by Dave Duncan
“Oath?” Benard was thoroughly alarmed now. “What oath?”
“Oath of office, darling. A dynast’s husband is city consort.”
His howl of horror was audible even over the massed laughter of everyone else. The Werists were convulsed.
“Me? I can’t rule a city!”
Ingeld wrapped an arm around him and laid her head on his meaty shoulder. She was clearly sublimely happy. “Why not? You can just order other people to do all the work!”
“But … I can?”
“Yes, you can. Everyone in the city knows you.”
“That’s what I mean. You can’t make Kosord accept me as ruler!”
“Watch me!” she said.
“Then that’s settled,” Nils said. “Flankleader Orlad?”
Orlad’s new scar made his scowls more menacing than ever. “Dantio and I are going home to Celebre. Waels wishes to accompany us. So does Fabia. Pathfinder Hermesk refuses to guide us.”
The hostleader frowned. “That so, Herm?”
“It is not a matter of refusal, Nils. It is a matter of impossibility. I thought Heroes understood campaigning.” The Pathfinder turned a world-weary look on Orlad. “Listen, lad. You must carry your own food, because you cannot live off the land. You must also pack clothes and at least a bedroll, if not a tent, and even weapons until you reach the real Ice, where nothing else lives. The bigger and stronger you are, the more food you need. At the very most, you can carry about ten days’ rations, and when you reach the Edge itself, any burden at all seems impossibly heavy, even your own body. Understand now?”
The Pathfinder obviously enjoyed lecturing, but he would not dare use this tone to a Werist if he were not a friend of the huntleader. “At Nardalborg, you start with mammoths. On Varakats Pass the merchants use canoes to carry provisions up the Milky. Either way, you cache food upcountry before the caravan proper even leaves. Huntleader Heth has spent years building shelters and bridges. In either case you come to an end. Neither mammoths nor canoes can climb First Ice. From there you must use human muscle. So you set off from the trail head and after ten days you run out of food. No? Of course not. You build a pyramid. You start with thirty men, say, and after four days twenty of them drop their loads and head back. The other ten carry on, taking the extra rations the others left. They can go another ten days before they start to starve, which is still only fourteen days from the trail head. So you really needed to begin with sixty men, didn’t you? Or twice that? Or four times? In the end a very few have enough food to complete the journey. Nardalborg has tallymen who can work it out, allowing for bad weather and men dying of Ice sickness. Understand? Nardalborg has done all that work ahead of time on the Nardalborg Pass. You have not provisioned Varakats Pass and therefore it is not presently passable.”
Orlad was flushed with fury. “We have the men! Didn’t the hordeleader say to give us all the help possible?”
“I can’t command the Pathfinders,” Nils said unhappily.
Hermesk smirked as if the quarry had just stepped into his trap. “Men, yes, but you have no canoes. The merchants took them when they set off seaward to trade their goods. Even if you did, we do not have time. It takes at least a thirty to set up a caravan, and by then winter will be upon us.”
“The witness speaks the truth,” Dantio murmured.
Orlad bared teeth at him in a silent snarl.
“There has to be a way,” Fabia said. They must catch Saltaja before she linked up with Stralg!
The Pathfinder laughed. “Do tell us.”
“I’m just the pretty little woman. You’re the expert. You tell me. Or you, Orlad. You say we cannot go around Nardalborg. The Pathfinder says we cannot go over Varakats. Suppose New Dawn takes Nardalborg, or surrounds it—”
“Puts it under siege?” Orlad said.
“Yes. Couldn’t we follow Saltaja over Nardalborg Pass?”
Orlad rolled his eyes to indicate that women should not meddle in manly matters.
Dantio said, “If Saltaja does attempt the pass, she will close it behind her, to prevent pursuit. She will leave no supplies. She may even tear down the bridges and burn the shelters. Here comes the Speaker.”
