by Hugh Cook
York shifted restlessly. He hated speeches.
'Darling,' said Yen Olass. 'Shall we depart?' 'Wait,' said York.
'We have a very important guest here tonight,' said Celadric, 'an ambassador from that formidable power in the world of events, the Lesser Teeth.’
There was idle laughter around the banqueting table. Just as Yen Olass realized whom he was talking about, his eyes met hers, and he smiled.
'Yen Olass Ampadara,' he said. 'You ordered gaplax tonight. Did you enjoy it?’
He sounded very, very pleased with himself.
'Yes,' said Yen Olass. 'Was it poisoned?’
T hope not,' said Celadric. 'The chef was told it was for the emperor himself.’
There was more lazy laughter.
'I understand you choose to spend tonight with my brother York,' said Celadric.
T will strive to be worthy of such a noble warrior,' said Yen Olass.
'A bit of the old striving, eh?' said the pirate chief, Draven. 'Nothing like it for rousing the appetite.’
That was one of the least witty comments of the evening, but it raised a laugh all the same. Celadric frowned; he did not like being interrupted.
'So speaks a master of the strategy of striving,' said Yen Olass. 'And a master of the strategy of survival.’
She was reminding him how he had survived in Penvash: by tying her up and leaving her for Chonjara. She looked at him steadily, and he dropped his eyes. She was surprised. She had not thought him capable of shame.
'Striving and survival apart,' said Celadric, annoyed at all this cross-talk, 'we're pleased that you've enjoyed our hospitality so much, Yen Olass. And now, especially in your honour, I'm pleased to announce that we're putting on a special breakfast for you tomorrow. We're going to cook you something very special to eat.’
Celadric smiled, spinning out the silence. From round the table, eager eyes watched Yen Olass. With rising horror, Yen Olass wondered what dish he was going to name. Her breasts? Her ears? Her eyes? Her fingers? 'Bring in the pig!' said Celadric.
Four men entered, accompanied by a huge black-masked executioner. The men were carrying a big cage shrouded by a triple-ply solskin horse blanket. The executioner swept cups and plates onto the floor, clearing away the litter of the banquet with the flat edge of his falchion. Still holding his sword, the executioner stepped to one side, and the men put the cage down on the table. The heavy horse blanket muffled the noise of whatever animal was inside it.
'Do you like pork, Yen Olass?' said Celadric.
It had to be a trick question. Something monstrous must be in that cage. A baby keflo, perhaps? Yen Olass did not know whether to answer yes or no. If she said 'yes', she might be offered something poisonous. If she said 'no', then Celadric might get the thing in the cage to eat her. Thinking on her feet, she found an answer of sorts:
'I shared lunch with your father once. I'd be happy to share breakfast with you.’
'My pleasure,' said Celadric.
Then he nodded to the executioner, who whipped off his black mask, revealing himself as- 'Nan Nulador!' said Yen Olass.
The horseblanket was whipped away and the thing in the cage screamed: 'Mam!’
'Monogail!' screamed Yen Olass.
She slashed the first guard who tried to grab her, laying his face open with five steel-tipped fingernails. But York grabbed her from behind, twisted her arm up behind her back and forced it almost to the breaking point. Monogail was wailing.
'You can't do this!' said Yen Olass, gasping, her eyes watering with pain. 'Not to a child. It's too cruel.’
'A child dralkosh,' said Nan Nulador, his voice heavy as death. 'An abomination.’
'Butcher it,' said Celadric curtly.
'No!' screamed Yen Olass.
And she went on screaming as Monogail was dragged out of the cage. The handlers grabbed her hands and feet and held her flat to the table.
'Don't do it,' said Yen Olass, begging now. 'Don't hurt her. Don't do it. I'll do anything, you know. Your father-’
'Do it,' said Celadric.
'She's your half-sister!' shouted Yen Olass. 'Your own flesh and blood!’
'A monster or a bastard,' said Celadric. 'Either way, I don't care. Do it! Now!’
Nan Nulador raised the falchion. And Yen Olass dropped her voice and said, in a special tone:
'Nan Nulador…’
The big man faltered.
'Sleep,' said Yen Olass.
He swayed on his feet. He staggered. Then righted himself, and shook his head, clearing his mind. 'Sleep,' said Yen Olass.
But this time, the word had no effect at all. Nan Nulador raised his sword. The weight of the falchion was all in the big swell of steel down toward the tip, so the mass of the blade was concentrated on the point where it would slice through Monogail's neck.
Nan Nulador chopped down.
