The women and the warlords coaaod-3

by Hugh Cook

  On the morning of the fourth day, they found the swollen body of a man trapped in the roots of a tree by the riverside. From his clothing, he appeared to be Galish. Yen Olass, who had no fear of dead bodies – at least not by daylight – examined the corpse and tried to estimate how long it had been in the water. Quenerain came down to have a look, then turned away, feeling sick. The man had been hacked to death by a sword or an axe.

  'Come away, Suggy,' said Haveros, drawing her away.

  Hearing that pet name, Yen Olass remembered the princess whimpering with excitement in a room in Gendormargensis. It all came back to her. 'Suggy, you're so wet down here. So hot and wet.' 'That's because my little teni is crying for joy, Son-son.' Remembering, Yen Olass had to bite her hand to keep herself from laughing; if she remembered those scenes on her deathbed, she would die laughing.

  'Come away, Yen Olass,' said Resbit, seeing she was in some distress.

  'Son-son,' said the princess, 'I feel faint.’

  Yen Olass collapsed to the ground, writhing.

  'Yen Olass,' said Resbit. 'What's wrong? Speak to me. Yen Olass.’

  'I'll live,' said Yen Olass, controlling herself with an immense effort of will.

  She buried her head in her arms, her laughter sobbed out. And Resbit, thinking she was crying, comforted her as best she could. By the time Yen Olass had sobered up, Haveros, Draven and the sea captain Menjamin Occam were discussing the dead man with the Melski. It was a long, laboured conversation, with the polyglot Hor-hor-hurulg-murg bearing the brunt of the job of translation. The Galish did not fight amongst themselves; the Melski would not have attacked the Galish. So who or what was killing upriver?

  'We have to go on,' said Draven.

  Nobody disputed it. Leaving the body where it was – they could not spare the time or energy to dig a grave, and none of them wished to eat it – they continued north in a sombre mood.

  That afternoon, a Melski raft came drifting down the river with a Melski body on board. Without a word, Hor-hor-hurulg-murg dived – and did not surface.

  'Where Hor-hor-hurulg-murg?' said Yen Olass to the three other Melski, using one of the few Melski words she had picked up. They signed her to be patient.

  'Let's get under cover,' said Haveros, signing for them to withdraw into the trees.

  But at that moment, Hor-hor-hurulg-murg surfaced near the bank, and started to clamber out of the water. Then he turned round, as if expecting someone to follow him. Seeing nobody, he plunged into the water again, reappearing shortly with a child-small Melski, which reluctantly allowed itself to be led ashore.

  'He was under the raft,' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg in Galish, after which he addressed the child in his own language.

  He got no response.

  'What happened?' said Haveros.

  'Unknown,' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg. 'But we know where the children usually shelter if trouble starts. I suppose the parents of this one were killed, so he took shelter.’

  The child stood on the bank looking lost and frightened. Yen Olass advanced. He flinched. 'Dumadoml’

  'Glum dumadom glum,' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg sternly.

  'Glum dumadom,' said Yen Olass emphatically, certain that she was not a whatever-it-was.

  The Melski child squealed in panic and fled for the river. Draven blocked its path. It turned at bay and bared its teeth. Hor-hor-hurulg-murg laughed, and spoke again:

  'Glum dumadom loglum.’

  The child relaxed slightly.

  'What's a dumadom?' said Yen Olass.

  'Zardik,' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg, using the Galish word.

  'And what's that?’

  'You know… fur, claws… like this.' Hor-hor-hurulg-murg did a little pantomime, shambling on all fours then lumbering onto two legs. It was so funny that Yen Olass almost broke into hysterical laughter. She controlled herself, guessing that would be an irretrievable insult to Melski dignity.

  'I think he means bear,' said Haveros.

  'Oh, a bear,' said Yen Olass.

  'You understand?' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg. 'Good. So you know, glum starts no, but on its own it means maybe. Sometimes it even means yes. If you want one word that's always no, use loglum. Otherwise, glum glum, start and finish.’