Fabia turned to watch the newcomer stride in the door. Night was falling fast and he was muffled in Speakers’ black, from his hood to the hem of the ankle-length robe swirling around his boots. She had met more than enough Speakers in Skjar. Without exception they had been sour, joyless, literal-minded people who would win any argument with a quotation from the Arcana, usually expressed in a tongue so ancient than no one else could understand it. A Speaker’s only virtue was absolute incorruptibility, which was both his blessing and his corban. In theory a Speaker would even sentence himself to death—but only in theory, because he would never be guilty of a crime.
“Speaker Ardial Berkson,” the huntleader announced, and even he gave way, stepping aside to let the newcomer take the place of honor beside the fireplace.
Only then did Ardial throw back his hood. Unsurprisingly, his face was narrow and bony, scored by deep lines. Also, he was tall and lean. Speakers always were, because holy Demern forbade gluttony. This one was elderly, with a striking mane of white hair. He would be handsome if he could seem just a little more human.
“Good of you to come, Speaker,” Nils said. “Daughter Ingeld, dynast of Kosord, wishes you to conduct her marriage to—”
“That is not possible, Huntleader.” Predictably, Ardial spoke with a sonorous orator’s voice. “The years have been kind to you, Ingeld.”
Ingeld’s face was stark with horror and pale as bone.
Benard said, “What? What’s wrong?” and started to rise. She clung to him, pulling him back down.
“What’s wrong is that she is already married,” the Speaker said. “Release my wife, young man.”
Orlad stood up. “Is that so?” Instantly seven other Werists sprang up also and menace echoed through the mess hall.
“That is so,” the Speaker said calmly. “Sit down, boy. All of you boys sit. I am still her husband and rightful state consort of Kosord. Are you incapable of speech, wife?”
Ingeld moved her lips several times before she produced an audible sound. “You ran away! When Stralg came you ran away!”
“On, no, wife.” Ardial smiled bloodlessly. “You misstate the facts. The bloodlord’s brother, Horold Hragson, swore by his god that he would kill me if I did not leave the city directly, or if I ever returned to Kosord. You know that the fourth paramount duty is to preserve one’s own life, subject to the first three duties. Furthermore, it is written in the laws of holy Demern, chapter two, clause eighteen, that a man should prevent a crime even if a lesser crime may result. I will quote you the exact text if you wish, but it is quite long, listing numerous crimes in their rankings. Faced with the promise of death, wife, I asked you if you would satisfy Therek Hragson’s carnal demands, on the premise that he had been imposed in my place as consort of the city and your person. You said that you would, having no reasonable choice. I obtained from him a promise that he would use no violence upon you as long as you were obedient and true to him only. Thus I had assurance that the result would be adultery, not forcible rape, and that is a lesser crime than my own murder would have been. I therefore left the city in obedience to the law.”
“Murder?” Benard still had an arm around the Speaker’s alleged wife. “Suddenly I appreciate the brighter side of murder.”
“Let the professionals handle it,” said Orlad, stepping forward with a commendable awakening of family solidarity. His men began to move in unison.
Hostleader Nils roared, “Silence!” He glared around, one-eyed. “Sit down, all of you! You know the penalty for injuring a Speaker.”
The Werists sat down, glowering.
Ardial said, “Thank you. I ordered you to unhand my wife, Florengian.”
“No.” Benard had paled, so that bruises stood out as blotches all over his face. “I killed Horold Hragson for her and sh
e is mine! Now and always. And her child is mine, also.”
“Child? Was the babe conceived according to the rituals of Veslih’s holy mystery, Daughter?”
Ingeld nodded mutely.
Ardial shrugged. “Then she will be your legitimate heir and I will see she is raised accordingly. Under chapter seven, clause forty-nine, your sacred duty to provide a successor in my enforced absence excuses your adultery. I will accept you back as my wife once you have undergone ritual purification. The man, however, is guilty of adultery and usurpation. I hereby sentence him to death under chapter one, clause seven, also chapter three, clause fourteen. Huntleader, arrest that man.”
Orlad’s flank growled like surf in a major storm
Dantio chuckled and stood up. “It is known that I am a Witness of Mayn.”
The Speaker frowned at him. “You are not dressed as one. Establish your claim.”
