Children of Chaos

longer and longer until it stretched off into the distance in both directions. They were unarmed, and yet that was how they had slaughtered every man sent against them at Two Fords. A great moan went up from the city, as if the stones themselves grieved.

'The bloodlord says that he gives the laws here.'

Orlando squirmed free of Dantio's grasp and made a break for freedom.

Stralg held out his hands. Orlando, always wayward, went to him, trotting on stubby legs. The Werist lifted the toddler high overhead. Orlando laughed at being so high above the world. The ice devil stepped over to the fence.

'The bloodlord asks if you want to see the inside of your son's head, lord.' Fiorella's voice turned shrill. 'He means what he says! He will kill the child.'

'My sons, then!' Papa shouted. 'Let him take the boys, but my daughter is a babe at suck. Holy Demern has written—'

The big man roared, not even waiting to have Papa's words translated.

'The bloodlord says he will take the cow, too, so the calf can feed. He says you must give them all up or watch them all die, and then he will put out your eyes.'

Benard was sobbing and gasping with terror. Mama knelt to put an arm around him and Fabia began to cry, too. Dantio felt cold drops of sweat race down his ribs. Terrible, terrible man!

Papa fell on his knees. 'I beg him to show mercy to a mother and her babe! Does holy law mean nothing to him? Has he no pity?'

'He says no, he has no pity. He has never had pity. You must decide.'

Time stopped. Dantio realized he had forgotten to breathe and took a deep gulp of air.

Fiorella said, 'I sense great greed, lord, and regret. He regrets his promise not to loot the city, now he sees how big and rich it is. He is not trustworthy and his intentions toward your lady are not honorable.'

Mama said, 'What happens to us does not matter, Piero. Remember what you told Dantio about courage. You must not give the monster any excuse to sack Celebre!'

Papa said, 'I will yield my children.'

The Vigaelian seer had translated it all. The bloodlord sneered and set Orlando down. Orlando decided he did not like Vigaelians after all and ran to join the others mobbing Mama, wanting his share of attention.

Dantio was not going to be alone! He would have Mama and the others for company. He felt a wonderful rush of happiness at that and hated himself for it. What sort of slimy worm was he, to enjoy having his family share his misfortune? But he would not be alone.

He ran to help. He picked up Orlando. 'We are going for another ride in a chariot—won't that be fun?' He took Benard's hand. 'Come, Bena! Say goodbye to Papa. We have to go with the nasty man. Don't be afraid. Mama is coming with us, and I will help her look after you.'

Part I

¦

Spring

¦

one

BENARD CELEBRE

was not looking for trouble, far from it. But a woman screamed.

Benard spun right around and headed back along the alley. Nils, who had been shambling unsteadily beside him, took a moment to realize that he was now alone. He hurried back to wrap both hands around his friend's thick arm and pull. 'No!' he said. 'Not at all. No trouble, Benard. Benard, they are warriors! There are three of them! They will shred you.' As Nils was not only slighter, but even drunker, he found himself being towed along the alley willy-nilly. They and some friends had set out at sunset to celebrate Nils's betrothal to the palace's head cook's daughter and had done so most thoroughly. Benard was hoarse from singing and the world had been awash in beery good cheer—until that scream.

Despite predawn weariness and the somber shadow filling the alley, the air was still as muggy as a sweat house; birds darted after insects and crickets chirped in the thatch. Already a lurid red filled the eastern sky. Most people slept, true, but there was enough light for Benard to know that the raucous thugs he had passed a moment before at a tavern door were warriors. He had not realized that they had a woman with them. And she had not screamed until now.

'Benard!' Nils pleaded. 'They are Werists. They are initiates. They are armed, Benard! They will smash you!'

There might be something in what the carpenter said. A gentle, peace-loving artist really ought not pick a quarrel with brass-collar Werists. Benard was not in the habit of getting into fights, although he had a notable flair for finding trouble. Three warriors? That seemed a lot, even in his present liquaceous condition, when he could barely find his ringers, let alone count on them.

Then the woman screamed again and the men laughed louder. Benard sped up.

Clinging like a vine to a tree, Nils bleated shrilly. 'Benard! At this time of night there's only one sort of woman in the streets. She knows what she's doing. And you can't help anyway.'