Krish dropped his own sword to the ground and sat down beside it. It hadn’t occurred to him that Dae Hyo had the same problem as him. They both needed an army. Dae Hyo didn’t believe Krish’s reason for wanting one, but did that matter? If they could raise an army together, it could fight for him as easily as for Dae Hyo. And he knew that Dae Hyo would make a far better battle leader than he would. He could use the other man’s cause to further his own, because Dae Hyo’s cause was a far better rallying cry here on the plains. If the Chun really behaved the way Dae Hyo said they did, they must have thousands of enemies.
But was revenge a good enough motivation? It didn’t seem to have got Dae Hyo very far. He’d been content to wander aimlessly as long as it led to the occasional bloodletting. People needed something to fight for as well as against – and Krish realised suddenly what it could be. There was a reward he could offer his soldiers that wouldn’t mean giving up any Ashane land.
‘You need people who fight for the same reasons as you do,’ he told Dae Hyo. ‘People who hate the Chun as much as you do. These Dae hunting grounds are empty now. I’ve seen it myself – there’s no one here. You say your old brothers have stopped being Dae – then find men who’ll take their place. You should offer to share the land with whoever fights beside you. That way they get a reward for risking their lives.’
‘I tell you what,’ Dae Hyo said, ‘you’re absolutely right. This place will be home again if it has a tribe on it. The Dae need to live again. Will you become Dae, boy? Will you be the first?’
He knelt beside Krish, a light burning in his eyes a little like the warmth of alcohol. This was more than Krish could have hoped for. By binding Krish to him Dae Hyo would also be binding himself to Krish. Krish’s battles would become his, even if he didn’t realise it yet. The army they raised would belong to both of them.
‘Yes,’ Krish said. ‘I’d be honoured to join the Dae.’
Dae Hyo grinned and rocked back on his heels. ‘Good. Now drop your trousers.’
‘What?’
Dae Hyo pulled out his hunting knife. ‘Drop your trousers, I need to be able to reach your cock.’
Krish was too shocked to move for a moment. Then he made a desperate scramble to escape, but Dae Hyo was quicker and he grabbed Krish’s leg and held him back. ‘What’s the matter, boy? I didn’t take you for a coward.’
‘I’m not a coward,’ Krish gasped, still struggling. ‘But I don’t want – I want to stay a man.’
‘Well of course you do, idiot. No need to piss your pants. It’s far too late to turn you into a knife woman; you’ve grown all the parts.’
Krish relaxed a little, then tensed again as the other man began to work at the tie of his trousers. ‘Then I don’t – What?’
Dae Hyo sighed and released him to open his own trousers and pull out his member. It was thankfully flaccid but Krish still turned away from it.
‘Look,’ Dae Hyo said impatiently. ‘See how the head’s bare, not wearing a hood like yours? I’ll just take off the hood and you’ll be done. There’s nothing to worry about: they did the same thing to me in my twelfth spring. Well, there was all sorts of ceremony and chanting as well, but I can’t remember it, so we’ll just have to make do with cutting you and hope the gods understand the meaning. They say they’re wise; I’m sure they will.’
Krish looked down at his own manhood, hanging limp and very shrivelled. ‘You want to cut my penis.’
‘Just the skin around the top. I swear to you it won’t hurt. Not much, anyway. And then you’ll be a proper man: a Dae man and my brother. What do you say?’
Krish turned his head to look at the grassy plains all around, which had so far yielded only rabbits and men intent on killing him. He looked back at Dae Hyo. This would bind them for ever: their lives, their causes, permanently intertwined. His heart felt like a stone and his guts so liquid he was afraid he’d embarrass himself. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Do it.’
Dae Hyo hesitated, suddenly looking far less sure of himself. Then, just as Krish would have pulled away, his cold hand reached out to grasp his member and the knife moved in a viciously quick circle around it.
He’d lied. The pain was astonishing. Krish screamed and fell on to his back and tried to clasp his hands over his groin as Dae Hyo forced them to the ground. He could feel blood running wet and warm down his thigh and the agony just went on and on, seeming only to get keener.
