The women and the warlords coaaod-3

by Hugh Cook

  'Nassos!' said Chonjara. 'Get your arse up here!’

  Nassos did not move. Saquarius plunged down the slope, hauled him to his feet and dragged him up to the position. Chonjara gave Nassos a kick as he went past. The useless little prick wasn't hurt, he was just giving up.

  Now Chonjara's men lay in ambush. Shortly, a dozen Melski came in sight. They were eager and panting; they were the boldest and most reckless of the enemy.

  With a ferocious scream, Chonjara lauched himself forward. His men joined him. Crashing down the slope, they overwhelmed the Melski. A brief butchery, and it was all over. Flushed, excited, the men grabbed the weapons from the dead Melski. One of Chonjara's men had died in the fight. Not Nassos – a pity, that. 'Come on,' said Chonjara.

  He noted the swagger in the stride of his men as they set off up the slope. The ambush had cost them very little time. They had bloodied the enemy, and had transformed themselves from a retreating rabble to a coherent fighting force.

  They got back to their ambush position. Chonjara looked around.

  'Yen Olass!' he bellowed.

  The fight had made an appalling racket, so there was no call for silence now. 'Resbit!' No answer.

  Chonjara looked around. The dense undergrowth could have hid an infantry company and a couple of squadrons of cavalry. The ground was trampled by men moving into position and then launching themselves into the attack; the two women could have faded into that undergrowth at any of fifty different points.

  Given time, he would have swept the forest for them, and doubtless he would have caught them. However, to survive, he needed to set off with all possible speed. Now.

  'Bring up the rear,' said Chonjara to Saquarius. 'The man who lags is dead.’

  Then Chonjara led them west with all possible speed. His men smashed through the forest, leaving a trail a blind man could have followed walking backwards. When they were deep in the forest, Chonjara halted the column. They backtracked two hundred paces, then turned sideways and melted through the forest, stepping carefully so as to leave no tracks behind them.

  The column reformed, and this time set off south. The Melski would be delayed for some time while they cast around in the forest to pick up the trail again.

  Chonjara hoped the Melski had not attacked and overwhelmed the men he had left at Nightcaps: the ones who were slow, fat, sick or otherwise unfit for a breakneck

  pursuit mission. Karahaj Nan Nulador, who had begged off from this hunt, pleading diarrhoea, had been left in charge. A poor choice: Nan Nulador was not command material. But this campaign did not seem to be throwing up many competent leaders. Why not?

  Because they were all demoralized. In Tameran, there had always been an inevitable logic to their conquests. Their victims had always lived in territory physically continuous with the empire, so… they were absorbed as a matter of course. Here, in this land of myth and legend beyond the Pale, that logic no longer operated.

  So what was the answer?

  Courage, that was the answer. And ruthlessness. Be strong. Be confident. And give the men victories. The crisis demanded the leadership of a true fighting man, a warlord who knew how to be brutal when the occasion demanded it. Chonjara knew he was that man.

  ***

  The Melski, lacking practice in the arts of warfare, and suffering also from the lack of any true warlords, failed in the final phase of their attack: the pursuit of the defeated enemy. As all commanders know, this is one of the most demanding phases of warfare. The troops are tired; they have risked their lives; some of their friends are dead or wounded; they have routed the enemy, so surely no more can be demanded from them. In this respect, the Melski were no different from human beings.

  The pursuit was disorganized. The most eager hunters were cut down by Chonjara's men in the ambush. Discovering the dead bodies, those who came after them held back, uncertain as to how many soldiers opposed them. There was a considerable delay before Hor-hor-hurulg-murg arrived on the scene with another fifty Melski, and led the way forward.

  Reaching the site where Chonjara's men had lain in ambush, he stopped, and sniffed the air. His sense of smell was not good enough for him to track humans through the forest like a dog, but he was certain there was someone close at hand. Two people, in fact. Both women.

  Hor-hor-hurulg-murg looked up into the trees.

  'Come down, Bear-Fond-Of-Climbing.’

  Accepting her new name, Yen Olass climbed down out of the trees, with Resbit following behind her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The men were gone. All of them.

