Children of Chaos

respect than that.'

'Sorry, Father. I spoke wrongly.'

'Apology accepted.' He smiled tolerantly. 'You had better go and start planning.'

Truly! Reports on Kyrn could wait, but Uls... She wished she had mentioned him sooner. 'Uls broke his arm, Father. He was in a lot of pain, so we left him at By-the-Canyon and Verk drove me in. He will bring him to the Healers tomorrow. I told Master Trinvar to send a gift.'

As well try to smuggle a mouflon lamb through a wolf pack as slide a half-truth past a Ucrist. Horth's eyes narrowed. 'And how did Uls break his arm?'

Frena drew a deep breath. 'Your hamlet of Bitterfeld—they were having some sort of ceremony and we drove too close. They didn't like us snooping, or something. Anyway, they threw things—'

'What sort of ceremony?'

Frena recoiled from his sudden shout, and then shouted right back. 'They were going to bury a man alive!'

'No!' Her father collapsed on his chair, his face white. 'And they thought you were coming to rescue him? Oh, Frena! How could you be so—What was Verk thinking—What did you do to Verk?'

'Do to him? Nothing at all. Whatever do you mean, do to him? I had no idea what was going on. I just wanted to see. Verk behaved perfectly, and we drove away as fast as we could.' She stared at Horth. His eyes were oozing horror. 'Father, what's wrong? Are you faint?'

He licked his lips. 'You must take your vows, do you hear? Must! We'll make it three days from now, not six. Oh, why did I not see that this might happen? Tell Trinvar. I'll send word to the Pantheon.'

Stupefied, she could only repeat 'Three days?' like an idiot. 'Oh, that's absolutely—'

'Three days!' Horth said, glaring, and she knew him well enough to know that he would not be moved.

eight

BENARD CELEBRE

knew that Cutrath would gain his revenge eventually, and now there was no doubt that it would be fatal, but the kitten had been declawed for the time being. Cheerfully reflecting that everyone must die eventually, Benard strode off through the warren of the palace. He was rich! Never in his life had he owned a speck of gold, or even expected to. The strip that had barely closed around the satrap's gross arm fitted nicely on Benard's thigh, hidden by Thranth's loincloth.

His way led him past walls of gleaming polychrome bricks, across courts and halls, and also up ramps and stairs, heading toward the temple of Veslih and the women's quarters beyond. All the way he was exchanging smiles with familiar faces, pausing frequently to discuss Nils's engagement and the evils of hangovers. He even ran into Nils's mother, who said he looked malnourished and promised him a man-size meal if he came to see her that evening. He promised he would—she was a widow and often lonely.

The lady Ingeld, while being hereditary dynast of Kosord, light of Veslih on Kosord, wife of the satrap, and mother of Cutrath, had also served as foster mother to a long series of young Florengian hostages. This part of the palace had been Benard's home from his arrival in Kosord until he turned thirteen. Although Kosord had never confined royal ladies behind bars or set eunuchs to guard them as some cities did, adult male visitors needed good reason to enter, and must obey the rules. The sketch under his arm provided a perfect excuse. What her reaction to it would be, the gods alone knew—perhaps a near-fatal attack of nostalgia, for she claimed to have loved the monster once. Even dogs might be loved.

As he neared the temple, he heard the ominous echoing beat of kettledrums, the signal that she was conducting a formal pyromancy. This was not a holy day. The logical assumption must be that Ingeld put more stock in whatever omens Sansya had glimpsed in the court than Sansya had.

Moments later Benard emerged at the base of the pyramid. The sacred fire under the bronze tholos on the apex was currently hidden by the crowd of priestesses and acolytes standing among the pillars; a small congregation of worshipers had gathered around and below them, like snow on a mountain. This place had a better claim to being the beating heart of the city than did the Pantheon or the satrap's court. Women's ceremonies were held here— marriages, child namings, purifications—and here Ingeld took augury.

He had last visited the temple during the baleful time following the Festival of Demern. Some years the fasting, abstinence, and lamentation would last several days, sometimes only one, or even none at all, depending on the weather. When Ingeld saw the holy star, Nartiash, at dawn, she relit the sacred fire to proclaim the first day of a new year and read the omens in the flames.

Benard had been present in the throng, sleepless and hoarse from a night of wailing, and had heard her prophecies, which had been guarded without being alarming. Horold had ordered extra sacrifices but had allowed the usual celebrations to proceed. Had some error roused the gods' ire since then, or had Sansya been imagining things today? Of course, whatever she had seen might apply only to today's audience, whereas Ingeld had been viewing the whole town's prospects far the year. From Horold's point of view the morning's proceedings had certainly not turned out well. Cutrath's opinion could only be imagined, and not with a straight face.

There, standing higher than the palace roofs and the triangular red sails of the riverboats, Benard could mark the Wrogg winding off across the plain until even that mightiest of rivers vanished into the blur they called the wall of the world. In the spring Kosord was an island, for even at low water the Wrogg flowed higher than the level of the plain, so a normal flood would overtop the levees. In years when it did not, famine usually followed. This year's flood had been fair, not spectacular, but the canals crisscrossing the plain were still full and green crops were just appearing in the fields, so the harvest seemed secure.

Kosord itself was almost invisible from above. The little courtyards of the houses were speckles of greenery, but the reed-thatched roofs were much the same mud color as the streets or walls—or the river and plain beyond, for that matter. The people going about their business were so well hidden under branches or overhanging eaves that the Bright Ones Themselves, peering down from Their blue heavens, might well assume that only the bustling river-bank was inhabited, for it served as dock, market, and main street.

The sun glare's was molten bronze on tender, bloodshot eyes. Shading them with his hand, Benard peered