Children of Chaos

'It brought these for you.' Came the distinctive sound of clay tablets being clattered down on wood. 'And others, of course, which I will order sent on?' He meant, Do you want to peek at them first? It was years since Therek had been at Nardalborg when an inbound caravan arrived, so Heth was not sure of his procedures. He was smart enough to guess that there might be such procedures, though.

'Send them on by all means. I assume the largest collection is addressed to my sister. Did you think I would pry into her mail?'

'Of course not, my lord.'

He would if he dared. He'd risked it once, just once, many years ago—one night when he was monumentally drunk he had started to brood on the unfairness of Stralg sending all the latest news to Saltaja and almost none to him, so he'd told a scribe to pick out the latest of several tablets from the date on the covers, then crack it open and read out the contents. Covers were broken in transit easily enough, but apparently seers could tell the difference. He hadn't known that; his sister had, and her summons had arrived about a season later. He'd tried to ignore it, mentally telling her to go to the Old One, but he'd been too afraid that she might do just that, but not in the way he wanted, and in the end he'd obeyed. For some reason she had been at Jat-Nogul that year, at the far side of the Face, and it had taken him all winter to get there. When he finally did, she had merely slapped his face, told him she would kill him if he ever did it again, and sent him straight home. At least, that was how he remembered it, but his aides had insisted he'd been gone for three days. He had never dared tamper with Saltaja's correspondence since.

Uncertainly Heth added, 'Shall I send in a scribe... my lord?'

'No. What's the gossip?' That might be more credible than Stralg's fictions. 'What news from Florengia? Any great battles won?'

'Indeed, yes, my lord. The Heroes are jubilant over a great victory at a place called Miona. The rebels attempted to besiege your honored brother there, my lord. Although he was seriously outnumbered, he cleverly lured them into the town and then withdrew, burning it down on top of them. Their losses were enormous.'

It was impossible to tell from the huntleader's flat military tone whether he believed that fable. Therek did not. He would give half his talons to be able to see Heth's expression, but at close quarters faces were only a blur to him now.

'Were they there in person, these Heroes?'

'I don't believe so, my lord.'

'Where is this Miona? Near the pass, or far away?'

'I... I didn't think to ask, my lord.' Heth's voice sounded more wary.

Therek laughed and turned back to the windows. 'Come here.'

Heth moved to his side. 'My lord?'

'You don't understand what's happening, lad,' the satrap said quietly. 'Shouldn't call you that, though, should I? You're what... twenty-eight?'

'Thirty.'

'Ah. Well, at thirty and a huntleader you ought to see the game in the shrubbery.' He forced a little chuckle and laid an arm around Heth's magnificent shoulders. 'Remember back when you were initiated? You wanted to charge off to Florengia right away. You'd have set off alone that very night if I'd let you. I insisted you wait until you'd made at least flankleader.'

'I remember.' The tone was flat, admitting nothing. 'And then you told me it was too late, that I'd missed the war.'

'I believed it, lad. I did. But then he made his terrible mistake.'

'You mean in initiating natives, lord?'

'Of course I do. What else could I mean? Those mud-faced, black-eyed, slithery cheats! Traitors, all of them!'

'They will suffer for their treachery.'

'Will they? You think so? The Florengian horde probably outnumbers Stralg's now. Their warriors are as lethal. Why do you think he keeps screaming for more men? He is losing!'

'A temporary setback.'

'I don't think so.' Click... click... click... Therek realized he was pacing again. 'There is less ice on their side of the Edge!'

'My lord is kind.' Undoubtedly Heth knew what Therek meant, but a good Werist must never say such things.

Therek could. 'Even for couriers it is easier to cross in this direction, son, with the harder going on the downhill side. To bring a horde in this direction would be much easier. That's the scorpion in the blanket! That's why the war must continue at all costs. If Stralg cannot hold the north—Celebre and the road home—then he is going to come scrabbling back over the Edge with a Florengian horde breathing on his collar. You think Nardalborg can hold them? Those brown horrors will pour into Vigaelia in their sixty-sixties, burning our cities, raping our women! And all this because Stralg trusted Florengians!' He was ashamed to hear his voice break. 'They killed your brothers!'

'Yes, lord.'

In his time, Therek Hragson had fathered four sons and some daughters on a variety of women. He'd given the women good settlements, letting them keep the girls while he hung on to the sons. Now he wished he'd thought of keeping the girls for grandsons, but he hadn't. Three sons he'd admitted to, and every one had sworn to Weru and taken the brass collar. He had said farewell to each of them here in Nardalborg and watched them march off to fight for their uncle. Hrag Therekson, Stralg Therekson, Nars Therekson—mighty warriors all, and Florengian oath- breakers had killed them.

'That's why I keep you secret, son. That's why you must bear the shameful name of Hethson. Stralg took three of my sons. The Florengians killed them. And Karvak's two. And three of Saltaja's. Two of Horold's died on the way