by Hugh Cook
The rest of the story was fragmentary and confused. There had been a battle between soldiers and Melski in a valley far to the east of Trest; a fight against an evil wizard; a journey down an underground river; a mutiny; an epic struggle with a dragon; treachery and murder; a storm at sea; a battle with the Collosnon navy. Somewhere in all this hero-play, Morgan Hearst had lost a hand. Yen Olass thought it served him right: if he hadn't gone swaggering through the world cutting people's heads off, he would never have come to grief. She still remembered his outburst when he had come to parley with the siege forces outside Castle Vaunting:
'Elkor Alish has said nothing about his whore!’
Resbit, who had never been told of these words, was thrilled to learn that Elkor Alish was still alive. And maybe on the way to becoming a world-conqueror. The more distant he grew in her life and memories, the more she idealized him. By now she believed that their commercial fornications had been True Love; that Elkor thought of her always; that when he ruled the world, he would send agents north and south, east and west, in search of her.
Yen Olass, long-time observer of the cynical sexual politics of an imperial oity, could only wonder at this naivety. Though Yen Olass had never entirely lost the ability to play like a child, there was nothing childish about her appreciation of power, sex and the manipulation of one human being by another. But she did not try to disillusion Resbit. She doubted that they would ever again hear of Elkor Alish, or for that matter any other Rovac warrior.
But in the autumn came the news that Elkor Alish, after many battles, conquests and subsequent defeats, was in Estar with an army of Rovac warriors, seeking to hold it against vaguely defined monsters from the south, known as the Swarms. Then winter cut off further news; when spring came, they learnt that Elkor Alish was dead, killed in a fight with Morgan Hearst, who now ruled Estar, sharing his power and responsibilities with the woodsman Blackwood and the wizard Miphon.
Hearing of Elkor's death, Resbit wept, and for a week could not be comforted. But Yen Olass, while displaying her sympathies, was secretly glad that this man-nonsense was at an end: and that there was no chance of the hero of Resbit's daydreams stealing her away to some distant palace of opal and amethyst, there to live out her days as a helpless prisoner of lust.
Intermittently, more news came from Estar. For a while, Estar seemed to flourish. Then Resbit and Yen Olass heard news of a three-way power struggle between its rulers, Blackwood, Miphon and Hearst. Rumour came to them saying Blackwood and Miphon, making an alliance, had removed themselves and their followers to Sung, in the Ravlish Lands, taking with them certain implements of power.
When intelligence next reached Lake Armansis, the two women learnt that Morgan Hearst was now undisputed ruler of Estar, a Rovac army supporting his rule.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
In the spring of the year Celadric 4, when Monogail was three years old and a bit, the Rovac came north to Lake Armansis. There were three hundred of them, the ragged remnant of a rearguard which had fought the Collosnon forces while covering the retreat of the Rovac armies down the Hollern River to ships waiting to take them to the Lesser Teeth.
The rearguard reached Lake Armansis, unopposed by the Melski, who had granted them safe conduct, knowing their real quarrel would be with the Collosnon thousands following on behind.
After the death of his father, the Lord Emperor Khmar, the cool and elegant Celadric had contemplated murdering his brothers, but had finally decided to let them kill each other. So he had appointed them joint commanders of an army of invasion, believing such shared responsibility would lead to murder.
Eager to win power and glory, the brothers had come south. Meddon, the seasoned warrior, slaughterhouse comrades at his side. Exedrist, a lame-brained semi-invalid dominated by those two notorious generals, Chonjara and Saquarius. York, the brawler, the thug, travelling with his personal bodyguard of axeblade executioners, torturers and professional rapists. The stage was set for a vicious three-way power struggle.
But, to begin with, the brothers fought the enemy rather than each other.
At the time of the invasion, Rovac seapower had been concentrated on the western coast, contending with the Orfus pirates of the Greater Teeth. Most Rovac landpower had been in the south of Estar, commanding the hills and mountains against the monsters of the Swarms now trying to force a way into Estar.