  Yen Olass committed that to memory as they set off again. The raft was now out of sight; floating downstream with a dead body on board, it would take a clear warning of danger to the Melski still in the south.

  The little Melski managed to keep up the pace, but was exhausted when evening came. Yen Olass regarded it as a personal triumph when he allowed her to fold his small green body into the comfort of her furs. She taught the child her name, and discovered his, which was Wadu; this discovery delighted her, until Hor-hor-hurulg-murg advised that 'wadu' simply meant 'hungry'.

  'Ask him his name then,' said Yen Olass.

  Hor-hor-hurulg-murg tried, but failed. Little Melski were always cautious when talking to large Melski. This behaviour was instinctive, dating back to the Stone Days before the Merging had brought the wisdom of the Cycle. Back then, large Melski used to delight in eating little Melski.

  'Try again,' said Yen Olass.

  'He's too young to understand,' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg; this convenient formula excused him from having to explain why it was really beneath the dignity of a Melski male to converse with a child.

  The child was a problem the next day, because it started lagging behind. Toward the end of the day, Yen Olass was trudging along with Wadu riding on her shoulders. That evening, as they feasted on dead fish and (humans only)

  gently mouldering venison, Yen Olass was concerned to find Wadu eating slugs; Hor-hor-hurulg-murg, with a trace of weariness, explained that slugs were the best possible thing for him.

  Apart from this disconcerting eating habit, Wadu was in many ways an ideal child. He was strong,, sturdy, wore no clothes, never caught a chill, and was never in any danger of drowning in the river. Furthermore, he was awed into good behaviour by the presence of so many adults. Yen Olass decided that her first big project as a mother would be to get him to speak. But what would happen when they got to Lake Armansis? Would she be allowed to take him west with her?

  Her question was soon answered, because when they were still one day short of the lake, they ran into a party of a dozen Melski. Recognising one of the females, Wadu threw himself forward with a scream of delight. He was picked up and comforted, and immediately started babbling away in his own language. The adults were so busy talking themselves that it was some time before Yen Olass could get a translation.

  'Among other things.' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg, 'he says you're a nice creature even if you are all covered in fur.’

  The adult Melski brought the news from Lake Armansis. About two hundred attackers from the west, probably Orfus pirates from the Greater Teeth, had come over the Razorwind Pass, wiping out the two Galish convoys camped on the western shores of the lake. The pirates were now building a fort, as if they meant to stay. Some Melski had been killed by the pirates; this group had thought it safest to head south. Hor-hor-hurulg-murg disabused them of that notion.

  The dozen Melski joined the north-going fugitives and kept pace with them to Lake Armansis. They camped near the lake, planning to cross the river in the morning and skirt around the eastern shores, picking up the river again at the northern end.

  By morning, Draven had disappeared. The sea captain, Occam, was also missing. Guessing that these two had headed for the pirate camp, the party crossed the river – which meant a hair-raising trip across a series of one-log bridges spanning the gaps between huge water-cleaving rocks – and started their journey round the eastern side of the lake. Haveros, who had more than half-expected Draven to flee to the pirates, did not expect a pirate attack, doubting that men who had just looted two merchant convoys would mount an expedition to capture a tiny poverty-stricken group like their own.

  The person most upset was the woman Jalamex, for Draven had abandoned her without so much a
s a goodbye.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  With escape to the west cut off, Yen Olass would have liked to stay with the Melski, but she was a minority of one, The big, green animals made the others uneasy, and, as Haveros said, 'Once they start killing humans, there's no telling where they'll stop.' Even Resbit allowed herself to be persuaded by that argument. So, when the river forked north of Lake Armansis, the humans chose the westerly branch while the Melski took the easterly.

  'Your way takes you into the Valley of Forgotten Dreams,' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg. 'By tradition, for us it is a forbidden place. The first ten leagues are said to be safe. Beyond that – death.’