  A series of forced marches had taken Chonjara's troops south to rejoin the siege at Lorford. The stragglers and deserters left in his wake had quit the forest, some urged on by Melski patrols following closely behind. A few, trying to establish themselves in Penvash, had been hunted down and killed. Last to leave were Draven and Jalamex, who came downstream from the Valley of Forgotten Dreams, tired, haggard and footsore. Reaching Lake Armansis, they camped for a week by the lakeside, recuperating. Then they set off for the Razorwind Pass, their progress monitored by discreet and subtle Melski scouts.

  Of all the invaders, only Yen Olass and Resbit remained. The Melski turned them loose at Lake Armansis, on a beach near the site of the pirate fort. They were free to stay or go, as they pleased. Hor-hor-hurulg-murg assured them of at least two days warning if intruders came their way.

  'The campsite is that way,' he said, pointing into the forest. 'Close. I can smell it. What's there is yours, if you want it.’

  'Aren't you coming?' said Yen Olass.

  'No,' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg. 'There was fighting. There are dead bodies.’

  'I understand,' said Yen Olass, who knew by now the horror the Melski had of dead, rotting meat.

  'Goodbye then, Bear-Fond-Of-Climbing.’

  'Where are you going?' said Yen Olass.

  'South,' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg. 'If we have to fight again, we will. Otherwise, we wait. Maybe we sign a treaty

  – for what that's worth. But whatever happens, we'll be going north in the winter. If you're still here, you can winter with me and mine, if you wish.’

  'Thank you,' said Yen Olass.

  'Till then.’

  'Yes,' said Yen Olass, 'till then.’

  Yen Olass and Hor-hor-hurulg-murg bowed to each other, then the Melski set off down the beach. They did not look back.

  Yen Olass and Resbit were left alone. Silently, they turned to each other, and hugged each other close and tight. They were all alone now. They had to take care of each other.

  'Be brave,' said Yen Olass. 'It may be ugly.' 'I'll be brave,' said Resbit.

  And they broke their embrace and slipped into the forest, following a well-defined track. Spring was easing toward summer, and the day was warm; a flutterby lofted through the sun-dappled treeshade, and somewhere a bird sang with a warbling luladula-teru.

  'Stop,' said Yen Olass.

  She grabbed Resbit.

  'What?’

  'Look.’

  'What? I don't see anything. What is it? A ghost?' 'The ground.’

  There was something wrong with the ground. Yen Olass hauled a big stick out of the undergrowth and poked the ground. It gave way. Earth pattered into a pit. Jabbing at the earth, Yen Olass broke open the rest of the crust covering a circular hole. At the bottom of the pit were seven sharpened stakes.

  'A bear trap,' said Resbit.

  'No,' said Yen Olass. 'A Resbit trap. If Chonjara camped here, then I'm sure he was busy before he left. So watch yourself.’

  Moving cautiously now, scanning ground, trail and trees, the two women advanced. In this uninhabited place,

  there was something delicious about the faint sense of risk and menace. Yen Olass found herself hot and sweating. She felt strong and dangerous. The outlines of things sharpened, and the air tasted good.

  Up ahead was a clearing. A big clearing. Stark sunlight showed the burnt-out remains of a stockade, a few dozen lean-to s
helters, six or seven large pits, a big heap of kindling, a logpile and the beginnings of a wall of earth. Orfus pirates had stayed here after attacking and destroying two Galish convoys. Later, Collosnon soldiers had camped here after defeating the pirates.

  'Where are all the bodies?' said Resbit.

  'There,' said Yen Olass, pointing.

  On the far side of the clearing, five corpses hung from a makeshift gallows, victims of military discipline.

  'Is that all?' said Resbit.

  She had braced herself for the most extravagant of ghoulish sights: heaps of skulls, dismembered bodies, stacks of fleshrot oozing worms and maggots, arms and legs spiked at random onto stakes and tree branches. The five men so quietly dangling could not compete with her imaginings. Resbit was a little disappointed.

  "That's all,' said Yen Olass, leading the way out into the clearing.

  The ground was dry and dusty. A rat skulked away as they investigated the lean-to buildings. Put up in a hurry as temporary shelters, they were just about ready to collapse. Yen Olass pushed at a support pole, making a whole building fold up with a clatter of falling timber, sending up a cloud of dust.

