Dave Duncan - Children of Chaos

"It doesn't matter who he is, you bonehead! You should have pounded him to pulp for what he said to you."

It would certainly have been a pleasure and probably not difficult. Anyone whose face was already so battered could not be much of a fighter. "My lord is kind."

"You're crazy as the Vulture himself!"

Orlad's own temper slipped. "My lord! That is an inappropriate slur on our hostleader."

Heth gaped. " What did you say ?"

"My lord, he is one of the greatest of all Heroes! Satrap Therek has fought for a lifetime for his brother, his oaths—"

"Silence! He's crazy! Haven't you seen that yet? He wants you at Tryfors so he can kill you. He can and he will."

"Why should he do that, my lord?" Orlad was distressed to hear his own unworthy suspicions confirmed.

"You heard those men over there and what they think of your countrymen—all Florengians are oath-breakers. Therek blames you for his sons' deaths."

" I am not an oath-breaker !" If Horoldson had used that word, he would be a wreck by now.

"How will you prove it to a raving maniac?"

"I will obey without hesitation," Orlad said proudly, "as I swore to do. If he orders me to lay my head on the block, I will. I hope that will convince him of his error."

"You are madder than he is. Suppose he runs you for his hunt instead?"

"Then I will die. But I will not break my oath!"

Heth snorted and stalked away.

Dividing a mammoth herd was normally impossible. Fortunately, Tiny, the reigning male of the third train, was elderly and tolerant and disliked the eldest of his harem, Outhouse, who was past breeding age. But he did like Oberdar, who was an extremely competent Nastrarian, so he pretended not to notice when she rode Outhouse away. Oberdar and Outhouse gave Orlad a ride down the Tryfors road to the point where snow changed to slush. They left him within sight of the river and the town.

thirty-five

BENARD CELEBRE

had never owned a sundial. He ate when he was hungry and slept when he was tired—unless he happened to be working on something interesting, in which case he forgot to eat at all and slept when he fell over. He had no idea how many days had passed since he left Kosord with Ingeld. They had gone by like swallows in fly time. He had watched the land and sky change, the trees don copper and bronze raiment and then strip naked. He had seen the harvest gathered. He spent his days just being with her and his nights sharing her bedroll; he would be content for the world to stay like that forever. Alas, the gods insist on change.

The idyll was over. The world had soured to uniform gray and tasseled rain clouds brushed the hills. That drab-looking town on the bluff ahead was Tryfors. Captain Bro eased Ucr Blessed through the maze of narrow channels and banks of shingle that were all that was left of the mighty Wrogg. The crew was helping the boat along with poles, but Benard's offers to help had been refused with the polite explanation that this was skilled work and he might put them aground.

He liked the peculiar riverfolk, with their carefree ways, their incomprehensible jabber, and monosyllabic names—Bro, Ma, Thu, and so on. They had guessed right away who Ingeld was, for Daughters were distinctive and never normally had reason to desert their sacred hearths. Since she was obviously not a new initiate leaving to take up her lifetime duties somewhere else, and since her young male companion displayed affection more extravagantly than a son would, she could only be the dynast of Kosord herself eloping with a lover. Although riverfolk were notoriously avaricious, Bro and her crew had stayed true to their agreement with Guthlag, ignoring the opportunities for blackmail or betrayal.

"We've arrived," Ingeld said. "What are you going to do now, love?" The passengers were huddled together on a thwart, shivering in voluminous cowled cloaks of oiled wool. The rain had started again.

"What do you want me to do?"

"You decide."

He eyed her skeptically around the edge of his hood. "You've ruled a great city since before I was born. Stop pretending to be a humble little peasant wife."

She chuckled contentedly. "You obviously don't know peasant wives. I love it. I have shed all my cares except Oliva on to your shoulders. For the first time in my life I have a man I can love and trust and lean on. Fear the day I start giving orders again, Master Celebre! Besides, I gave you very clear orders last night."

Those had concerned certain procedures best not discussed in public.

"I've never been responsible for anyone except myself before."

"Good practice for you."

"Rent another boat above the rapids and sail on?" Benard suggested hopefully.

"No. Oliva has had quite enough of boats."

The first time Ingeld had admitted to nausea Benard had flown into a panic and talked wildly of finding a Healer. The riverfolk had leered knowingly. Now he kept his worries to himself.

"How long before Saltaja arrives?"

"I don't know," Ingeld said. "Soon, I think. And Horold close behind her."

She saw them in the campfire every night.

"I suppose you want to investigate that clue the seer gave me, whatever it was?"

"Sixty Ways. Doesn't that sound like a brothel, Pack-leader?"

"It does, my lady," Guthlag said.

"That would not have been my first choice for a refuge." Ingeld's eyes twinkled. "On the other hand, it may be an interesting experience. You remember the password, love?"

"No," Benard lied.

"You are to ask for Poppy Delight and say Mist sent you. And if it really is a brothel, you come straight back here, Benard Celebre!"

"That would attract suspicion. Maybe you should send the packleader instead."

A hint of Ingeld metal glinted through the meekness paint. "No," she said.

♦

Tryfors was ugly, petrified childhood nightmares. Walled cities were rare, relics of far-off days before Weru founded His cult of Heroes, or at least of days almost as ancient when savage hill tribes had not yet been brought to know the benefits of civilization. Tryfors retained only fragments of its ancient fortifications, but it still had a grim, fortresslike air. Its buildings were single-story slabs of somber gray stone, without cornices or pilasters or any other decoration, and that day all the windows were'shut-tered against the rain.

Werists were everywhere on the streets, but not all wore Satrap Therek's orange. Benard also saw Horold's purple, and although those men were not necessarily from Kosord itself, running into Cutrath or his friends would bring disaster. He must complete his mission quickly and leave.

He also saw many Florengians, because slaves had been cheap in Tryfors until the trade dried up. He expected them to be a ready source of information, but in practice this was not quite true. Checking that his hood hid his ears, he fell into step beside a white-haired man pushing a barrow. "Which way to Sixty Ways, brother?"

The carter rolled his eyes. "Man! That's not for the likes of us."

"Got lucky. Master pleased with me."

"Or mistress tired of you?"

"She never tires of me, man."

That won a scornful laugh. "Chickens'll all be roosting, man! Left at the grain exchange, bear right to the temple of Nula, go up the steps beside the—" And so on.

On his third attempt, Benard learned that the house he sought was near the palace and guessed that the palace was the building with the tower. That brought him close, and two more inquiries led him to a door under a crudely painted sign, not artistic but explicit. He reached for the equally explicit bronze knocker, and the door swung open.