  They thanked him. They only wanted a place to hide until pirates, soldiers and the wizards of Castle Vaunting had fought out their battles, and, with any luck, destroyed each other. The valley, with its rough-running river of rapids and waterfalls, its rugged banks and its evergreen forests (trees with leaves of a dark, dark green, so dark it was almost black – entirely unlike the deciduous growth of the south) should offer them refuge.

  About five leagues up the valley, they came to a place with a little flat land on either side of the river, which surged past, deep and narrow, then foamed into wide and shallow rapids.

  'This will do,' said Haveros. 'We won't find anywhere better.’

  Yen Olass, who refused to live in a nameless place, called it Nightcaps, which sounded a good name for a wild place in the back of beyond. With Haveros supervising them, they built lean-to shelters, sharpened sticks and dug latrines, hauled rotten logs out of the forest and broke them up for firewood, made bird snares and fish traps, and booby-trapped animal tracks with pits and deadfalls. Then they tore apart the local vegetation, sampling leaves, fern shoots, bark, pith, vines, pulped roots and fungus growths.

  After ten days, they had settled in properly, and were beginning to think of curing hides and making extra clothing. But all such plans ended when three exhausted pirates came stumbling into Nightcaps, bringing the news that Chonjara and his men were close behind them.

  The pirates were their old friend Draven, a vicious little man called Toyd, and a man named Mellicks who was short-sighted and forever squinting to try and make sure of his footing. After hearing a brief account of how Chonjara's men had attacked the pirates at Lake Armansis, and were patrolling the forest to cut off retreat to the west, Haveros ordered everyone to break camp and move out.

  Yen Olass and Resbit were most reluctant to go. They had worked hard on their lean-to, sealing off every draught and leak. Though Resbit's pregnancy was in its early stages, they had been talking baby clothes. Yen Olass had been designing a trap to kill bush rats for a supply of small, soft, furry skins; as Yen Olass knew next to nothing about making clothes, Resbit had promised to show her how it was done. And now they had to leave everything and run.

  Just before they pulled out, Haveros disabled all the snares, deadfalls and pits. None was placed where it might catch any of Chonjara's men, and his hunting ethic did not allow him to kill for no reason, or, worse, to leave disabled animals to die slowly in the forest.

  Haveros forced the pace up the river. They had fed reasonably well over the past few days, and carried food for three days. All blisters from their earlier marches had healed, except in the case of the Princess Quenerain, who still had trouble with her feet. She was reluctant to march, and begged Haveros to try and negotiate with Chonjara.

  'We both know his arguments,' said Haveros, and lightly touched a small scar on her face where a stone had hit her.

  This logic did not convince Quenerain, who argued with Haveros for hours at the end of the first march; argument ended when he lost his temper and hit her, and she sobbed herself to sleep.

  Haveros put his trust in speed. He was not inclined to slink away into the hills and hide. They could only survive in this forest if they were free to fish the river, tear down the vegetation, set hunting traps, and range widely to hunt. They could not do this if they were hulkering in the hills, trying to make themselves invisible. So they would run north, until their food ran out. And then? Then they would establish themselves on some height overlooking the river, and, once Chonjara's men went marching past, Haveros and his party would double back, make for Lake Armansis, follow the river south, then try and slip away to the east, to Skua.

  To Haveros, it was all a bit of a game, even though he was playing with his own life. His people, who were not skilled woodsmen, left trail-signs Chonjara's men would be able to follow easily. Haveros supplemented these by breaking the occasional branch now and then. He wanted to lead Chonjara as far into the Penvash Peninsula as possible, knowing that every day deeper would stretch Chonjara's supply lines and increase the likelihood of Chonjara finding his retreat south cut off by the Melski when he got back to Lake Armansis. If the Princess Quenerain had not been so distressed and distressing, Haveros would actually have started to enjoy himself.

  ***

  When they camped at the end of their first march north, Draven – a professional opportunist – tried for Jalamex. But she had taken refuge in the shelter of a fallen log, together with Haveros and Quenerain. She refused to respond to Draven's whispers, and, when he raised his voice, he woke Haveros, who treated him to the full force of that rich, magnificent, eloquent obscenity known only to mule drivers, professional soldiers and low-class whores.