With the enemy thus dispersed, the Collosnon had struck, and conquered. The survivors of the Rovac rearguard now at Armansis planned to turn west to cross the Razorwind Pass to Larbster Bay, hoping to be picked up by their own sea patrols. The long-standing ancestral dream of Rovac, which was to conquer all of Argan, was at an end.
The Melski still maintained their trading post at Lake Armansis, even though the invasion of the Swarms had halted the passage of the Galish convoys, which were now denied a road south to the rich markets of the Harvest Plains and the Rice Empire. Those great powers, in turn, had ceased to be. So the trading post waited, in case conditions changed, though nobody could see how that was possible. By now the Swarms were no longer shadows and rumours, but were known by name. Worst were the Neversh, the flying double-spike monsters.
Outnumbered and just barely tolerated by the Melski, the Rovac were constrained to respect the trading post and the nearby human community (still only four-strong). Even so, a small group of them got drunk and made trouble. First they murdered Pelaki. They slashed the pig's throat, strung their victim up by the heels to bleed to death, then cooked and ate the meat. After this outrageous act of terrorism, they decided to start on the women; by the time Morgan Hearst arrived on the scene, Yen Olass had disabled three of his braves, and the heroes had retreated so they could plan how best to burn down House Two.
Hearst restored discipline, then interviewed the two women. The Melski had told him only that they were under Melski protection. Hearst could not think why two women with young children would be living with the Melski, so he was entirely prepared for them to be lepers or lunatics, or worse.
To his great surprise, he found he recognized one of them. He had long ago forgotten her name, but still remembered her face. She had been Alish's bedpartner during the days long ago, when a prince by the name of Meryl Comedo had ruler Estar, and Hearst and Alish had fought side by side in the same battles.
'What brings you here?' said Resbit, who knew Hearst well, having seen him often enough around Lorford.
'I'm here to apologize for the behaviour of my men,' said Hearst, studying the two shy children who hid in the shadows, and the formidable black-haired woman who stood to one side, leaning on an axe and watching him intently.
'We don't need apologies,' said the black-haired woman. 'All we need is to be left alone.’
'Who are you?' said Hearst, surprised at her hostility.
'She's Yen Olass,' said Resbit. 'I'm Resbit.’
'I know you are,' said Hearst, doing her the courtesy of pretending he had remembered her name. 'I've seen you in Lorford in the… in the old days…’
'When Elkor Alish was still alive.’
'Yes. You've heard…?’
'The deeds of Hastsword Hearst are famous,' said Resbit, with a touch of bitterness. 'Even here.’
'I'm sorry,' said Hearst. 'Still, that's in the past. As for the future, you're under my protection.’
'What future is that?' said Yen Olass.
Again Hearst was surprised.
'I thought you were free to leave,' he said. 'The Melski told me they weren't holding you here in slavery.’
'We're free to do as we wish,' said Yen Olass. 'So get out.’
Hearst hesitated. He had killed Elkor Alish – but that was a tragedy, caused by a misunderstanding. Resbit was his last link with a man who had been his valued comrade for many years, who…
'What are you waiting for?' said Yen Olass.
'I mean you no harm,' said Hearst. 'Is there anything you need? For yourselves? For your children? Are they twins, the little ones?’
The children, still shy as mice, were half-hidden in the shadows. Both of them had black hair. Resbit was a brunette, so it was not surprising that Hearst thought they both belonged to Yen Olass, who, after all, seemed more likely to be the mother because of her protective attitude to her territory… and who certainly had good, wide, child-bearing thighs.
'Of course they're not twins,' said Resbit. 'The girl is hers. Elkordansk is mine.’
'Elkordansk?’
'That's the name he chose,' said Resbit, 'before he went away.’
'I see,' said Hearst.
'He does see,' said Yen Olass. 'He's killed the man, now he's going to kill the child.’
'There'll be no killing here,' said Hearst. 'Alish was my friend once. And this…’
Hearst looked around the interior of House Two. Blackened by more than three years of smoking fires, it looked small and dark and dirty.
'… this is no place for his son.’
'We've done our best,' said Resbit.
