Dave Duncan - Children of Chaos

The source of Ingeld's danger was her insane love for Benard, absurd though it was in a woman her age. "I shall not betray your confidence."

"The cult has long been divided over our support of Stralg. Most were content to obey the Eldest's dictum that we must wait for his death, which cannot now be long in coming. Then the infamous compact would also die and set us free. Mist's faction argues that the greatest power behind Stralg is not Weru, who may be very terrible but is still one of the Twelve. They hold to the opinion that Saltaja Hragsdor is a Chosen of the Foul One."

Poppy's lecture was interrupted by an ear-destroying roar, which could have been the sound of a felled forest giant parting from its stump, but was in fact merely a reminder that Packleader Guthlag lay stretched out on the sleeping platform. He had celebrated his disembarkation with several bowls of beer and in at least one of the Sixty Ways available next door.

"She is my sister-in-law," Ingeld said, "and that would not surprise me at all. But surely you can tell?"

"Never with certainty," Poppy told the fireplace. "Much of her life is hidden from us, but we cannot prove that this is the Ancient One's doing. Also, the powers of chthonians seem to vary."

"They live long lives?"

"There are records of some doing so. Since we can rarely identify them, those that we can may be exceptions."

Ingeld said cautiously, "In my experience Saltaja has always seemed much cleverer than any of her brothers, and I've met all of them. She may well be the genius behind the bloodlord."

"Did you ever meet Hrag?"

"No. I met all his children, but he himself was never mentioned."

"It is curious," the old lady said, nodding, "that we can find no record of his death, but the present Eldest, like her predecessor, refuses to listen to arguments not based on proven fact."

"Mist is the chief of the rebels?"

Poppy allowed herself a discreet chuckle. "There can be no rebellion when the Eldest's authority is absolute and no secrets are hidden from her. She is aware of our discontent and ignores it, although we represent a majority of our order. Mist is best described as our most outspoken spokesman for our views. We maintain that the evidence linking the Hrag family to the Old One is strong enough to nullify the treaty, while recognizing that revocation by us will undoubtedly engender drastic retaliation from the Werists."

"Their revenge may be very terrible," Ingeld agreed. She bent to toss her peach pit in the fire and flinched as an image of Horold flashed out at her. She threw the pit at it. How long until he caught her? She savored every moment of her freedom with Benard, knowing how brief it must be. She lay awake at nights listening to his soft breathing, feeling the heat of his body, worrying over the inevitable vengeance bearing down on them.

"We are about to have company," the seer said before the door opened behind her—nobody knocked on doors in the lodge. A small, middle-aged man walked in and peered around nervously. The door closed behind his back.

The seer did not turn. "Welcome, Master Wigson. I seldom need a name, but when I do I am Poppy. My lady, this is Horth Wigson, Fabia's foster father ... Lady Ingeld, Daughter of Veslih, dynast of Kosord."

"I am indeed honored!" He bowed to each in turn.

Ingeld was surprised. She understood that Horth Wigson was one of the wealthiest men on the Vigaelian Face, if not the wealthiest, and had built his fortune entirely with his wits. This newcomer seemed impossibly insignificant. He had a head like an inverted pear that would barely come up to her shoulder if she stood, and he tapered downward from there, stooped and wizened. True, she would not expect a merchant to be built like a Werist—or a sculptor—but surely there should be a flash of razor intelligence lurking in unfathomably calculating eyes? This man's eyes were as banal as boiled wrens' eggs.

"I understand that you have just been rescued from the satrap's cells, Master Wigson," she said. "I congratulate you on your escape."

"Oh, er, thank you, my lady."

"Fabia has also been released and is here in the lodge."

"So I am told." Wigson blinked like a bewildered owl.

"We have very effective friends here."

Poppy sniffed pettishly. "The Witnesses had nothing to do with Master Wigson's departure from the palace dungeons. He organized that himself. We merely intercepted him on the street and offered to bring him to a safe place to meet with Fabia."

"I am doubly impressed, Ucrist!" Ingeld said. "I understood you arrived in Tryfors only this morning and were thrown in jail right away."

He should not have had time to organize anything on such short notice, let alone a jailbreak. He did not explain. In the absence of a vacant seat, he perforce remained standing, hands clasped in front of him like a child reciting lessons.

Guthlag released another stupendous snore.

"He set it up when he was in Kosord," Poppy said. "His accomplices there sent a fast boat ahead of him to enlist the help of our local harbor master, who tailors the seamy underside of Tryfors. Wigson made himself known by an agreed signal on the strand this morning, and later the harbor master bribed the night guards to release him. He also provided Horth with several curious items not readily available in the bazaar, didn't he, Master Wigson?"

"Indeed he did, Witness." Horth smiled shyly, showing no surprise or alarm at having his secrets thus exposed, which was evidence of commendable control, if not necessarily razor intelligence.

Ingeld did not inquire what those curious items might be. "And how do you propose to remain at large when the satrap discovers your absence?"

"My plans were still, er, fluid, my lady. I had originally hoped that Frena and I could escape tonight by boat. Alas, whereas I was merely in the town jail, I discovered that she was being held in the palace proper, guarded by Werists. Polytheists can be bribed, Heroes cannot. I was balked. Naturally, I was overjoyed to learn that she had already been, um ... sprung." His wishy-washy smile faded on and off. "So I cannot answer your question, my lady. I do not know what is going on."

"You are not the only one, although I expect our hostess can tell us?"

"In good time," Poppy snapped. "Fabia is on her way here. She has been meeting with the youngest of her brothers, who has proved to be a very stubborn young man."

"You amaze me. Benard has a head of solid brass."

Wigson cleared his throat. "Frena herself can be quite determined at times."

On cue, Fabia burst in the door and hurled herself at him. "Father! Oh, you're safe! I was so worried!"

And so on. She was taller than he was and certainly louder. No doubt she had the makings of a charming young lady, if she could just be taken in hand by someone with suitable knowledge and skill... plus a strong arm and a switch. Someone like Ingeld herself. About three years should do it.

"It is known that you met Lady Ingeld in Kosord," Poppy said.

"I did have that honor." Fabia bobbed to Ingeld.

"Then why," the seer persisted, "are you not surprised to meet her here, so far from home? Did Benard mention her to you?"

"After what I have seen tonight, I shall never be surprised by anything. Here he is!"

Benard shambled in, reacting to the sight of Ingeld by turning on his goofiest grin. It was less convincing than usual. He was upset by something—so much so that he was trying to hide his feelings, for once.

"No luck with Orlando?" she asked.

"Like making soup with live cats." Scowling, he flopped down on the floor beside her stool. "It's horrible, what they've done to him. He's become a death-before-dishonor fanatic!"

"I know someone who was prepared to die for his art."