  'Yen Olass!’

  'What?’

  'We could have slept in that.’

  'I'm not sleeping here. Lice and bedbugs. And scabies. Anvway, there's plenty more buildings. You got a fright, that's all.’

  'All right, I got a fright.’

  T won't do it again,' said Yen Olass.

  And they hugged each other again.

  Then, hand in hand, they explored the rest of the campsite. Nothing much remained. There was certainly no food. So what would they eat? Fish, birds, watercress, snails, worms, frogs and ants. They would manage. They could probably hunt down the occasional deer, too. But what about later, when Resbit got large and heavy? Could Yen Olass hunt for both of them? And what if she got large and heavy herself? (She was beginning to suspect that she too was pregnant.) Would they have to throw themselves on the mercy of the Melski? They could if they had to, but Yen Olass wanted to be independent for once. She wanted to live her own life, not be a charity guest in someone else's household.

  Pausing by the burnt-out stockade, Yen Olass rubbed her hand over one of the posts. Fire had eaten deeply into the wood, eating black charcoal gulches deep into the timber. It was warm to the touch; her hand came away black from the charcoal. She reached out to dab Resbit's checks with this make-up, but Resbit ducked away. Yen Olass chased her, then:

  'Look out!' screamed Yen Olass.

  Resbit froze, then looked around wildly. Earth, sky, stockade.

  'What?' said Resbit, frightened. 'What is it?' 'The ground. Look.’

  Now Resbit saw it. A pattern of cracks leading in to a faintly depressed centre.

  'Another Resbit trap, I bet,' said Yen Olass.

  She fetched a heavy stick so she could break open the ground and reveal the pit beneath. But the ground refused to break.

  'There's nothing there,' said Resbit.

  'There is too,' said Yen Olass. 'Don't do that!’

  But, disregarding this injunction, Resbit advanced until she Was standing in the shallow depression. She stamped down hard.

  'It's a trap!' shouted Yen Olass. 'You'll fall through!' 293

  Resbit danced up and down, doing a war whoop. Then she stopped, looking up at the sky. High overhead was a bird – probably a hawk.

  'Look, Yen Olass. A bird. In a bird-trap. It's caught there. Oh, and I can see a funny kind of net in the forest. There's a spider stuck in the middle. A spider trap. Oh, and, look at all those leaves. They're stuck to the trees. They can't get away. They're trapped. Yen Olass, what can we do to help them? Oh help, Yen Olass, help me, I'm stuck on this brown stuff, I'm trying to jump, I can't get free.’

  And Resbit jumped up and down on the earth, whooping again. Yen Olass lost her temper and heaved the stick at her. Resbit rolled out of the way and collapsed on the ground, panting and laughing.

  'There's something down there,' said Yen Olass, grimly.

  'Yes,' said Resbit slyly. 'Probably a gamos.’

  'You'll see,' said Yen Olass.

  She hunted round for a sharp stick to dig with, then squatted down in the centre of the depression and started stabbing the earth viciously.

  'There's nothing down there,' said Resbit. 'You're imagining it.’

  Yen Olass did not reply, but hacked away at the earth. 'Oh come on. Don't be like that. Can't I have a little fun now and then? Don't sulk, Yen Olass.' 'I'm not sulking, I'm digging.’

  'And really enjoying yourself, I'm sure. Lots of fun. If you strike gold, give me a call.’

  And so saying, Resbit wandered off, pausing now and then to scratch patterns in the dust with the toe of her boot.

  'Where are you going?’

  'I'll be on the beach if you want me.’

  'Come and help me dig.’

  'I'm going to dig my own hole. In the lake. I'll dig down into the water so I can find some fish. I bet I find something before you do, Yen Olass.’

  But before going down to the lake, Resbit had to go and have a good look at the five bodies swinging from the gallows. Flies buzzed away as she approached. She looked at them for some time, glutting her curiosity. They were really dead. Once they had been up and about, walking the world on their hind legs, eating fish and sticking their things into dogs and women, and now they were entirely finished with all that. Their faces were opening, revealing the bones. It was hard to say what they had looked like.