Then Dae Hyo drew him to his feet and clasped him in his arms, though it only made the pain worse. There was dampness on his face and he thought he might be bleeding there too, but he wasn’t. Dae Hyo was crying. As the blood dripped down Krish’s legs the other man whispered, ‘I greet you as my brother, Dae Krish.’
27
Olufemi moved faster than the army, but they couldn’t be more than a day behind her. Smiler’s Fair had settled in a basin within the great plain, with low hills ringing it on every side. She looked down from one of those hills and sighed as Adofo chattered in her ear. Her bones ached from the unforgiving ride that had brought her here just in front of the Ashane force.
Storm clouds were building around the rising sun; she thought she might use it as a metaphor when she told the congress and its consul what awaited them. If she timed it right, the lightning would strike and the thunder rumble ominously as a counterpoint to her words. She clicked at her horse to urge it down the hill and towards the entrance to Rotgut Avenue, the nearest of the Roads to Ruin. Whatever layout the fair fell into at each pitch, those four roads always led from its outer reaches to its corrupt heart.
Her own heart felt lighter than she’d imagined. The fair had always occupied an ambiguous place in her affections. It was the site of her failure and exile but also the place where she’d met Vordanna. And her failure seemed less absolute now that news of Yron’s heir was sweeping through the plains.
Two Jorlith lounged against the great wooden gateway that led to Smiler’s Fair. Above them, the banner of the Snow Dancers snapped in the breeze. Olufemi’s robe did too, the moon god’s rune flexing and stretching on its back. If the Ashane understood who they were truly hunting that rune might soon become dangerous to wear, but she refused to forsake it.
‘Halt, stranger, and speak your name,’ the right-hand guard commanded, bored by his own words. The other waited, his stylus poised above the wax tablet that would record her presence in Smiler’s Fair. She could see that the pair were too hot in their skintight yellow wrappings and too proud to show it.
‘I’m Olufemi of the Worshippers,’ she told them. ‘I’m no stranger here.’
If she’d expected surprise or even respect, she would have been disappointed, but she knew the Jorlith of old.
‘Pass then, Olufemi,’ the second said, ‘and keep the Smiler’s peace.’
Peace was far from what she brought, but she saw no benefit in telling them that.
Every morning, Nethmi was woken by the dawn sun shining through Marvan’s window. He told her he’d been late to set up his home this pitch and had found himself with an exposed, east-facing room, the least desirable in the fair except for those on the ground floor.
She didn’t mind. The light allowed her to study her companion while he still slept. Marvan had kept his word to her like the shipborn lord he’d once been, but as they lay in his bed together every night it had been she who found herself drawn to him. She studied his body with a fascination that would once have made her blush. Clothed, he seemed slender, almost scrawny; with his chest and arms bare she could see the tight muscles beneath the smooth skin, the dips and hollows intriguingly shadowed by the low sun.
He stirred and she rose quickly so that he wouldn’t see her scrutiny or her half-clothed state. By the time he’d rolled out of bed she was already wearing the plain blue dress she’d bought from a street vendor. It was far less conspicuous than the finery she’d taken with her from Winter’s Hammer and she liked the feeling of anonymity it gave her. All her life she’d been known, noticed whereve
r she went. There was unexpected freedom in being one stranger among so many.
‘Where to today?’ she asked Marvan.
He was shaving carefully in his small mirror, delicate swipes of the blade across his skin. ‘I have a task to perform, I’m afraid. I’ll have to leave you to your own devices.’
She tried to hide her disappointment. So far, they hadn’t spent a day apart. ‘Of course. I’ve been taking too much of your time.’
‘Not at all.’ He turned to look at her, wiping the soap from his face. ‘You could come with me, if you liked.’
‘To help with the task?’
‘To watch me perform it.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘You might enjoy it. I certainly do.’
She thought he’d shown her all that Smiler’s Fair had to offer after the days she’d spent in his company, but when they left his house, he led her somewhere new. It was a field at the far western edge of the fair, flush against the high wooden walls that ringed the whole place. Jorlith guarded it, more of them than she’d ever seen in one place. They stepped aside to let Marvan pass, though their expressions weren’t welcoming.