Dantio’s smile turned frosty as the Ice. “It may be legal, but I find it unseemly for a man to accuse his alleged wife of adultery when he has two Nymphs of Eriander in his quarters.”
Ardial’s shrug was barely perceptible. “It is both legal and irrelevant. I acknowledge your credential but not your relevance to this situation. I was present at the events I described, so I know them to be as stated. Did my wife just give perjured testimony?”
“It is known that she did not. A Witness may ask a Speaker to rule on the holy laws.”
“She … I mean he may.”
Dantio clasped his hands behind his back and rocked a few times on the balls of his feet, but then spoiled the solemn effect by winking across at Benard. “The Witness asks: If a man does not lie with his wife, after how many years may she have their marriage nullified?”
“In chapter one, clause eight,” the Speaker declaimed, “it is written that she may make application to a Speaker to have her marriage nullified after seven years. But,” and now Ardial displayed his first faint hint of human emotion, triumph, “has any Speaker set foot in Kosord since I departed?”
“It is known that none has, prior to her departure.”
“Then she cannot have made such application, and if she makes such application now, I shall refuse it under the clause subsequent to the aforementioned clause because our reunion here tonight is a significant change of circumstance.”
Dantio bowed. “The Witness thanks the Speaker for this determination of the holy Arcana. The Witness further asks: Is it not permitted, when legitimate or traditional authority—which in the case of Kosord would be the dynast’s consort—has been evicted or overthrown by force, for the people to accept and obey edicts of the hegemonic power as if they were legitimate?”
“It is so written in chapter seven, clause ninety-five,” Ardial conceded, and now he was definitely frowning.
“It is known,” the seer said blithely, “that seven years and seven days after the city of Kosord was bereft of its most recent consort, namely your learned self, Speaker Ardial, Satrap Therek celebrated his marriage with the dynast, Daughter Ingeld Narsdor, having publicly declared her previous marriage nullified. It is also known that no protests were lodged against his proclamation within the time duly allotted.”
Ardial looked at Ingeld, who was glowing in the twilight, then at Benard, who now had both arms around her, and finally at the half-grin of Huntleader Nils.
“Then my initial ruling was based on incomplete information and it is possible for me to marry this woman to this man.”
“And you will!” Orlad said, loud enough to be heard over the cheering. “You most certainly will!”
DANTIO CELEBRE
sat down, having achieved his purpose. He usually avoided weddings. Partly he disliked the absurd extravagance, the inevitable waste of more wealth than families could afford. A party was always a good idea, certainly, but why did a wedding need anything extra except a bedroom near at hand? Mostly he hated the surging cross-tides of emotion, ranging from lechery to suppressed terror.
He could not complain about extravagance tonight. The hereditary ruler of one of the greatest cities of the Face was marrying her penniless sculptor in a barbaric backwoods shed without one solid gold saltcellar in sight. A few candles would have helped. Even the usual lecherous remarks from the onlookers were subdued when the bride was older than all but two of the guests. Both bride and groom were bubbling with happiness, so Benard must have decided that the burden of being a dynast’s consort was not so very terrible. Ingeld had been nominal ruler of Kosord since before he was born, and in practice she had run it alone for long periods when the satrap was away on campaign. A Hand would probably perform ceremonial duties beautifully.
Still, there was enough emotion loose to make a seer feel he was being pelted with snowballs and hot coals at the same time. Ardial Berkson was a predictable pillar of ice in the center, but all Speakers were like that. To the extrinsics present, Horth Wigson would seem another human fish; only a seer could sense the blazing exultation the Ucrist was hiding so well. Poor, lonely old rich man! His glow of triumph must mean that he believed he had blocked Fabia’s ambition to leave him and return to Florengia.
The Speaker began administering a complicated oath to Benard, who stammered and floundered in the archaic language.
A scorching anger approached Dantio’s left shoulder—Orlad, of course, seething with the frustrated bloodlust of a hunter who sees his prey escaping.
Glaring down, he said, “Well, brother?”
