by Hugh Cook
'Where are the others?' said Lord Alagrace.
'There are no others,' said a haggard man, who, with a shock, Lord Alagrace recognised as Chonjara. 'There're all dead. We're the only ones to survive.’
And he sagged forward, and fainted. Now was the moment to seize the initiative: to strike. With Chonjara dead-
But before Lord Alagrace could pull out his sword and do the obvious, men crowded round, and Chonjara was carried away to the safety of a lean-to. One of the remaining five hobbled away after him. His height betrayed the identity of this scarecrow figure: Karahaj Nan Nulador, General Chonjara's bodyguard.
'What happened?' said Lord Alagrace, confronting the last four.
'Later,' said Yen Olass, pulling at his sleeve. 'They're in no state to talk yet. Let's take them to your tent: I'll get them food.’
And Lord Alagrace, recognizing that all his authority was gone or soon to go with the return of Chonjara, allowed himself to be instructed by this slave girl, and did as she said.
***
For two days Chonjara and his men rested, feeding on fish, rice and barley meal cakes. They related confused stories of a ruined city of starfire stone, a monster that attacked only by night, men lured into tunnels and eaten alive, a pit-trap filled with burning fluid which ate away the flesh from the bones.
On the third day, thirty men from the south struggled into Nightcaps with their own tale of terror. They had set out from Lake Armansis, a hundred strong, but they had been ambushed by the Melski.
To get timber out of rugged country, foresters sometimes use a trip-dam. This is a wooden dam rigged so it will collapse when a few vital supports are pulled away. Water piles up behind it, logs are floated in the water, then, when the dam is tripped, a wave of water carries the logs down some stream bed which usually would lack sufficient water in which to float a good-sized branch. The Melski had attacked the soldiers by unleashing such a wave of wood and water against them.
The men had come from Lake Armansis to discover the reason for the lack of communication. Couriers and patrols had been sent earlier, but had disappeared without trace, so they had decided to come in strength.
At Lake Armansis itself, the Collosnon forces were in disarray. Some two or three hundred soldiers had gone downriver to Lorford, intending to place themselves under the command of whoever now ruled the siege forces. Others had slipped away in small groups, deserting for destinations unknown. Fifty or sixty adventurers had set off to cross the Razorwind Pass and raid whatever settlement or community they might find at Larbster Bay. The remainder were quarrelling and fighting amongst themselves, forming factions on the basis of their native language groups. Melski patrols were known to be in the area, and were blamed for the disappearance of several men who had gone hunting and had never been seen again.
Lord Alagrace was deeply ashamed to hear that his army was disintegrating. He saw that the dispute between himself and Chonjara must be settled quickly, otherwise there would be nothing left for the victor to control. Demoralised troops reaching Lorford from Lake Armansis would undermine the morale of the siege forces surrounding Castle Vaunting; men would think Chonjara and Lord Alagrace both dead; the entire army would mutiny, desert, or go over to the enemy.
Lord Alagrace knew that a duel was now inevitable and desirable. To bring order to this shambles, a man would need prestige: success in single combat would give the victor that. And a death would be valuable because the loser could be blamed for all that had gone wrong. This would comfort the soldiers, for men hate to live in an unexplained universe. Lord Alagrace was ready to fight: and to die.
Discarding all chances of gaining the upper hand by conspiracy, diplomacy or an appeal for all to respect the authority vested in him by the Lord Emperor Khmar, Lord Alagrace presented Chonjara with a formal written challenge, duly witnessed by five warriors. Lord Alagrace could have called out his enemy with a few well-chosen words, but he liked the formal elegance of his written challenge. In conflict, he had always favoured words as his weapons; now that he had chosen to resort to force instead, he saw no need to adopt the manners of a street fighter.
For half a day the camp waited, while Chonjara composed his reply. When it was ready, Karahaj Nan Nulador took the part of a herald, and, in a battleground voice, announced to all the world his master's reply:
'These are the words of Chonjara, son of Tonaganuk, horselord of the northern birthtribes, commanding men under the authority of the Lord Emperor Khmar, who gives his favour to the strongest.