‘Here for the testing, Marvan?’ one of them asked, a young man with a thin moustache and a thick red welt dividing his face nearly in two. ‘Perhaps you’ll get some scars of your own today.’
‘Perhaps,’ Marvan said, but he didn’t sound as if he believed it. He nodded to the other men as he passed and walked on to the centre of the field. The man who greeted them there did look a little more pleased by Marvan’s presence. He smiled and clapped him on the back.
‘You’re here, good. I’d heard you were entertaining a lady of late – you know how Rah Bae talks – and I thought you might not make it.’
‘Piyuma is a friend, nothing more,’ Marvan said reprovingly. Nethmi had told him she preferred to go by that name while her husband’s men might be searching for her and he’d seemed to understand. She didn’t think he was a stranger to subterfuge. ‘Piyuma, this is Agnar, captain of the Rotgut Division of the outer circle Jorlith.’
‘Of course, yes,’ Agnar said, glancing only briefly at her before returning his attention to Marvan. ‘Just one for you today, but I warn you, he’s good. You won’t find Otkel so easy as poor Skoedir.’
‘A slip of the blade,’ Marvan said, with what Nethmi immediately recognised as complete insincerity. ‘I didn’t mean to cut him so deep.’
‘No matter,’ Agnar told him. ‘He’s recovered, as you saw, and he’ll know not to be fooled by that feint again. I’ll fetch Otkel – he’s sharpening his weapon.’
He strode away and Nethmi turned to Marvan. ‘You’ve come here to duel?’ The idea both fascinated and frightened her. She didn’t know what she’d do if Marvan came to harm.
‘Not to duel,’ he said. ‘A test.’
‘They’re testing you? Why?’
‘Oh no, the test isn’t for me. It’s their half-warriors, the young men trained to join the Jorlith guard but not yet granted the spear. Each division needs to ensure its men are fit for duty and Agnar prefers to put his candidates through a true-steel fight. It’s a fine idea, but there’s a problem setting his own men as their opponents. There’s a danger they won’t fight hard enough – they wouldn’t want to hurt the youngsters too much and the youngsters would know it and nothing would be tested. Or if they did hurt them, they’d be serving beside them afterwards and ill will never did any company of soldiers any good. You saw how Skoedir loves me for the scar I gave him.’
‘So you fight them instead?’ Nethmi asked.
‘Yes. And they know I will hurt them, if I can. Nothing maiming, of course, but if they’re too slow they’ll end the fight less pretty. And they might not pass the test.’
She could see the reasoning of it, from the Jorlith’s end. ‘But what’s the benefit for you?’ she asked Marvan.
‘A little coin, practice at keeping my blade swift and the chance to hurt them if I can.’ He smiled his mocking smile and she didn’t know how much of what he’d said to believe. ‘And look, here comes Otkel now. He certainly is a large fellow.’
He was more than large. He was one of the tallest men Nethmi had ever seen, and not gawky with it as tall men sometimes were. He moved with a fluid grace as he drew his sword and took up position opposite Marvan.
She could see the flutter of the pulse in Marvan’s throat, though his face betrayed no fear. She was afraid. Her stomach was knotted with it and she had to fight the impulse to grab Marvan’s arm and pull him away from the danger.
‘Are you ready?’ Agnar asked, and both men nodded. ‘Then in the name of the Lion of the Forest, make the fight worthy, and may the greater man triumph.’
Otkel wasn’t just tall, he was quick too. The moment Agnar finished speaking, his sword slashed, Marvan’s intercepted, it slashed again and this time Marvan wasn’t fast enough. He fell back with a line of red scored along his left arm.
Otkel grinned fiercely and Nethmi’s heart pounded but Marvan wasn’t done. He danced in, flicked his blade upward, danced out when Otkel moved to parry and somehow Marvan’s sword was under his, past his guard and now Otkel was the one with blood dripping from his thigh.
She hadn’t realised that Marvan was so skilled, but in Otkel it was clear he’d met his equal, if not his better. Their blades probed, tested, slashed but never truly hurt. Otkel was younger than Marvan, though, and a warrior who trained every day. Marvan would tire and then Otkel would have him.