Back to that problem …“Well what?” Dantio said.
“How do we get to Florengia?”
The other source of rage in the hall was Fabia, but she was more frustrated than angry. Perhaps her chthonic powers let her detect a little of what Dantio himself knew—that there was a way past the impasse if they could only find it. At the moment she was intent on the ceremony.
“You want me to meddle some more, do you?”
Orlad flashed (alarm). “Not if it brings on that anathema thing you were frightened of earlier.”
Dantio turned to face him. “That I am still frightened of.”
(dismay) “I thought you were safe now? Didn’t Horold break the compact before you did?”
Yes, although Dantio had not known that at the time, so he had been guilty in spirit. “I did worse. I could have broken the compact just by refusing to answer Therek’s questions. But I lied. I gave False Witness, and that is a breach of the laws of our cult. The Eldest will have no choice but to rule against me, so our bargain still holds, brother.” He winced at Orlad’s surge of horror and forced himself to smile. “But I am not certain that her anathema will be effective on the Florengian Face, so I want to cross the Edge even more urgently than you do. There is a way. I just don’t know what it is, exactly.”
His baby brother bared fangs at him. “Oh, very helpful! You said the Pathfinder was not lying.”
“I did. And he is genuinely afraid of the danger. But when Fabia asked about following Saltaja over Nardalborg Pass, and I said that was impossible, he reacted with panic. He saw a solution! Then the Speaker arrived and we talked of other things.”
(fury) Orlad clenched his fists and—to a seer’s vision—half the muscles in his body as well. “So what did he see?”
“I don’t know. I suspect Horth Wigson does, though.”
Orlad stared angrily across at the little merchant. “Hermesk told me that Pathfinders cannot be bribed.”
“I expect they can be threatened. Nobody wants to antagonize the world’s richest man.” Who was still feeling disgustingly smug.
The room broke into cheers as the ceremony ended and Benard kissed his bride. Even as he did so, Dantio felt a sudden surge of satisfaction, which he recognized as coming from Fabia. The night had not done with surprises.
“I think,” he whispered, “that you can stop worrying. Our sweet and deadly little sister has just solved the mystery.”
Orlad chuckled. “Ah! Know something? There are times she scares me more than Stralg does!” He plowed
into the press of people and benches, heading for Fabia. A moment later, his feelings welled up in satisfaction also. Dantio followed him into the throng, intending to give Benard his congratulations—and farewells, too, because it seemed as if the way to Florengia was about to open. Sure enough, even before he reached the newly-weds, Orlad’s head appeared over the crowd and his powerful voice boomed out above the chatter.
“Pathfinder!”
Hermesk had been just about to slip out the door. He turned reluctantly. “My lord?”
“Small parties travel faster than large ones, don’t they?”
(caution—deceit) The Pathfinder was wary, fearing a trap, wanting to hide something. “Not necessarily. Any party goes at the pace of its slowest member.”
“How far apart are the two passes over the Edge?”
(fear) “It varies.”
“In places they are quite close? Less than a menzil apart?”
(resignation) “Yes.”
(joy—triumph) “So if we set out at dawn tomorrow, we might be able to cut across from Varakats Pass to Nardalborg Pass and get ahead of Saltaja?”
Well, of course! Dantio should have seen that. If they could get ahead of the Vigaelians—and stay ahead—then they could live off the enemy’s food caches.
The spectators had fallen silent. Hermesk began protesting the dangers again, but Orlad would not concede. He won an admission that the early stretches of Varakats Pass were slightly easier than the start of Nardalborg Pass and that the two came close before they reached the High Ice.
The Pathfinder took refuge in outright refusal. “It is absurdly dangerous! I refuse to be involved.”
Huntleader Nils intervened. “Oh, come, Herm! It isn’t winter yet. The Milky is still running. The rain’s washed away the snow.”
Hermesk set his jaw. “It is still a risk. What fee am I being offered?”
The huntleader said, “Where is our Ucrist? Master Horth, you have contributed so much to the overthrow of the Hrag tyranny, you will help the cause some more, I hope?”