'I have received what claims to be a challenge. It is said to be issued by a man named Alagrace, who pretends to be commander of the Collosnon forces in Argan. I know of no such commander; I do not recognize any such challenge.
'As all men know, we have in this camp a senile old caretaker by the name of Alagrace. He arranges rosters of men to bring in firewood and empty the fish traps. He sees that the rice gets cooked and that the rats are kept from the barley sacks. Such is the extent of his authority. If anyone has issued a challenge in the name of this senile old man, the joke is not appreciated.
'Only two men can command a claim to lead the army. One is myself. The other is Volaine Persaga Haveros, lately employed as a spy in the imperial province of Estar. To Volaine Persaga Haveros, I issue my challenge. I will meet him here and now, blade against blade, in a fight which must end with the death of one of us if it does not end with the death of both.’
Haveros accepted.
Hearing the challenge and acceptance, Lord Alagrace 256
knew he was finished as a commander. Even when he knew what he had to do – get a grip on his men, get his people working, share out the women and assert himself as a commander – he had hesitated. And now it was too late.
As Chonjara and Haveros prepared themselves for combat, Lord Alagrace advanced on Chonjara, thinking to force him to a fight. But Karahaj Nan Nulador took him from behind, mastering him first with a stranglehold and then with a wristlock.
Disarmed, and put under guard along with Draven, Yen Olass Ampadara, Resbit, Jalamex and the Princess Quenerain – Chonjara had thought of everything – Lord Alagrace wept bitter tears of shame and frustration. And wondered if he really was going senile.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The two men met by the river within a semicircle of spectators. Even the men directed to guard Lord Alagrace and the others had come to watch, bringing their prisoners with them.
Chonjara and Haveros, lightly clad, wearing no armour, drew their swords and faced each other. They carried no shields. The two men glowered at each other and began to circle, slowly, moving their feet deliberately. Haveros struck: Chonjara parried.
As the sharp sound of steel clashing against steel died away, Lord Alagrace assessed what he had seen. Haveros had attacked first. The big, ugly man, mutilated by the loss of one ear, had moved in with aggressive confidence. There had been a lot of strength in that blow. And yet…
Chonjara struck: Haveros parried.
And now Lord Alagrace knew what he was seeing. Every move Haveros made lacked the final perfection of the swordmaster's grace and ease. His movements were faintly slurred; his reactions lagged slightly. Chonjara and Haveros were well-matched, but Haveros had abused his body with alcohol for too many years, and was now paying the price.
Lord Alagrace knew the odds favoured Chonjara. How many others knew? Even among experts, few were skilled enough to analyse the nuances which led Lord Alagrace to his conclusions. Perhaps even Haveros did not yet know that he was a dead man. A dead man? Combat lies in the province of uncertainty: a slip or a moment's misjudgment might still cost Chonjara his life.
The two warlords clashed again, then broke apart and circled slowly. Each was intent on the other. Regarding each other boldly, their eyes never wavered. Both had dreamed of this fight often enough in the past. Their concentration did not admit even the faintest tremor of fear. Committed to combat, they regretted nothing. Both had dedicated their lives to battle, and th
is was their apotheosis, the consummation of their dedications.
They clashed again. Steel slashed aside steel. Light shivered and splintered as blades chimed. For a few moments, as perfection matched perfection, they achieved the harmony of a dance of ecstasy. Then Haveros began to falter, and the illusion of beauty collapsed. Striving to murder him, Chonjara hacked and stabbed, and Haveros parried and faltered. Haveros was forced back toward the river. Aware of his peril, he exerted himself manfully. As he was forced to the edge of the riverbank, he mastered all his strength into a headlopping blow. Chonjara parried.
His sword shattered.
Haveros screamed in exultation. Chonjara stabbed with the wreckage of his sword. Haveros knocked away the stub of metal and slashed home to Chonjara's ribs.
Then the riverbank gave way.
Haveros fell backwards with a cry. Chonjara snatched up a stone. Haveros hit the water, went under, surfaced, fighting for balance. The stone took him smack in the middle of the forehead. He went down, his sword discarded to the depths of the river. Grappling air, Haveros made one last attempt to stand upright, but the river snatched him, bearing him away in its salmon-fast shouldering currents.
