The Women and the Warlords Read online

  Yen Olass screamed.

  A cry of horror broke loose from her throat as something shattered her vision.

  What?

  She saw Chonjara's foot still in the air, still rising, her Casting Board breaking apart, the ivory Indicators scattering.

  And she heard Lord Alagrace, his voice a roar of outrage:

  'Chonjara!’

  'Children play girl-games,' said Chonjara, his voice thick with anger -- and with something close to hatred.

  'Men have other ways to work the world.’

  Lord Alagrace now had no choice. The Law of Readings compelled him, as the most senior person present -- Lawmaker in the absence of the Lord Emperor Khmar, and hence senior even to Volaine Haveros, the Lord Commander of Gendormargensis -- to ask the patrons to name the doom of the criminal who had interrupted the oracle.

  'Lonth Denesk,' said Lord Alagrace. 'Tonaganuk. This individual has interrupted your reading. I ask you --’

  'There is no reading,' said Tonaganuk.

  And with those words he committed himself to mortal combat.

  Also by Hugh Cook

  THE WIZARDS AND THE WARRIORS

  THE WORDSMITHS AND THE WARGUILD

  THE WALRUS AND THE WARWOLF

  and published by Corgi Books

  THE WOMEN AND THE WARLORDS

  Hugh Cook

  CORGI BOOKS

  THE WOMEN AND THE WARLORDS

  A CORGI BOOK 0 552 13131 8

  Originally published in Great Britain by

  Colin Smythe Limited

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Colin Smythe edition published 1987

  Corgi edition published 1987

  Corgi edition reprinted 1988

  Copyright © Hugh Cook 1987

  Conditions of sale

  1: This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  2: This book is sold subject to the Standard Conditions of Sale of Net Books and may not be re-sold in the U.K. below the net price fixed by the publishers for the book.

  This book is set in 10,’11 pt Imprint

  Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers Ltd., 61-63 Uxbridge Road, Ealing, London W5 5SA, in Australia by Transworld Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd., 15-23 Helles Avenue, Moorebank, NSW 2170, and in New Zealand by Transworld Publishers (N.Z.) Ltd., Cnr. Moselle and Waipareira Avenues, Henderson, Auckland.

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd., Reading, Berks.

  Maps

  Table of Contents

  Maps

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  About this edition

  CHAPTER ONE

  Name: Yen Olass Ampadara

  Birthplace: Monogail

  Occupation: oracle

  Status: slave

  Description: heavy-built female of Skanagool race, age 30, hair black, eyes slate, height 11 qua, diamond tattoo on left inner thigh

  Residence: room 7, height 3 of tooth 44, Moon Stallion Strait, Eastern Quadrant, Gendormargensis

  * * *

  It was Third Foal of Seventh Cohort in the year Khmar 18, and the season, of course, was snow. Yen Olass knew the date, but, with no sun, moon or starsign to guide her judgment, she could only guess at the time. A howling gale was blowing; the mouth of the cave offered only a prospect of indeterminate grey sky and gaunt black trees thrashing in the wind.

  Though it was certainly late in the day, she thought she could still get back to the hunting lodge at Brantzyn. If she ran out of daylight, she would just have to find her way in the dark. But before setting out, she had a little problem to sort out. The problem had four legs, a mouth like cast iron, and a definite will of its own.

  'Come on, Snut,' said Yen Olass impatiently, slapping the problem. 'Ease up!’

  But her pony obstinately held his breath, refusing to let her tighten the saddle girth.

  'Infidel!’ she said, punching him in the flank.

  She lowered her head and butted him. Then she considered poking him with her knife -- but she was too softhearted to hurt a horse like that.

  'You can't hold your breath forever,' she said.

  Time proved her right. She tightened the saddle girth, packed the saddle bags, then rolled up her triple-ply solskin horse blanket and tied it on behind the saddle. Now they were almost ready to go.

  Yen Olass took a little bamboo box from one of the inner pockets of her fleece-lined league rider's weather jacket. She opened it, releasing the pungent smell of volsh, the thick niddin-grease used by the people of the north to keep out the cold and the wet. She smeared her cheeks with grease, then put away the box and pulled on her wadmal mittens. She drew the hood of the weather jacket well forward, then donned her snow-coat. The weight of its voluminous folds comforted her; she would be glad of the extra warmth out in the storm.

  Now she was ready.

  Yen Olass mounted up, watching her head because the roof of the cave was low. It seemed to be very gloomy. Was it her imagination, or was the light failing?

