This time the satrap or his wife wanted more than mere gold. Obviously they were after Frena—as even she had guessed—and Horth would give up everything he possessed rather than surrender his precious daughter into their talons. Saltaja was capable of understanding that, even if her blockhead husband was not. Alas, all pleasures were temporary, as a Ucrist well knew. All loved ones were hostages.
He had learned of the danger four days ago, when Perag had dragged him up to the palace at dawn so the Queen of Shadows could issue her absurd threats of denouncing Frena as a Chosen. Even the identity of the bridegroom she had in mind had been so obvious that Horth had seriously contemplated sending the two swordsmen to Kyrn with orders for Frena to flee. After a little consideration, that plan had seemed too risky and impetuous. Besides, a girl's dedication ought to be the finest celebration of her life, and he had not wanted to deny her that. Happiness was too rare to waste. He had decided to wait until tonight, after all the guests left, and then break the news and offer her the choice. The ship would have been ready. Knowing Frena, he was certain she would rather be a lifelong fugitive than the wife of a Werist.
He had been careful, but no one could outwit the Witnesses of Mayn. Now Saltaja would cut his throat or beat him to death, whichever pleased her, and then use his seal to transfer everything he owned to the satrap. It had been done to others before him. Frena would go to her fate as broodmare to a brute.
¦
Horth—the Wigson came later—was born in a wattle hovel on a scrubby islet in Ocean, to a mother who never quite recovered from one baby before starting another. Small, undernourished, and generally picked on, he had an utterly miserable childhood. His father was a sailor who came home at long intervals to drink up his pay, launch another baby, beat his wife, abuse his children, and brawl with his friends. His departures were cause for universal rejoicing. There was more to eat when he wasn't there.
Horth was roughly the tenth of twelve or fifteen, depending on how one counted stillbirths and miscarriages. The survivors all disappeared at puberty, heading for golden Skjar to find work, which was very easy at that age if you were not fussy about what you did or was done to you. Horth minded. He minded very much, and he was not cut out for hard labor, either.
What he wanted was wealth, and he soon decided that a steady supply of eggs beat one meal of roast goose. In a moneyless economy, that was not a trivial insight. Most rich people saw wealth as ownership of land or power and despised trade as beneath their dignity. Even merchants often thought of things bought with copper as different from those bought with silver, and likewise with gold. Converting one metal to another was just another barter, more haggling, so a universal scale of value was a difficult abstraction.
Having a knack for numbers and bargaining, young Horth talked himself into a job in a market and then an apprenticeship in the tallymen's guild. As soon as he had been inducted master tallyman, he was invited to join the Ucrist mysteries. It was typical of that cult that it had no priesthood and claimed no grandiose name for itself or its members: no 'Heroes of...' or 'Hands of...' Just Ucrists. Its shrine was a stuffy rented cellar and it met only when one of the brothers or sisters nominated a candidate for membership. Most initiates were far too busy to bother attending and knew that their god would approve of that attitude. Besides, there was something ridiculous about a congregation of wealthy merchants, ranchers, and mine owners standing around by lamplight singing psalms.
The rules called for a minimum of five sponsors, a quorum that could be mustered only by bribery. The aspirant borrowed a measure of gold from each sponsor at a ruinous rate of one sixtieth every sixday. Even in Skjar, that interest was worth having, and since the postulant would likely need several years to repay the principal, the total return was substantial.
Horth easily convinced his employer and four of the man's friends to sponsor him. He so impressed some others that almost a dozen people turned up to witness. By the rules, after the sponsors had testified that the tokens they had loaned him were of full weight and purity, the aspirant divided the five between two pots, one of gold and one of clay. Only then did he make his vows. Whatever had gone in the gold pot was an offering to the god and disappeared—holy Ucr expected to be recompensed for the trouble of attending rituals. The contents of the clay pot remained for the new initiate, who could either repay some of his creditors on the spot or use it as grubstake for his future fortune.
But it wasn't as simple as that.
Postulants seeking initiation into a mystery were never left in doubt about the blessings its members received. The price the god extracted was sometimes less clearly expressed—'written on the back of the tablet' as they said in the bazaar. Thus holy Ucr offered prosperity, while the oath that He required contained no mention of a corban, just an innocent-seeming mention that the postulant would make prosperity his 'only joy.' It was understood—a gentlemen's agreement between mortal and divine—that wealth and happiness would follow in the proportion of the measures in the two pots. Few candidates dared give the god more than three of the five, reserving two for themselves. To give Ucr four was regarded as foolhardy.
Horth was a man in a hurry. He dreamed of really great wealth, not mere comfort. He wanted to go home—just briefly, admittedly—to rescue his mother from her benighted poverty. He would probably also modestly assist his brothers and sisters, were he able to find them. He especially dreamed of showing his father what a rich man looked like and what a good team of bodyguards could do to repay certain ancient grudges. This being his highest ambition, he put all five measures in the gold pot.
Judging by subsequent events, the god was impressed by this offering. The mortal witnesses certainly were, to the point that many were receptive when Horth came calling a few days later to propose, in strictest confidence, partnership in a venture he had in mind. Within a sixday of being initiated, he had paid off his inaugural debt completely by borrowing more at much lower rates. Within a year he was free of debt and two of his sponsors had become his employees.
He never found time to revisit his birthplace. When he finally got around to sending someone in his stead, the man returned to report that Master Wigson's parents had been dead for some years and no one knew where his brothers and sisters were. As usual, tomorrow's joy had failed to materialize. Today's work soon drove it from his mind.
¦
Vicious cramps were knotting his legs and pain made his eyes water under the blindfold. Tears were for trivia, not for real grief. He had not been able to weep when Paola died, and he would not if they took Frena from him now. Corpses shed no tears.
Poor Frena! He had so wanted to give her a splendid day!
