Children of Chaos

'Hungry?' asked a voice right behind him.

He twitched, naturally, but he did not think that would count. He did not drop the sword or ax. His mouth was so dry he could hardly make the words.

'My lord is kind to ask.'

'The god is testing you hard,' Gzurg said. 'Do you think He refuses to have a Florengian in His cult?'

'My lord is kind.'

'Answer the question.'

'Lord, He shows favor by letting me prove my dedication.'

'Bravely rationalized,' said the low voice. Gzurg had trouble speaking softly because his muzzle now resembled a crocodile's. The word passed around the candidates was that he had sixty-four teeth, and obviously some of them were as big as thumbs. Each of his thighs was as thick as a normal man's chest. Even in his human aspect he was magnificent; Orlad wished he could see him in full battleform.

'What sort of a name is 'Orlad'? You know what it means?'

'Lord, it means a small rodent with very sharp teeth. My lord.'

'Is it your real name?'

'I think my original name was something hard to say, like 'Orlindio,' my lord. I have forgotten.'

'You are old to be still a probationer. Or does your coloring make you seem older?'

'My lord is kind.'

'Your lord wants an answer.'

'I am obedient to the satrap, my lord.'

The warrior grunted. 'We are all waiting for you to be dismissed so we can begin the run.'

'My lord is kind.'

Chuckle. 'Nothing rattles you, does it? You have outclassed all the others so far. If you continue to perform at this standard, I shall not only award you the chain, I shall insist that you try for brass as soon as possible.'

Joy! Joy! Joy! 'My lord is very kind!' The praise brought a painful lump to Orlad's throat. To prove himself! To hold up his head among the Vigaelians! To be equal!

Thud!

Thud!

Thud!... Had the packleader gone?

No. 'There is one small problem,' said the deadly whisper, barely louder than the wail of the wind. It was in front of him now. 'You know the last test.'

'Anger, my lord.'

'Of course. We must be sure that you can feel true rage. It is by anger that the warrior calls on the god to give him his battleform. It is anger that makes him fearless in the service of his lord. Do you know why Florengians and Vigaelians hate one another so much?'

'No, my lord.'

'Because we have been fighting for fifteen years, that's why! The longer the war lasts, the more we hate. But can a man with black hairs on his belly hate like one with gold?'

Never a day without a fight, often two. Could Gzurg not see his scars? 'I am confident, if it please my lord.'

'Mm.' The warrior sounded doubtful. 'And who shall I give you to demonstrate your anger? If I give you a Florengian prisoner, men may whisper that they are contemptible and easy to hate, or that they are weak and easy to hurt. If I give you a Vigaelian, they may ask if you are truly loyal, or are in fact a secret Florengian supporter. Mm? You see my problem? Which should it be?'

'As it please my lord.'

'One of each, then? Can you muster enough anger for two?'

'My lord is kind.'

'Mm,' Gzurg said again, only this time it seemed a sound of approval. 'And what means would you prefer? The lash? The armored glove? The club?'

'As it please my lord.' Orlad knew that this was the right answer from the sudden roaring in his ears and the tilting of the floor as the god released him. He heard his sword and ax fall, a long way away.

three

SALTAJA HRAGSDOR

was known as the Queen of Shadows, among other less flattering things. Her origins were a mystery, her age unknown. She was greatly feared, for it was universally believed that she was a Chosen of Xaran and the Ancient One gave her many terrible powers. There was no doubt that anyone who opposed her usually died, one way or