The Women and the Warlords Read online

  Stealthily, Yen Olass reached for a piece of wood, then chucked it into the darkness off to one side. It clattered noisily against the wall of the cave, but the stranger was not distracted.

  'Play all the childish tricks you want,' he said. 'It makes no difference to me.’

  As he did not seem to be about to attack her, Yen Olass put down her knife and started to massage her feet, which were already getting freezing cold.

  'They told me I'd find you here,’ said the stranger, squatting down by the fire. 'Though they made it sound easier than it was. I lost my way twice, getting here. Come on, little girl. Don't you recognize me? I'm Losh Negis, the Ondrask of Noth.’

  Yen Olass had never seen him before; she knew the high priest of the horse cult only by reputation. She had never attended a horse sacrifice, and never wanted to. Killing horses then burning them -- now that was really barbarous.

  Little flames were crawling over the bits of wood the Ondrask had thrown on the fire. Her feet were getting colder and colder; the fire looked very inviting. Yen Olass picked up her knife. Uncertainly, she advanced into the firelight, raised her free hand and gave the formal greeting:

  'Yesh-la, Ondrask.’

  He nodded, but did not bother to make a formal response. He threw more wood on the fire. She resented the way he made so free and easy with her wood, her fire, her cave. Without bothering with her foot bindings, she shoved her feet into her boots. She left the boot laces loose, just tucking them in beside her ankles. She was sure she could make it to the cavemouth -- but would Snut come when she called? He was encumbered by the horse blanket: she would have to get that off him.

  'You can't ride him bareback, little Yenolass,' said the Ondrask, following her thinking.

  'Can't I?' said Yen Olass.

  She resented the epithet 'little', which was a deliberate insult. There was nothing little about her: she was as big and as heavy as most men, and certainly taller than the Ondrask.

  'Sit down, Yenolass,' said the Ondrask. 'I'm not going to hurt you. I didn't come all this way just to rape a woman.’

  Yen Olass sat, but kept hold of her knife. 'The name is Yen Olass,' she said, emphasizing the way her name broke into two entirely separate words. 'Not Yenolass. If you wish to call me something else, then use my full title: Yen Olass Ampadara.’

  Til call you Yen.' said the Ondrask. 'Dogs and slaves only rate a single name.’

  'You call me Yen and I'll call you Losh-losh,' said Yen Olass.

  'Watch your tongue,' growled the Ondrask. 'If you were mine, I'd teach you what a woman calls a man -- and when.’

  'Contrary to popular belief,' said Yen Olass, in a conversational tone of voice, as if apropos of nothing, 'it takes very little strength to stab a man to death.’

  'Whose experience speaks?' jeered the Ondrask.

  'I killed my first man at the age of twelve,' said Yen Olass in a level voice.

  She told her lie in the tones of truth. At the age of twelve, there had been many times when she wanted to kill herself a man -- one man or many. Hatred gave her voice conviction.

  'So you killed a man,' said the Ondrask. 'And what good did that do you?’

  'Find his bones and ask him,' said Yen Olass.

  The Ondrask grunted. He got to his feet and snapped his fingers. His horse came to him, and he began to unsaddle it. Yen Olass was unsure of his intentions. If she ran, he could probably catch her. If they fought, he could probably take her and break her, then work his will with her afterwards. Best to get some control over him, then -- so that, if necessary, she could disable him with a word. She knew how to do it. All she needed was an opening, which was swift in coming.

  'This is a slave's job, really,' said the Ondrask, loosening the saddle girth.

  'I was not born to be an ostler,' said Yen Olass. 'Hear the omens. I was born in a blizzard. I was born with a clot of blood clenched in my fist. My mother walked in places beyond your imagination. My conception was immaculate.’

  'Listen to the female thing,' said the Ondrask to his horse.

  'When I was conceived, the stars shone white,' said Yen Olass, her voice becoming a lilting chant. 'Out beyond the stars, the darkness. They say it's cold in the darkness; you die, they say.’

  For the words 'you die', she dropped her voice, saying those two words in a lower tone. Most people would never have noticed the drop in tone which marked those two words out as different from the rest. But the Ondrask did.

  'Stop that!' he said sharply.

  Yen Olass ended her spiel then and there, immediately. She was shaken. She had never been caught out before.

  'I play those games myself,' said the Ondrask. 'A very minor part of my art -- but, no doubt, the sum and total of yours.’

  Yen Olass said nothing, watching as the Ondrask dumped saddle and harness on the floor of the cave. Clumsiness betrayed his fatigue. He tried to hide his weariness, but she saw he was exhausted. She suspected he had been lucky to find the cave at all -- lucky, indeed, that the storm had not claimed his life. He had no baggage. Knowing she would have to feed and shelter him, she now saw him not as a potential rapist, but as a danger of a different order -- the incompetent traveller whose failings put the lives of others at risk.

  'You came unprepared,' said Yen Olass.

  'I expected to find you quickly,' said the Ondrask. 'It was further than they led me to believe -- and the way was tricky.’

  'Excuses never saved lives,' said Yen Olass.