Otkel knew it too; he sensed when the older man began to weaken and substituted cautious flicks of his sword for a full swing. Caught off guard, Marvan was too close to escape the tall man’s reach. He fell to his knees instead, a move of desperation, and Nethmi knew it was over and that Marvan had lost, but at least he had his life. Only Marvan wasn’t finished. Kneeling on the ground, he grabbed a handful of mud and flung it upward, into Otkel’s face.
The other man swore and stumbled back, and that moment’s loss of control was all Marvan had needed. He lashed out with his sword, laying open Otkel’s sword arm; the sword fell out of it and then Marvan’s blade was at Otkel’s throat and it was all over.
A ring of men had gathered to watch and they groaned to see their man defeated.
‘The fight to Marvan,’ Agnar said.
Otkel’s eyes glared at him from his mud-streaked face. ‘It was an unfair move,’ he said, but Agnar only laughed and told him, ‘If there are rules to the kind of fighting we do, I’d like to know them. Thank you, Marvan: a good testing, as always. Yes, Otkel, it’s over – but have no fear, you fought well enough to win your spear. Now go and get that cut bandaged.’
No one offered to tend Marvan’s wound. He looked a little unsteady on his feet now the fight was over; Nethmi took his arm to guide him from the field and support him on the way back to his room. He leaned against her as they walked and she put her arm round his waist to steady him. His body smelled less clean now: the scent of his sweat was strong but she didn’t dislike it. It was a man’s smell, a fighter’s smell. She remembered it from her father’s war-camp.
Back in his room, he sat on the bed and allowed her to strip off his shirt. She remembered this from her childhood too and was careful to clean each cut thoroughly. None was too deep and he had clean-flower ointment for rubbing into them.
‘That’s a foolish risk to take,’ she said when the last of the wounds was bandaged. ‘Why do you do it?’
‘There are no better weaponmasters in the fair than the Jorlith. I need to fight well and the best training for a brawl is a brawl. Everything else is just play-acting.’
‘And why do you need to fight at all? You told me you were a Drover. You don’t need a sword to tend your mammoth.’
He leaned back on his arms to look at her. ‘The world’s a dangerous place, Nethmi, and Smiler’s Fair is as perilous as any part of it. I need to be able to protect myself.’ He paused a long moment while she watched his pulse, quivering in the soft skin of his throat, and the rise and fall of
his chest with each breath. ‘And I need to be able to protect you,’ he said softly.
His voice was more sincere than she’d ever heard it and his eyes wouldn’t let hers go. She realised she hadn’t moved away when she’d finished tending him. She was standing between his knees, the heat of his body palpable. She let him see her study it in a way she’d never before allowed and the strong muscles in his arms tightened and flexed. His skin was pale where it hid from the sun, roughened where it saw it. She wanted to touch it. She wanted that very much. In Su had slipped away from her before she could explore what was growing between them. She wouldn’t make the same mistake with Marvan. ‘Would you like to make love to me?’ she asked him.
His breath hitched. ‘Most men would, I fancy. But are you sure this is what you want? If you regret this tomorrow then so shall I.’
‘I’m no virgin,’ she said. ‘Thilak took my maidenhead, despite my wishes. But he’s … he no longer has control of me. I don’t owe a duty to anyone any longer and I have no reputation to ruin. Why shouldn’t I do this?’
She was a little afraid, but the tightness in her chest was mostly excitement. The pain had already happened. Thilak had taken that too. Maybe now she could find some pleasure.
Marvan’s chest dipped in the middle, a strange little hollow. She’d seen it before; now she ran her fingers over it and he shivered. ‘Take all your clothes off,’ she said daringly.
‘I see you do know what you want,’ he said. He was trying for his usual light tone, but his husky voice betrayed him.
‘Undress!’ she ordered.
He couldn’t seem to bring himself to hold her eye as he undid the ribbons tying his breeches and dropped them to the floor. His member stood out stiffly from his body: a strange round-headed rod. She realised suddenly what the banner of the Fine Fellows was. ‘I never saw Thilak’s,’ she told Marvan. ‘He kept the lights out when he … when we were together. It’s an odd-looking thing, isn’t it?’
Smiler's Fair: Book I of The Hollow Gods Page 33