  'Let's go,' said Yen Olass. 'Ya!’

  Snut said nothing, did nothing.

  'Ya!' said Yen Olass. 'Ya!’

  She flicked the reins and kicked the horse with her heels, but Snut took no notice.

  'Son of a tortoise,' said Yen Olass. 'Move yourself!' And she slapped him, hard.

  When that got no results, Yen Olass dismounted, grabbed the reins and hauled Snut toward the daylight. He resisted strenuously, but she forced him to the cave-mouth. Then he baulked absolutely, and no exercise of brute force would get him outside.

  'What are you?' said Yen Olass. 'A horse or a mule?’

  She knew very well what he was: intelligent. It was no day to be travelling.

  'It won't get any better if we wait,' said Yen Olass.

  She should have left for the hunting lodge that morning, but had delayed, hoping the weather would improve. It had not. Tortured trees creaked and groaned in the wind. The sky was darkening: obviously it was later tha
n she had thought.

  'Come on,’ said Yen Olass. 'We can do it.’

  Snut was a shag pony, and the shag pony was the indomitable mount of the riders of the far north; for endurance in the cold, only the grenderstrander could better it. It they set out for the hunting lodge now, they might just make it.

  'Do you really want to spend the night here?' said Yen Olass.

  Snut obviously did. All things being equal, Yen Olass would also have chosen to stay. But she was a slave, and could not set her own schedule. She was not supposed to be here at all. Instead, she was meant to be in Gendormar-gensis, a day's ride to the south, and there would be the most fearful trouble if it was discovered that she was missing. Extending her absence by a further day would increase the risk beyond reason.

  Outside, there was an appalling graunch of rending wood. A tree came crashing down.

  'I respect your judgment,' said Yen Olass to Snut, 'but I'm late already.’

  The sky was thickening to thunder. The driving wind slashed sideways and lashed her face with snow. Out in the gathering darkness, another tree crashed down dead.

  'On the other hand,' said Yen Olass, 'better late than never.’

  And she led Snut back into the gloom of the cave, back to her Woodstock and the ruins of her camp fire. Feeding the hot embers with a little bark, she got the fire going again, avoiding the need to fumble with her tinder-box in the numbing cold.

  With the fire burning brightly in its circle of rocks, Yen Olass unloaded Snut, took off the saddle and removed the harness, wondering vaguely what kind of relief her horse felt when she took the bit from his mouth. She kept her snow-coat on, intending to sleep in it. She also kept the hood of her jacket pulled forward, but that did not stop Snut from licking at the volsh on her cheeks, liking the salt in the grease.

  'Stop that!' said Yen Olass, pushing him away.

  He nickered, and nuzzled her.

  'What do you want?' said Yen Olass. 'An apple. An apple, huh? Is that right! And why should you get an apple? You men are all the same, you know. You think you can get away with anything. Well, it's just not so.’

  But, when Snut persisted, she gave him an apple -- a wizened little thing, which he crunched down greedily. She now had three apples, plus some oats in a nosebag. When that was gone, there would be nothing left for the horse, who could hardly share her own survival rations -- pemican and evil-smelling milk curds. Snut knew how to dig in the snow with his hooves to uncover dried grass and moss, but since there was little forage in the woods at the best of times, he was unlikely to find much now.

  'I hope you realize,' said Yen Olass, 'if we get snowed in, I'm going to have to eat you.’

  Snut made no reply, but tried for another apple.

  'No,' said Yen Olass. 'I'm saving the apples to have with roast horsemeat.’

  Then she hugged him, crowding in to his warmth, to his strength, to his comfort.

  'But I won't eat you unless I really have to. You're my only horse in the world.’

  Strictly speaking, Snut was not hers at all. The shag pony belonged to Lord Pentalon Alagrace, the Lawmaker of Gendormargensis during the absence of the Lord Emperor Khmar. It was Alagrace who owned the hunting lodge at Brantzyn, and who made it possible for Yen Olass to escape into the wilderness every now and again for a few days' hunting. He took a considerable risk by extending such illegal privileges to her; he would be angered by her late return.

  'Well,’ said Yen Olass, 'if he doesn't like it, he can go and eat himself,’

  Defiance was easy when she was far from Gendormargensis and the world of men, safe in this cave which was hers and hers alone.