  It was a telling criticism, which he did not try to answer, because he could not. Though he was of the Yarglat and she of the people of Monogail, both were children of the barrens of the far north, the lands, as Serek has it, 'beyond all maps, and cold beyond belief.' Both had learnt the same lessons in early childhood.

  The Ondrask seated himself by the fire again. Yen Olass sheathed her knife and took the horse blanket off Snut. She draped it round the Ondrask's shoulders. He shook it off.

  'I never asked for that,’ he said, with anger. 'But you need it.' 'I'll get by without it.’

  'Heat is strength,' said Yen Olass, quoting an old survival maxim. 'And one who weakens serves to weaken all.’

  Her position was unassailable. The Ondrask yielded, allowing her to wrap the horse blanket around him. He pulled its warmth close to his body, shrouding himself in its comfort.

  Yen Olass offered him pemican. He hesitated. Then spoke, loudly, harshly: 'Skak, give me food.’

  'I have already offered,' said Yen Olass serenely. 'How can you demand what has been offered?’

  She knew he had blundered badly. Of her own free will, she had offered to share her survival rations. The rigid survival ethic of the Yarglat gave him only two choices: to accept of decline. Acceptance would formalize their relationship, making him her guest, and placing him under obligations.

  'I was tired,' said the Ondrask, by way of apology. 'I will eat.’

  And he accepted her gift of pemican, which put him in a very uncomfortable position, since she was both a woman and a slave.

  As the Ondrask ate, Yen Olass got a cooking pot out of her baggage and took it to the mouth of the cave. The night was now as black as hell, and every bit as cold. The wind, demented, raged across the land. Yen Olass packed the pot with snow, tamping it down to a little water. Bringing the pot back to the fire, she balanced it on two fresh logs. When she had hot water, she would reconstitute some of her dried milk curds.

  The Ondrask huddled by the fire. His filthy locks were wet with melted snow; he reached behind his head and wiped away some water which was running down his neck.

  'Why did you ride so light?' said Yen Olass.

  'Because anger rode me all the way from Gendormargensis.’

  'They would have given you food at Brantzyn, if you'd asked.’

  'They offered. I told them to set tables for two.’

  'You thought to eat with a woman?' said Yen Olass, mocking him ever so gently. 'To eat with a slave?’

  'The tables,' said th
e Ondrask, 'were not going to be in the same room. But . . . here I've no objection.’

  Though he made that concession, he could not bring himself to thank her outright for her hospitality.

  Yen Olass knew they might be in bad trouble. A storm like this could last for weeks, leaving impassable snow drifts more than head high. Having got one concession from the Ondrask, she went hunting for another:

  'If we have to kill a horse,' said Yen Olass, 'we kill yours first.’

  'Agreed,' said the Ondrask.

  'That way,' said Yen Olass, watching him carefully, 'you may lose a horse when you sought to recover one.’

  The Ondrask eyed her in silence, then said: 'I'm not as impressed as you might expect me to be.’

  When the Yarglat quarrelled, it was usually over horses or women. Gendormargensis was glutted with women, the spoils of recent conquests, but good horses were still hard to come by. As Yen Olass had guessed, a problem with horses had sent the Ondrask raging down the road from Gendormargensis. But why had he come to her? What made him think she could help?

  'Now tell me the details,' said Yen Olass.

  'No,' said the Ondrask. 'Let's see how you ride blindfolded.’

  'Just one question then,' said Yen Olass, exchanging boots for luffle bag. 'How many horses?' 'Three.’

  Yen Olass knew the Ondrask was an old friend of the Lord Emperor Khmar. The two were as close as brothers. Lord Alagrace, the Lawmaker of Gendormargensis, did his best to keep on the good side of Khmar, who had once come close to killing him. Alagrace would supply any horses the Ondrask needed. And, if those horses went missing, Alagrace would have no trouble replacing them. Unless . . .

  'The horses were stolen . . ,' said Yen Olass slowly. 'Yes.’

  'And the horses . . , the horses had been consecrated for sacrifice,’

  'In a public ceremony,’ said the Ondrask.

  'I know how it's done,’ said Yen Olass. 'If taken anonymously, they'd be gone for good. But you didn't ride all this way for nothing. So you know who took them. And you want them back.’

  'You ride well,' said the Ondrask. 'You're very close to the truth. Tell me who took them.’

  Yen Olass checked the cooking pot. The snow had melted, but the water was not yet hot. She sat back, thinking, taking her time.

  'You know who it is,' said Yen Olass. 'So Lord Alagrace should have the thief cut up and killed. But some people he won't dare touch.’

  'But he's Lawmaker!' said the Ondrask, his rage sparking to life.

  'Come on,' said Yen Olass, quietly. 'You know his position,’

  Obviously some high-born Yarglat clansman had made off with the Ondrask's horses, and Lord Alagrace, always reluctant to make enemies amongst the Yarglat, was procrastinating, hoping the problem would resolve itself.