  Haveros, his oratory tapering off toward the end, addressed Draven rather more mildly than he had been, saying:

  'So drag your cock back to its slime-pit, you ignorant sack of arseholes.’

  And Draven, awed by his fury, complied.

  As Draven retreated, the Princess Quenerain mocked him; she used some words which were quite obscene. She had her own small gift for languages; she knew Ordhar, and had learnt enough Galish to make herself objectionable. Haveros shut her up: swearing was a man's prerogative.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Early the next day, it began to rain. As they marched, steep banks forced them into the river, where they waded knee-deep; few things are more disgusting than soaking wet boots just after breakfast, but nobody complained.

  Further on, the river widened, though the banks were still high; they splashed through shallow water and across stones and shingle. The way ahead was blocked by two shoulders of rock, each ten times the height of a man. These shoulders flanked a narrow gorge where water thrashed over boulders. In places, the gorge was scarcely-wide enough for swordplay.

  The gorge ran for only thirty horse-lengths, but it was a formidable obstacle. They were soaked by the time they had clawed upstream against the battering water. The river widened again; on the eastern side, a stream descended steeply between high V-shaped banks.

  They rested briefly, then Haveros urged them on again. The banks drew in after a few more horse-lengths, and steepened, forcing them to wade through water.

  Through wavering water pocked by rain, Yen Olass saw a blurred yet gleaming fist of green. She plunged her arm into the water and seized it. Her catch was a perfect sphere of stone, heavy, yet transparent. Multicoloured stars shone within its misty green: solitary luminaries, constellations and entire galaxies.

  She was still admiring her find when she realized everyone else had frozen. A wark was coming down the river. The big, lumbering bear advanced with a leisured, measured gait, as if it owned the world – which, as far as they were concerned, was fair enough, as they were hardly going to dispute ownership.

  Carefully, Haveros stooped down and picked up a rock. The bear paused, and turned this way and that, as if sniffing the air. With a sudden jerk of his body, Haveros threw the rock. It sailed overhead to land with a splash, upstream of the bear. The animal wheeled. Draven and Haveros waded to the sides of the river and hauled themselves out, clinging onto trees. Yen Olass tucked her stone globe into one of the inner pockets of her weather jacket.

  The wark turned back downstream. Everyone still in the river broke and ran for the trees. The banks were almost sheer, but te
rrain yielded to desperation. Confused by the sudden flurry of noise, the bear peered downstream. Like all animals of its kind, it was short-sighted. And unpredictable. As it hesitated, the men drew weapons and backed up against trees. The bear proceeded, coming downstream through the hissing rain.

  Yen Olass picked up a stick. If the wark came too close, she would wallop it over the nose. Then it would either retreat or tear her apart. She should have been terrified, but instead she was fascinated. She had never seen such a huge animal so close up. She watched as it went by, almost close enough to touch. She imagined riding on it, clutching great handfuls of fur.

  When the bear had gone past, Yen Olass slid down the bank and waded into the river, careless of the cold water, and watched the bear disappearing downstream toward the gorge. Her eyes were wide with excitement.

  'You like bears, do you?' said Haveros.

  Yen Olass, to her consternation, blushed. She was ashamed that he knew she was entranced by a big, furry animal; she was much too old for that.

  'Maybe,' said Yen Olass.

  'Then remember this,' said Haveros. 'Bears don't necessarily like you.’

  Yen Olass bowed her head slightly, accepting his rebuke. As a child of the wastelands of Monogail, she knew how to accept a warning intended to help her survive. This was true wilderness: unmapped, uninhabited and unforgiving.

  Survival demanded unrelenting concentration. Nevertheless, Yen Olass was glad she had seen the bear.

  And glad that she had her star-filled stone. She was convinced it was very rare and very valuable. She had never seen anything like it. They would not be travelling up the river forever; in the Ravlish Lands or some other civilized territory, the globe would surely be worth a fortune.