And jolted sideways, felled by a single blow. The Ondrask had smashed him with a battle hammer. The falchion went flying, and clattered to the floor. Monogail screamed senselessly.
'Bear witness!' shouted the Ondrash hoarsely. 'Bear witness! The emperor executed me because I tried to stop him eating a child. Bear witness! Tell it in Gendormargensis!’
The Ondrask gasped for breath, and was about to shout again, but Celadric cut in on him:
'Silence! Not another word! What's this about eating? Don't you know a joke when you hear one? We were just ridding the world of a dralkosh, that's all. Once it's dead, we can turf it down to the flames, for all I care.’
'Give it to me,' said the Ondrask. 'I'll take care of it.’
Celadric looked at the Ondrask of Noth. He smirked. Then his voice went silky smooth, and he addressed the Ondrask by name:
'Losh Negis, children are for women. Do you want the child? This can be arranged. But we'd have to make you a woman first. All it takes is a little work with a sharp blade. Is that what you want?’
The Ondrask was silent.
'You see?' said Celadric. 'You thought you were a hero. But you're not, really. You were ready to die – but anyone can die. People do it all the time. They manage even if they haven't practised. What's difficult is living. And, as I've shown you, when it comes to living, you're no hero. Tell that in Gendormargensis, if you wish. Losh Negis made his choices.’
The Ondrask bowed his head. His attempt to shame Celadric into letting the child live had failed. Celadric had made him look like a fool. And, in some people's minds, a bit of a coward as well. Though what man in his right mind would choose to be made into a woman?
'You only want to kill the child because your father thwarted you when you wanted to kill me,' said Yen Olass, trying to see if Nan Nulador was dead or unconscious or what.
'Really?' said Celadric, raising an eyebrow. 'The emperor is not so petty. We wish to destroy the… the pig only because it is a dralkosh.’
'She's a perfectly ordinary child,' said Yen Olass steadily, 'and you know it.’
But she knew she could not win this argument.
'I don't choose to bandy words with a slave girl,' said Celadric. 'The child is a monster, and everyone here knows it. The eyes are yellow. Look!’
He lifted Monogail's head by the hair. She wailed, and Yen Olass struggled, trying to break free. York put more tension on her arm, and she hissed with the pain.
"Give me a knife,' said Celadric, holding out his hand, 'And I'll do it myself.’
Someone slapped a knife into his hand.
'No,' said a voice.
And Yerzerdayla stepped into the room, entering by way of one of the service doors.
'Yen Olass is right,' said Yerzerdayla. 'You must not kill the child. To do so would be a gratuitous murder.’
Celadric straightened up. He was sorely annoyed.
'The oracle betrayed the empire. She should feel the weight of the empire's punishment.’
'Then burn her alive,' said Yerzerdayla, who could not reasonably plead for mercy for a traitor. 'But spare the child. Or does
your hold on the empire depend on your ability to murder children?’
'If you're so concerned about the child then you can have it,' said Celadric.
'Thank you,' said Yerzerdayla, with a small bow.
'Providing, that is,' said Celadric, 'that you can find a man prepared to support you and the child thereafter. A man who will guarantee to protect the empire from the child if it should prove to be a dralkosh.’
And he looked around the banqueting hall.
'Well? Which man speaks for the woman and the child? Not you, Losh Negis! You're not a man! You're half way to being a woman already! Throw him out of here!’
The Ondrask was hustled out of the hall.
'You're not being fair,' said Yen Olass. 'You don't want to give your father's child a chance to survive.’
And, with the word 'survive', she shot a glance at Draven. The pirate looked away.
'This child doesn't have a father,' said Celadric savagely.
He was really worked up now. He had meant to have the child hauled in and casually butchered so Yen Olass would feel the weight of imperial discipline. Instead, this terrible woman had managed to entangle him in a crazy debate which he should cut off – now! – by killing the pig.
'And even if it was my father's bastard,' continued Celadric, 'There's nobody here to speak for it. Nobody wants a dralkosh spawned by a bitch who's a dralkosh herself.’
Lightly, Yerzerdayla reached out and plucked the knife from Celadric's hand.
'Give me that!' said Celadric.
The emperor and his concubine confronted each other.
'You take great risks,' said Celadric, his voice very cold.
There was a sigh from Draven, and the pirate rose to his feet, slowly, reluctantly.
'Peace,' said Draven. 'We come here to sign a peace. It would be a bad omen to have a killing the night before a peace treaty. I will stand as father for the child.’