Chonjara ran along beside the river, panting as he sprinted for the rapids. The white water slammed Haveros against a boulder, then grounded him on a reef of shale. He started to struggle upright. Chonjara floundered into the water, slipping and sliding as he braced his way through the churning shallows. Haveros, weaponless, reached down into the water. Chonjara flung up his hands and warded off a stone.
The two men closed the distance and grappled with each other. They went down and fought in the water, gouging, biting, struggling for a stranglehold. They slipped into deeper water, and went under. As they broke apart, Chonjara grabbed a rock. Surfacing, he smashed Haveros. Who mouthed air and fell backwards. Chonjara hefted his rock and smashed again.
Embracing Haveros, accepting his limp weight, Chonjara lugged his enemy to the shore, hulking the body over rocks, and through the greeding white waters. Chonjara, flushed, gasping, soaking wet, blood streaming from the sword-slash which had ripped across his ribs, bellowed for a rope. Haveros, stoneslugged, unconscious, damaged and dying, lay there on the ground, fungus-soft outgrowths of blood-swollen flesh massing on his forehead. He vomited up a thin yellow slurry. His breath fluttered strands of vomit at his mouth. He was scarcely breathing.
'Rope!' screamed Chonjara.
Why was there no rope? And who let that woman-
'Get her out of here!' shouted Chonjara.
Someone dragged away the Princess Quenerain, who was screaming, her fingers gripped home to her face.
Yen Olass Ampadara knelt down beside Haveros. She tried to clear the vomit from his mouth, but his teeth clenched together, locking hard and fast.
'Volaine,' said Yen Olass firmly, using the name his mother would have used. 'Open your mouth. I'm trying to help you.’
His teeth stayed locked together. He vomited again. One of his teeth was missing. Yen Olass sucked the vomit out through the hole, sucked and spat, sucked and spat. There was not much, but what there was might still choke him. Then he would die a real drinking man's death: drowning in his own vomit.
'Volaine,' said Yen Olass again. 'Open your mouth.’
She scarcely tasted the vomit, but wiped away a little which had clung to her lips. She wondered if she should use a stone to smash away his teeth. No: the idea was grotesque. And the violence of a stone jolting into his head would damage his brain, which had taken too much of a pounding already. If he vomited enough to start to choke, surely his teeth would loosen as lack of air sapped his strength. Then she could try and clear his mouth and throat.
'Volaine, can you hear me?’
Somewhere in the background, Chonjara was screaming for rope. Yen Olass pulled back one of the injured man's eyelids. The blank black disc of a pupil stared out at her, numb to the daylight. She let the eyelid sink back into position.
Yen Olass was sweating feverishly, trembling as her heart sprinted, yet her voice was cool and commanding. Her ruling intelligence maintained its poise and managed even a degree of detachment.
'Volaine, stay with us,' said Yen Olass, knowing that hearing is often the last sense to go. 'We're trying to help you.’
Kneeling there in the mud, she found the time to note that goosebumps were standing out on his body. She was surprised that flesh so badly damaged could manifest such a quotidian symptom. She was vaguely aware of others clustering round; vaguely, she wondered why nobody tried to help her. Haveros moved. His arm curled up toward the shoulder, hand warping outward in a gesture strong but spastic. A bad sign.
'Volaine-’
Yen Olass was pushed to one side. Looking up from the mud, she saw Chonjara glowering above her. Someone dragged her away to safety: Resbit. Working rapidly, Chonjara knotted a rope round the neck of the fallen man. He had the end thrown over an overhanging branch. Four men hauled on the rope, dragging Haveros toward the sky.
'Kick, you bastard!' shouted Chonjara. 'Kick!’
But Haveros hung there limply.
He was dead.
Chonjara, realizing he had been cheated of the chance of imposing one last torture on his enemy, screamed with rage. He smashed his fists into the inert flesh, spitting, shouting, swearing. Snatching a knife from the belt of the nearest man, he hacked into the body and ripped the belly open. As the wet, slithering mass of glistening intestines collapsed outward into the daylight, Chonjara laughed. His mirth came in spasms.