  'He's Sharla vermin!' said the Ondrask. 'We should have killed them all in the Blood Purge,’

  'You did kill them all,’ said Yen Olass, 'or nearly all. Lord Alagrace was one of the few survivors,’

  'Yes,’ said the Ondrask. 'And who let him live? That's what I'd like to know,’

  'He was away in Ashmolea,' said Yen Olass. 'Didn't you know that? No, I don't suppose you would.’

  The Ondrask was known to keep very much to his yashram, which was usually somewhere in the countryside beyond the walls of Gendormargensis; she doubted if he knew half as much about the politics of the city as she did.

  Who might have taken the horses?

  While the water heated, Yen Olass reviewed the names of potential culprits. Yoz Doy? No, he was in the south, with Khmar. What about Ulan Ti? No, he was too old, and too sensible. Chonjara, perhaps? Chonjara was wild enough . . . but it could not possibly be him. Though many of the Yarglat had succumbed to the cosmopolitan trends of agnosticism or outright atheism, Chonjara remained true to the beliefs of his northern homelands. He had even suggested that the horse cult of Noth should become the state religion of the Collosnon Empire, replacing the multitude of faiths which now lay within its borders -- though even the Lord Emperor Khmar had not been prepared to go that far.

  When the water had boiled, and Yen Olass had heated up some milk curds, she gave her only spoon to the Ondrask, letting him eat first. She watched while he ate. He left her less than half. To let a slave witness such a breach of etiquette, he must have been very hungry indeed. When Yen Olass had finished what was left, she asked him directly:

  'So what did happen to your horses?' 'Chonjara ate them,' said the Ondrask. 'I beg your pardon?' 'Chonjara ate them!’

  'So you tell me,' said Yen Olass politely, knowing an impossibility when she heard one.

  'Chonjara held a banquet to celebrate his father's year seventy. He was in the market for some horsemeat. Only the best for his father! Haveros sold him three horses -- my horses!’

  'Ah,' said Yen Olass, for now all was explained. 20

  Over the protests of his father Lonth Denesk, Haveros had abandoned the worship of the horse gods, and had espoused some trivial little local religion. Chonjara had criticized him for that in public, and now Haveros had taken revenge.

  'Since you can't get your horses back . . .’

  'I want an apology. And not in private, either. I want Haveros muck-down grovelling, with the whole city watching.’

  'That might be difficult,' said Yen Olass. 'But you'll arrange it.’

  'My writ doesn't run that far,' said Yen Olass. 'In fact, my writ doesn't run at all.’

  'Lord Alagrace said you'd help.’

  'Any oracle can give you a reading,' said Yen Olass. 'There's no need to come chasing out here just for a reading.’

  'I told Alagrace an oracle couldn't help me. I told him I wasn't interested in a reading. But he told me you'd do better than that. He told me you'd fix it.’

  'What?' said Yen Olass.

  She was genuinely shocked, and it took a lot to shock her. How old was Lord Alagrace? Sixty-five? Not old enough to be going senile, surely?

  'I'm sure Lord Alagrace couldn't have said anything like that,' said Yen Olass.

  'He said exactly that,' said the Ondrask. 'His very words were: she will fix it.’

  The words quoted by the Ondrask were unambiguous: 'Sklo do-pla san t'lay', translating as 'Originating from her will be a fixing.' The word used for 'fixing' implied the use of money, blackmail, trickery or political influence. Or black magic. Yen Olass was furious. Was Alagrace stark staring raving mad? There was no way she could possibly help the Ondrask, who, when he discovered the truth, was going to be very, very angry.

  'So what are you going to do about Haveros?' said the Ondrask.

  This was very difficult.

  'There are always possibilities,' said Yen Olass. 'Your knife may know at least one of them already.’

  'My blade has been conscrated to a higher purpose,' said the Ondrask. 'We have to find another way.’

  'And we will,' said Yen Olass.

  Though her chances of solving the problem were close to zero, she could hardly tell the Ondrask to horse off backwards until he bogged himself. She had to show willing.

  'Let's hear the details,' said Yen Olass. 'Start right from the very beginning.’

  'The beginning,' said the Ondrask, staring into the fire. 'The beginning was . . . when I came south.’

  'Oh, I'm sure you can start further back than that,' said Yen Olass.

  The Ondrask, failing to catch the mild note of sarcasm in her voice, raised his head and looked at her. 'Where should I start then?’

  'If you're really stuck for an opening,' said Yen Olass easily, 'start with the beginning of time, for all I care.’

  The Ondrask closed his eyes. He was very weary. At first, she thought he was going to drift off into dreamland then and there, but after a while he opened his eyes again. When he spoke, his voice was low; she had to lean forward to hear it, because the wind was competing in the background.

  'Not many people ask about the first things,' said the Ondrask, in the voice of a man who has a story
to tell. 'Not many people care to know any more.’

  Yen Olass began to suspect that her little joke about the beginning of time had been unwise.

  'Not many people care to know, but the knowledge is there for those who wish to know. This is the way it was. In the beginning, there was a barren plain where the wind moved from itself and to itself, and the wind was dark and light in one. The wind was both horse and rider.’

  Yen Olass recognised the creation myth of the Yarglat.