Children of Chaos

in many ways now, he should be placated. But Benard was too disgusted to try.

'You should have fought sooner, Hero.'

'Meaning what, Hand?'

'Meaning that what they did to Dantio is no worse than what they did to you. You didn't fight the foe, you joined him! You believed his lies and adopted his vile ways. You betrayed Florengia.'

The kid flushed. 'Hold your tongue, artist, or I'll strangle you with it. At least he must have come by his wounds honorably. You're a human puffball, not fighting on either side, blowing in the wind. From now on remember to address me as 'my lord.' I won't warn you again.' He stepped over to the table and peered in the wine jug. 'Hey, No-balls, how much of this sewage would make me spew just a little?'

Dantio turned, anonymous again. 'Impossible to say. Just one mouthful might. Don't go back, Orlad! Please don't go back! They really mean to kill you tomorrow.'

Without a word, the Werist splashed some wine into a beaker and raised it in a toast. 'To holy Demeter, Who witnesses all oaths!' He tossed it back. 'Not bad!' He paused with his hand on the latch and seemed to reflect. 'I gave you my word, so I won't report your nasty little treason. I am not an oath-breaker.'

'Don't go!' Fabia said.

'Please don't go!' Benard said.

The warrior scowled. 'Speaking to me?'

'My lord, if it makes you happy. Please don't go, my lord. We are your family and we want you. Siblings may bicker among themselves, but they help one another.'

'You can be chief pallbearer.' Orlad walked out, closing the door quietly.

Fabia hugged Dantio again. 'What's he planning?'

'Gods know. He doesn't. He's wildly unstable.'

'Hardly surprising!' Benard slumped down on the platform edge and put his head in his hands. 'He ought to go after Therek and wring his neck.'

'He's misguided,' the seer said, 'not evil. Doing what he's been brought up to respect. Except now they won't let him.'

'And tomorrow?' Fabia asked.

'Tomorrow?' Dantio sighed. 'He didn't drink very much of the wine. If he has to, he will die to prove his loyalty. But Flankleader Leorth may find he has quite a fight on his paws. Orlad has nothing in the world to value except his prowess as a Hero. He'll be no easy victim.' The return of anonymity seemed to have restored Dantio's confidence. He retrieved his distaff and spindle from the floor. 'Please forgive my exhibition earlier. I didn't expect so much pity.'

Benard did not think he had felt pity, not at first. Repugnance, more like—deliberate mutilation of the human body was a desecration of everything he held holy. He glanced at Fabia, and saw his own guilt reflected. He said, 'Brother... I am truly sorry. I should not have unmasked you.'

'No, I should have told you who I was... am. I was planning to, just not yet. It was stupid of me to wait.'

'Who did it—Saltaja?'

'Not personally. Her orders.'

'But all the seers—even you—said you were dead. Even Saltaja believed you.'

'No. We never report that Dantio is dead, only that Dantio died. I did die. It is a long and sad story, not for telling now.'

'I knew Mist was one of the riverfolk,' Fabia said. 'But I only considered the women. A Florengian, a man, a slave. No wonder I didn't spot you!'

'It can be handy at times,' the seer said in a voice dry enough to empty the Wrogg. 'We must make plans. Please, both of you ... will you keep my secret a little longer? Exposing me may confuse the issues we must discuss.'

Benard and Fabia said 'Of course!' together. He added, 'Family secret!,' and she said, 'Where is Horth?'

'He's here.' Dantio chuckled shakily. 'Ucr is just a little slower than Anziel at opening jails.' He held the door for Fabia. 'Bena—those window bars you ... your goddess . .. removed for you—would She put them back, too?'

'She might. Why?'

'Just to upset Saltaja. Petty of me, I'm afraid.'

Benard thought about it. 'The building must look very unbalanced without them. I can ask.'

forty-one

INGELD NARSDOR,

truant light of Veslih on Kosord, self-exiled dynast of that city, runaway wife of its satrap, and cradle-robbing mistress of Master Artist Celebre, was indulging herself by munching yet another peach, her fourth since she had refused the evening meal. Just to be ashore again was pure delight. To be under a roof, dry and snug before a crackling fire, and with someone new to talk to, was unimaginable heaven. Her hostess on the other side of the hearth, Witness Poppy, was probably the light of Mayn on Tryfors, although no one had said so and she clearly deferred—like everyone in this curious secret warren—to Witness Mist, who had arrived that morning and was presently elsewhere. Ingeld did not particularly care where, except that Benard had gone with her and might therefore be in danger. She did not know how many of the dozen or so residents of the refuge were Witnesses. All of them, veiled or unveiled, were friendly, courteous people. She had always thought of seers as vile snoops and