'Yes,' said Hearst, 'but on the Lesser Teeth you could have a proper house. Not a hovel like this. Besides, the boy needs companions. How old is he? He must be… at least three years old by now.’
'At least that,' said Resbit, beaming.
Yen Olass stepped forward, and wiped her hand over Hearst's mouth.
'Look,' she said, holding up her hand. 'See? Blood. This is a warrior: a monster who eats people.’
There was no blood on her hand.
'Yen Olass,' said Resbit. 'Don't be silly.’
'What kind of hospitality is this?' said Hearst, rubbing his mouth.
'You're not our guest,' said Yen Olass. 'You're an invader.’
'Yes,' said Hearst, with his temper starting to rise. 'An invader. And why? Because there's an army at. my heels. Do you think you can go on living here in dreamland? Sit down, and listen!’
He shoved Yen Olass, hard, intending that she should go down to the floor. But Yen Olass was heavier than he had thought. She went back half a step, recovered her balance and slugged him, smashing her fist into his solar plexus with all the force she could muster. The next moment she was clutching her hand in silent agony, struggling to keep from crying out.
'Chain mail,' said Hearst, patting his green-brown linen jacket. 'I'm a creature with three skins – wool, steel and linen.’
'Why,' said Yen Olass, mastering her pain, 'are you wearing armour here?' 'In case of attack.’
'The Melski would tell you if there was any danger.' 'The Melski might be the danger,' said Hearst. 'Besides that, there's irrational women to cope with.' 'Irrational!' said Yen Olass. And she swore at him.
'She is rather, isn't she?' said Hearst to Resbit.
And Yen Olass saw with dismay that Resbit did not contradict him, but just bowed her head slightly.
'Bring the child out into the light,' said Hearst. T want to get a good look at him.’
'Come on, 'Dansk,' said Resbit, enticing her child toward the door. 'Come outside with your mam.’
'What's his name?' said Hearst. 'Wasn't it Elkordansk?’
'Yes, but we call him 'Dansk for short,' said Resbit.
'You musn't do that,' said Hearst, leading the way out into the sunlight. 'It doesn't mean anything.’
'But Elkor said – he told me it meant son. Elkordansk. Son of Elkor. Your friend.’
'My friend,' said Hearst. 'Yes. But 'Dansk is for putting on the end of words. It doesn't mean anything by itself.' 'So what's the word for son?’
'The word for son is gada,' said Hearst. 'Elkordansk, na gada Elkor. Elkordansk, son of Elkor.’
'Shouldn't it be Elkordansk gada na Elkor?’
'No,' said Hearst. 'Na is a word meaning… meaning… this item which I have just brought to your attention is. That's the best way I can translate it. I don't suppose our Elkordansk has a single word of his father's language to his credit.’
T didn't know any to teach him,' said Resbit.
'So what does he speak? The Galish Trading Tongue?’
'That most of all. A little Estral – I speak to him sometimes in… in my own language. Then he speaks with the Melski. He plays with their children. But at the moment… sometimes when he's speaking it's all three languages jumbled up together,’
And she laughed.
Hearst smiled, then gestured at their surroundings.
'In a few days, this is going to be swarming with Collosnon soldiers. What were you going to do? You can't stay.’
'We were going to run north. With the Melski. They'd give us shelter.’
'I'm sure they would,' said Hearst, looking at Elkordansk. 'But the boy… he's meant for better things than living off fish with the green things. You say he speaks? He's very quiet,’
'He's shy, that's all,' said Resbit.
She picked him up, and held him. She was proud of him: her strong young son who, she was sure, was destined for great things.
'Come,' said Hearst. 'Let's go to the camp. There are other men who knew Alish. They will be pleased to see his son. We… we none of us wanted his death. It was…"
'A thing between men,' said Resbit.
'Yes,' said Hearst. 'A thing between men.’
'This man wants to take you west,' said Yen Olass. 'By way of Larbster Bay.’
'I'm not afraid to travel,' said Resbit. 'I'm not a child, you know.’
