Dave Duncan - Children of Chaos

"Nice imagery. What do you recommend I do about it?"

She lowered her spindle to touch the floor, then lifted it to wind the finished thread around it. "Exactly what you and your lady are already planning to do. Just make sure you don't fail."

"Snoop!" Benard turned to go, then changed his mind. "How is Hiddi?" He had horrible visions of an infuriated Horold breaking her neck.

"Hiddi is still waiting for the satrap, but he believes his wife is waiting for him and is heading for her bedchamber as fast as he can stagger. Sober, he might have a chance. As it is ... well, if you wish to gamble, Bena, I'll bet ten oxen on Hiddi to a rabbit pelt on Horold." The Witness set her spindle turning again and began feeding it wool from her distaff.

"Thank you," Benard said. Good for Hiddi! "Twelve blessings—"

"Wait! Obviously you must flee downstream. The current will help you outrun Horold's warbeasts and it leads to more densely settled lands where fugitives can hide in a forest of people. Upstream is a dead end and you may run into Saltaja or Cutrath."

"You're hinting that Horold knows that, so we should go upstream?"

The seer chuckled. "If you believe that, then you should double-bluff him and go downstream anyway."

"Horold is cunning enough to work that out, too!" Benard said angrily, sensing mockery. "I won't tell you which way we're going!" He was planning to spin a knife and let holy Cienu decide. "The satrap'll send his host whichever way you seers tell him to!"

As he started to turn, the seer again said, "Wait!"

"What?"

" It is known that I am the only Witness presently in Kosord whose sight extends all the way across the river. And I am leaving."

"So?"

"So, hope that when Horold discovers your absence, he will ask 'Which way did they go?' and not 'Where are they heading?' Understand?"

She meant he should start one way and then double back. That was worth knowing. Benard nodded to the darkness. What was it about this woman that he found so repellent?

"Flankleader Guthlag," she said, "has hired Ucr Blessed , which is a very fast boat with a skilled crew. If you go to Sixty Ways in Tryfors and ask there for Poppy Delight, you will find friends who can help you."

" Friends ? Friends against the Hrag gang?"

"Very much against the Hrag gang. Say Mist sent you. And may holy Cienu shower good fortune on you and your lady."

If this was a trap, why would the seer not just tell Horold what his wife and her lover were plotting? Or even tell Saltaja? Puzzled and not entirely convinced, Benard could say only, "Thank you. We'll consider your words."

thirty-two

FABIA CELEBRE

soon tired of the fat old women who formed the upper crust of Kosordian society, and they had even less interest in her. She did not know why Ingeld had dumped her on them, although she had her suspicions. When an aggrieved discussion of the outrageous price of slaves sprang up, she quietly spun a veil, as the Old One had taught her. Once she was well obscured, she backed away unseen.

She had an exploration in mind. The place Benard called the Old Ramp had beckoned her. He had implied worse danger than just amorous drunks, but she was confident she could handle those easily enough, and the uncanny held no terrors for her now.

Wheel ruts in the flagstone floor showed that the spooky corridor had once been a chariot road, and grandiose bas-reliefs suggested that it might have been the main entrance to the palace. At the bottom of the long slope she came to an unlit crypt, reeking of damp and decay. Absence of light did not trouble her, although she had brought no lamp. The only sound was a distant drip of water, whose echoes told her that this was a large, high place.

Whatever it had been in the past, now it lay buried under newer construction and was used to stash unwanted junk between its ancient brick pillars. No, more than just that. A familiar tang of mystery and the slow drip brought whispers of welcome. This was the Kosordian equivalent of the secret grotto under Skjar's Pantheon, officially ignored but secretly tolerated for the performance of chthonic rites.

She wondered how safe the roof was, for both wooden rafters and brick pillars must decay in this drippy damp. More urgently, she wondered what she would say to Saltaja if they ran into each other here. Nevertheless, her instincts said that this was Xaran's temple, so she set off to find the altar and offer prayer.

Even a Chosen need step warily through such terrain in the dark. She had not gone far—just past some decaying chariots—when a faint glow began playing around her feet She stepped behind a spiral pillar and strengthened her veiling. Down the ramp came the Florengian hostage-Daughter, Sansya, carrying a small oil lamp in one hand and a bundle under the other arm. She paused when she reached the crypt, peering around and then moving cautiously to one side so she could not be seen from the hall above. There she put her back against the wall, but continued to hold her tiny light high, obviously afraid of the darkness.

Time dragged, but the Chosen had patience.

Eventually another lamp glowed in the passageway. There was no mistaking Lady Ingeld in her spectacular red and gold robes as she swept downward, hastened by the weight of her regalia, arriving almost at a run. No one could serve two gods, so the pyromancers were not here to worship the Dark One. Why were they creeping around in crypts during a religious feast?

"What news?" Ingeld asked urgently.

"He went in and closed the door, my lady. He has been in there long enough to perform a simple act of worship ... possibly even long enough to start considering another, my lady, except he was very drunk."

Ingeld laughed. "Praise to the appropriate god! Now help me, quickly, before... well, frankly, it doesn't matter if he does see me."

Fabia had understood very little of that exchange, and she watched in bewilderment as Sansya helped Ingeld shed her finery. That was not an unreasonable procedure at this time of night, for wearing all that paraphernalia would exhaust anyone, but doing so in this ill-reputed pesthole gave the action a strangely furtive air. Ingeld stripped and donned a garment from Sansya's bundle, a dark robe with a hood.

At that point, as if hearing his cue, a husky young man came running down the ramp, streaming smoke and sparks from a flaming torch. He hurled it to the weepy brick floor so he would have both arms free when Ingeld flowed into his embrace. It was a long embrace.

A very long embrace.

How revealing! Sansya was clearly embarrassed, fidgeting and trying not to stare, but Fabia sent a silent prayer of thanks to her divine mistress for showing her this little scandal. She wondered how long her scatterbrained brother had been cuckolding the satrap. This explained the sudden outburst of temper in Benard's yard this morning; only lovers would dare speak so bitterly. Absurd! Ingeld was old enough to be his mother.

"By your leave, my lady?" Sansya said quickly, when the lovers broke for air.

"Of course!" Ingeld gave her a hug. "Many thanks for your help, my dear. I leave my city in good hands."

Benard, too, gave Sansya a hug, and she went hurrying off up the ramp. The lovers smooched all over again. Even Fabia was starting to squirm. Would she ever sink into idiocy like that over a man?

Ingeld said, "Beloved, we must go. Guthlag has hired a boat. It's waiting at Candlemakers' Steps."

"I heard about the boat— Ucr Blessed ." Benard's low growl echoed strangely through the crypt. "A Witness who says her name is Mist is meddling in our affairs, love. She gave me some odd advice. Is 'Mist' a normal Maynist name?"