Mother of Lies

Chapter One MARNO CAVOTTI was better known as the Mutineer. Bloodlord Stralg, the Fist of Weru, had promised years ago that he would buy the Mutineer's corpse for its weight in gold or pay six times that much for the man alive and fit enough to be tortured. The offer still stood. Any hamlet or city that gave him refuge would be razed and all its inhabitants slain, this offer was still good, too. The Mutineer was coming home, to the city of his birth, which he had not seen since his childhood. It was entirely fitting that he travel under the shadow and protection of a storm. The storm's approach had been visible for days, for it was one of the great sea storms, born above the steamy waters of the Florengian Ocean. From there it had spun out edgeward, over coastal jungles and swamps, to wreak havoc in the Fertile Circle that made up most of the Face. Like most of its kind, it came at Celebre from the east. Day by day it rose higher over the hazy wall of the world, white at noon and black at dawn; bloodred at sunset, ruling the sky and looming above the landscape. By the time it reached the city walls its greatest violence was spent, but it could still lash with gales and drench with killer rains. It could lift roofs and fell trees, flood low areas, wash out bridges. Amid so much evil a little more would not be noticed, so the storm closed its black wings around the traveler and hid him from those who looked for him to slay him. He splashed along the muddy track beside a small wagon laden with amphorae of wine, drawn by an ancient guanaco named Misery, whose persistent humming showed that it was, indeed, unhappy; justifiably so, although Cavotti was careful to stay on the upwind side, where he could protect the animal from flying branches and other debris. Delayed by fallen trees and swollen streams, he worried that he would not arrive before the gates closed at sunset. The day had already faded to a twilight gloom when the walls and towers of Celebre emerged from the mist, but the rules said that the gates must stay open until the curfew bell sounded, and rules were rules. Head down, Cavotti plodded under the great archway into the narrow barbican, where the strident creak and rattle of his wheels reverberated from the walls and wind howled along the canyon, driving rain before it. This was the moment of greatest peril, when he must satisfy the guards, when the inner and outer gates could be swung shut to trap him. Sure enough, a man shouted and ran out from the guard room. He was a skinny black-haired Florengian, a boy sporting a bronze helmet and sword, both too large for him, but he wore a baldric in the doge's colors slung across his chain-mailed chest, and the bull's horn hanging on it gave him authority. Armed or not, a mere extrinsic was no threat; Cavotti could break his neck before he even drew. Even if he blew his horn and summoned another dozen like him, the intruder would be in little danger. "Snotty scum, the Foul One take you, dragging honest men out in this fuck'n weather!" The boy squinted into the rain. Only the most junior member of the guard would be sent out on such a day. Cavotti hauled on Misery's cheek strap; the wagon rattled to a halt. He bowed respectfully. "May it please your honor, I am Siero of Syiso, bondman of noble Master Scarpol of Treianne, bringing produce from his estate to his palace here in Celebre, on the Piazza Colonna. And more fuck'n rain has gone down my fuck'n neck than yours, may it please your honor." All the names he mentioned were genuine, except that they did not apply to him. He kept his eyes humbly lowered.Duncan, Dave is the author of 'Mother of Lies', published 2008 under ISBN 9780765353825 and ISBN 0765353822.