  She would have to spend at least another night in the cave, so she did a quick stocktake, estimating how much wood was left. On discovering the cave in the spring, she had named it Bear Barrow, though no bears had been in residence. She had bullied two of Lord Alagrace's league riders into helping her lay in a big supply of wood. Subsequent visits had diminished it, but enough remained for a couple of nights -- or longer, if she was frugal.

  'Sleep for all bad horses,' said Yen Olass, covering Snut with the horseblanket.

  Then she settled herself down on the floor of the cave, heavyweight geltskin leggings protecting her from the cold. She took off her helm boots and undid her foot bindings. In recent years, many people had taken to wearing socks, but Yen Olass had no time for such outlandish foreign fashions. Foot bindings were simple, cheap, and always gave a perfect fit -- and, more to the point, they were what the Sisterhood issued to its oracles.

  Yen Olass slipped her feet into a fleece-lined luffle bag and tightened the drawstrings, securing them with a slipknot. Her feet, now safe inside the luffle bag, said hello to each other, and started to get really warm.

  Darkness was swamping the mouth of the cave.

  The onset of night brought no fears, for Yen Olass knew she was safe. The wild animals of the forest had learnt long ago to shun human beings, while no bandits would be abroad in a howling storm. Her horse was one of her friends, and her fire was another; the cave would protect them all, even though the gale was rapidly becoming a blizzard.

  However, when Yen Olass pillowed her head on her boots, she reached behind her head and felt for the hilt of her boot-sheath knife. It was well placed for a quick draw.

  Then -- though she felt this was slightly ridiculous -- she sat up, strung her bow, took an arrow from her close-capped waterproof quiver, and laid both bow and arrow within easy reach.

  Having taken these precautions, Yen Olass settled herself for sleep. She was not tired, but knew that sleep was the easiest way to ride out the storm. She was slightly hungry, but made no move to appease her hunger, choosing instead to forget about it. Flames talked to the wind, discussing the chemistry of the wood on which they banqueted. The fire was over-generous; Yen Olass warned herself to economize. Then she closed her eyes, and went to sleep.

  * * *

  Yen Olass lay sleeping, dreaming of a long line of concubines sitting in pairs in the middle of Moon Stallion Strait. The concubines were chained neck to neck. Their placid smiles contained just a hint of senility. Lord Alagrace prowled up and down the road with a sword in his hand. His face dispersed itself into a disc of shadow. He snarled in a foreign language. His hands multiplied. The sky was blue then green. It tasted of violets.

  As Yen Olass slept, wandering in the world of dreams, an intruder entered her cave. Snut snorted. The intruder, mounted on horseback, cracked his head on the roof of the cave, and swore.

  Yen Olass woke, eyes startling wide.

  The fire was burning low, scarcely more than a circle of embers. Shadows lurched in the gloom beyond. Yen Olass snatched her knife and rolled from the fire. A sharp tug unravelled the slipknot securing the luffle bag. She kicked her feet free and scuttled into the deeper dark behind her woodpile. She remembered, too late, that she had left her bow behind.

  Yen Olass watched as horse and rider came forward. The horse was a shag pony like her own. The rider dismounted. He was a Yarglat tribesman of indeterminate age -- forty, perhaps? Lit from below by the dying firelight, his face was the domain of all kinds of sinister evil. Initiation scars on his cheeks suggested he had been raised in the old ways, in the tribal homelands far to the north. The skull of a rat dangled on a braided cord outside his furs. His face was marked by fatigue, and there was snow in his shaggy hair.

  The man coughed, hawked, then spat into the low-burning fire. If the fire hissed when he spat, then the sound was lost in the wind. He nudged the bow and arrow with his foot, then peered into the darkness where Yen Olass was hiding. She could smell him. He reeked of horse, grease, stale sweat and woodsmoke, as if he never washed from one year to the next.

  'Show yourself ,’ said the man.

  Yen Olass clenched her knife fiercely. When she had wanted to learn how to kill people, one of Lord Alagrace's league riders -- more than a little amused at such a foible -- had indulged her for an entire afternoon. She had le
ft his care thinking herself the complete expert, but now she could only remember a single command: stab upwards. Stab upwards!

  'If you don't want to come out,’ said the man, 'you can stay there and freeze for all I care.’

  He beat at his furs, knocking off the worst of the snow, then threw a couple of pieces of wood on the fire, sending up showers of sparks. Yen Olass was surprised to see he was not wearing any gloves. He rubbed his hands and blew on his fingers, then tucked his hands into his armpits.