away everything to holy harlots like you, so that they and their children will be sold into slavery to pay their debts. In the last year, at least three have told me that you were the leech responsible. Do you deny these charges?"

"They are lies!" Hiddi screamed.

"Witness?"

"She is guilty."

"Then I can pronounce sentence. Nymph, will you plead for mercy?"

" Bitch !" Hiddi screamed. The onlookers gasped in horror. If that was fake anger, it was well done.

"I am the light of Veslih and greater than you, slut. I sentence you to confiscation of all your property plus eight sixty lashes with an oxhide whip, followed by eviction from our city, living or dead."

Hiddi muttered something inaudible but unrepentant.

Ingeld waited for the scribes to catch up. "We shall remit part of that sentence if you will confess your victims by name, beseeching your god to release them evermore from your toils."