  With one shy, hesitant hand, Resbit reached out and gave one of the men a tiny push, shoving at one of his boots. He swung from the gallows. The rope holding him creaked faintly, Resbit stepped back, in case the rope broke and dropped the man down into her arms.

  She shuddered.

  She had seen enough.

  Yen Olass was still grubbing in the earth, grunting and swearing. She did have a temper when she was roused. Vaguely, Resbit remembered her Rovac warrior, Elkor Alish. He used to have a temper, and had showed it on the rare occasions when she had dared to cross him. She remembered his cold fury, and the way he had bruised her face once, knocking her backwards so that she ended up on the floor. Yet, other times he had been kind. It was his child she was carrying, and she did not regret it.

  Slowly, Resbit made her way down to the beach, avoiding the pit in the middle of the track. The Melski were already a long way down the beach, tiny figures diminishing in the distance. Resbit took off her boots. Her socks stank. They were going into holes. If she could get material, she would make footbindings like those Yen Olass used. But there was not much chance of that.

  Resbit wiggled her toes. They felt happy to be out in the warm sunshine. It was a good day for naked toes. And naked bodies, maybe. Slowly, Resbit stripped off her clothes. She stood there naked on the beach, with the freefalling sunlight caressing her skin. Lightly, she touched her nipples, her breasts, her stomach, her flanks. Thinking of her child shaping within her darkness, she smiled. She looked out across the lake, out across a shimmering immensity of water.

  She felt incredibly free without her clothes. And without… without fear. It was a new and delightful sensation to be able to act without being constrained by conventions which specified slander, calumny and rape as the punishment for so many acts of selfhood which a woman might wish to undertake.

  Resbit walked down to the water's edge. The beach was made of small stones and the shells of fresh-water shellfish. The most recent shells were a pale blue; the older ones were bleached white, and had sometimes splintered to a crackle. Resbit waded out into the lake until the water infiltrated the fuzz of fur at her crotch. Half water, half sky, she stood there, suddenly exhilarated. She felt as if all the trials of her life were justified by this one perfect moment. And she thought:

  – It is enough.

  Gathering a breath into her lungs, she dived. Limpid shadows floated below her as the impetus of her body was damped down by the water. Finally she hung moti
onless, gazing down at the underwater world below her.

  First lifting her head to take in air, she swum downward, then turned a slow, lazy somersault underwater. She blew out air, watched it globe into bubbles, then chased them to the surface. She was a perfectly fluid, fluent animal, free from the constraints of gravity.

  Her hair misted in front of her face. Which reminded her of when she had last washed it – about half a year ago. Standing in the shallows, she rubbed her hair vigorously, scratching at her scalp. Then she attended to the rest of her body. The water round about her grew dark with a spreading stain; she felt immensely invigorated and refreshed.

  She lay down in the water and floated on her back, kicking gently with her feet. She propelled herself round in huge, leisurely circles till she grew tired, and made her way to the shore. There she spread her coat on the beach and laid her body down on that battered luxury, and went to sleep.

  Resbit was awakened when someone kissed her buttocks. Opening her eyes, she craned her neck and saw it was Yen Olass. Who now came and sat down by her head. Resbit propped her chin on her hands, her elbows braced against her coat, and studied Yen Olass, liking the strength she saw there. Having cleaned her own body rigorously, she was aware that Yen Olass stank of sweat, grease, earth, blood, rancid fat and earwax. She did not find this unduly offensive, but even so:

  'You need a bath,' said Resbit lazily.

  'Later,' said Yen Olass. 'When we've finished digging.’

  'We? Dearest heart, if you want to grub away with the beetles, that's your business, not mine.’

  Yen Olass flicked something into the air. It nickered into the sunlight then fell with a plop just in front of Resbit. It was a golden coin.

  'You told me to call you if I struck gold.’

  Resbit reached out for the coin and bit at it. The metal refused to yield to her teeth.

  'Yen Olass, this isn't gold. It's flash of some sort, that's all.’

  'Flash?

  'Pretty metal. Besides, what're you going to spend it on?’

  'Don't be like that. Come and help me dig.' 'Yen Olass, I'm all clean.’