Shocked, Yen Olass looked away.
Tried not to hear.
Haveros was dead and disembowelled. But Chonjara was not finished yet. Slicing away ropes of hanging gut, he cut into his enemy's flesh. Tore away the last clothing. Exposed his enemy's sex, and bunched the balls and the slack cock in his hand, intending to-
'No,' said Lord yUagrace, pulling him away.
'What are you doing here?' yelled Chonjara.
He pushed Lord Alagrace aside, and turned back to-
'No,' said Lord Alagrace, restraining him.
Chonjara turned on him, grabbed him by the throat.
'You senile old fuck, I'll-’
He gave a shrill whinny of pain as Lord Alagrace drove his knee home. As Chonjara went down, bent over his agony, concentrating on mastering his pain, he saw the faces of the soldiers. Silent. Restrained. Some… appalled?
'What did you think we were doing?' said Chonjara, forcing the words out, each syllable hissing with pain. 'Dancing?’
Nobody replied.
'Cut him down,' said Lord Alagrace. 'You – clutch up those men and go and cut some timber. We've got a funeral to make ready.’
The men he gave his orders to hesitated. Some were not sure whether they wanted Chonjara as their commander, thinking he might be mad. But none had much confidence in Alagrace.
'They're not sure whether to obey you, old woman Alagrace,' said Chonjara, managing something like a grin. 'I don't think they will. Seize him!’
There was a fight then, as some men made to grab Lord Alagrace, and others resisted them. Yen Olass nudged Resbit, who nodded, and they began to slink away to the south. After a moment, Draven followed them, with Jalamex in tow. Then, as the brawl escalated, the Princess Quenerain followed, tagging along behind.
Karahaj Nan Nulador, standing apart from the fight, saw them go, but said nothing. It was Shant and Mation, the boys from Estar, who raised the alarm, shouting one of the few words of Ordhar they had managed to pick up:
'Look! Look!’
The soldier Saquarius was the first to turn and see what was happening. The Princess Quenerain was just disappearing into the undergrowth to the south.
'Our women!' roared Saquarius. 'Our women are escaping!’
The brawl broke apart, and the men, in a mob, went roaring down the riverbank, yahooing in high excitement. Chonjara, Alagrace,' Karahaj Nan Nulador and a few bruised and bleeding soldiers stayed behind.
'
Pax,' said Lord Alagrace, offering.
'You're finished,' said Chonjara. 'And you know it. I've no need for a truce.’
Lord Alagrace bowed his head.
'I will conform to your commands,' he said, surrendering.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The escapers were caught, dragged back to camp, roughed up a little, and tied up to improvised torture posts. A big bonfire was lit. Chonjara had an extra ration broken out and shared around. Some of the soldiers produced a little wine or hard liquor which had been stored away in the bottom of their packs. A festive atmosphere prevailed.
Yen Olass and Resbit had been tied up near each other. They did not yet know whether they were going to be raped or torn to pieces or beaten to death or what.
'Whatever they do,' said Yen Olass, 'Scream loudly.’
'Yes?' said Resbit.
'Men get angry if they think they can't hurt you.’
'Don't worry, Yen Olass, I'll scream.’
Yen Olass watched some men gambling. For fun? For wine? For food? Or for the privilege of being the first to do something to her body? She heard Resbit sniff. Hot tears started out from her own eyes.
Someone was climbing out of the river.
Yen Olass blinked tears out of her eyes and tried to focus. It was only Karahaj Nan Nulador. He was carrying a sword. Chonjara had sent his bodyguard into the river to find the sword Haveros had dropped, and now Nan Nulador had succeeded. From the way he walked, Yen Olass could tell he was exhausted. The water was cold, and he had been in it a long time.
She watched the men, wondering what they would do to her first. She resolved to submit, to obey, and to give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream. Anything else would only make it harder on all of them – including Resbit.
'Hello, beautiful woman,' said a voice behind her. 264
r A man's voice.
A man's hand touched her cheek.