She had entirely forgotten her earlier fears of moving away from her homeland – or perhaps, over the years, she had just grown out of them.
'Let's go,' said Hearst.
And they set off for the camp together.
Monogail wanted to go with them, but Yen Olass held her back.
'Come into the house, Monogail. No, you can't go with them. No. Because I say sol’
In the house, it was dark and quiet, but for Monogail, who complained bitterly at being shut up inside. Yen Olass shut her up by giving her some smoked fish to chew. She sat on the bed, looking around at the interior of House Two. Was it really such a terrible place? It was a house of their own. It had sheltered them for years: them and their love.
What love? Resbit had left without protest. So how could there have been love? Didn't love mean loyalty? After all these years together, Resbit had yielded to a man without any protest at all. Of course, she had her son to think of. But is a son more than a lover? Resbit was too young: too innocent. She had never been a slave. She had never had bits cut out of her. She had never been kept like an animal, humiliated by… she had no idea of all the terrible things that could happen. Would happen.
They were safe here. Had been safe for years. To the north were the highest mountains of Penvash. Places no army could ever conquer. They could be safe there. With each other. Surely. It wasn't too late. Was it?
But Yen Olass knew it was too late. Far too late. A hero had come for Resbit – a brutal skullknuckle slaughterer with one swordgrip hand and a razor-sharp slicing hook glinting at his other wrist. He had promised Resbit a future, and she had already accepted – that was clear enough, no denying it now – and her time with Yen Olass was…
A silly thing, which was over now. A charade. A game.
Something that had happened, oh, long ago, in another world, altogether different from this one…
Yen Olass remembered Resbit lying face down on her coat on the beach, her naked body warmed by the sun. She remembered bending over and kissing Resbit on the buttocks, lightly, gently, with such… tenderness. They had been so good to each other. So tender. So happy. And now…
Now, fists clenched, eyes clenched, Yen Olass wept, her chest heaving as the hot wet tears squeezed out of her eyes.
'Mam?' said Monogail, patting her on the back. 'Mam?’
'Oh Monogail,' said Yen Olass, taking the child into her arms. 'Monogail, Monogail, Monogail.’
Her voice was fat and blubbery, distorted by her misery. She held Monogail in her arms, acknowledging the question she had tried to pretend she would never have to face:
– Monogail, Monogail, what wi
ll become of you?
***
Yen Olass Ampadara sat on the end of the wharf at the Melski trading post, watching her girlchild Monogail swimming in the waters of Lake Armansis in the company of a dozen Melski children. Monogail had been able to swim before she could walk; in the water, she was as confident as an otter.
Yen Olass watched two Melski children on a floating log. They were playing 'walking stones', where you fold your arms and walk straight into the other person, shouting 'walking stones'. The winner is the one left standing on the log, though usually both go overboard. Yen Olass knew she could survive amongst the Melski, but she had to think of Monogail. What kind of life would it be for the child, when Yen Olass died and Monogail, grown to maturity, was the only human in a tribe of Melski? Yet what kind of life would it be where they were going?
Sitting beside Yen Olass on the wharf was a battered leather pack holding all that she would be able to carry away from this lakeside life. There was food, blankets, spare clothing for herself and Monogail, a trifling amount of Galish gold, a sharp knife, two leather water bottles, a tinderbox, a small cooking pot, a string of amber beads, a stone globe filled with stars – and that was about it. Not much to carry away from a life.
She had thrown her best cast-iron skillet into the lake. Now she regretted getting rid of it, and thought about asking one of the Melski to dive for it. She resisted the temptation. As it was, she was going to have a struggle to pack everything she was taking over the Razorwind Pass. If she took the skillet, she would have to throw out some food – and Monogail hated to be hungry.
Morgan Hearst had offered help, but Yen Olass resolutely refused to accept it. Every man she had ever relied on had betrayed her. Khmar, who should have made her empress, had died in her arms instead. Lord Alagrace had committed suicide by indulging in futile last-stand heroics. Draven had tied her up and had left her for Chonjara. From now on, Yen Olass was not going to make any futile alliances with men.