Celadric turned on him.
'Why,' said Celadric, 'are you doing this?’
There was death in his voice.
'A debt of honour,' said Draven, reluctantly. 'As your father's son, I'm sure you understand the meaning of honour.’
Celadric took a deep breath. He could have Draven killed here and now. For opposing the emperor like this, the pirate deserved to be killed. But if Draven died, there would be no marriage between the pirate and the Princess Quenerain, and no peace treaty – and the pirates of the Greater Teeth would choose another leader, and go back to their old habits of raiding and plundering.
'Take the child then,' said Celadric. 'And the woman. And get out of my sight!’
The last words were said in a snarl.
Silently, Draven motioned to the four handlers holding Monogail down, and they released her. Yerzerdayla tossed the knife she was holding into a soup tureen, and gathered Monogail into her arms. Screaming for her mother, Monogail was carried from the room as Yerzerdayla exited in Draven's wake.
'The night is ended,' said Celadric, meaning that the entertainments were over. 'Everyone get out!’
York released Yen Olass.
'Well, my dearest heart,' said York. 'Shall we retire to our nuptial bed?’
Yen Olass wanted to faint, to weep, to sleep. Instead, she mustered up a smile.
'The night's pleasure is all mine,' she said.
Yerzerdayla had done what she could. The rest was up to her.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The castle was in darkness, except where flaming brands burnt here and there in the flagstone corridors. As York led Yen Olass to his own suite of rooms, a slave went in front bearing a lantern. In the bedroom, the slave smoothed the feather mattress and turned down the feather duvet. Then York dismissed her, and she departed. Yen Olass was alone in the suite with Celadric's brother.
Yen Olass put all thought of Monogail out of her mind. Yerzerdayla had risked her life to save Monogail, and Draven had chanced his; with such protection, the child would survive the night. Now Yen Olass had to concentrate on the task at hand. She had to contend with York. She felt very tired. Exhausted, in fact. But she did not allow herself to collapse.
'That was fun tonight,' said York.
'Yes,' said Yen Olass.
She considered attacking him. If he had been drunk and helpless, she would have killed him without hesitation. But he had drunk little. He was a strong, ugly, battle-hardened thug. Furthermore, he had insulted his brother by wearing chain mail to the banquet, and he was still clad in this armour. He was also carrying weapons.
York yawned.
He was weary; he was well-fed. Perhaps, given the chance, he would prefer to make love to her rather than to rape her. All evening, until Monogail's entrance had interrupted the party, they had played the game of love, and, to a certain extent, people become what they pretend to be. Yen Olass knew something of the arts of seduction – she had studied the Princess Quenerain often enough – and now she decided to romance her warlord. With a little luck, she would make him hers. She would make him her ally.
Yen Olass, letting the slightest husk of desire steal into her voice, said to her warlord:
T intend to enjoy this night together.’
Then she softened her lips for a kiss, and yielded up her mouth to his. But he did not respond. His lips were hard and dry, almost leathery; beyond them, his teeth barred the way into his mouth. He took her by the throat and pushed her face away from his. Then he scooped her up and threw her onto the bed. She was a solidly built woman, but he tossed her onto the bed as if she had been a child. As she landed, her head cracked into the wooden bedstead. She lay there shocked and dazed.
'Dralkosh,' said York.
Yen Olass felt stunned. How could he reject her like that? So absolutely? So completely? For a moment, she had been prepared to offer him her tenderness, the full cooperation of her body, and her unstinting assistance in every intimacy that he might desire. But he had pushed her away and then he had thrown her on the bed like a sack of potatoes.
York drew a knife and threw it.
The blade slammed into the bedstead by her left ear. Yen Olass started as the heavy-bladed weapon buried itself in the wood. She did not turn to look at it, but she could see it out of the corner of her eye.
'To cut you open,' said York.
Yen Olass did not understand. Did he think she was still a sewn-up woman? Surely he must know she had slept with his father? If he had never heard the gossip, he must have learnt as much from the argument in the banqueting hall. Yen Olass tried to speak, and found she could not. She cleared her throat noisily, and regained her voice.
'I'm not a virgin,' said Yen Olass.
'Oh?' said York. 'If you want a true confession… neither am I.’
York did not seem particularly interested. He started to unbuckle his swordbelt.
'I… I know how to please a man,' said Yen Olass. York raised an eyebrow. 'Both of us?’
'It would please me as well,' said Yen Olass. 'You have… you have a very beautiful body.’
'When I spoke of us,' said York, T didn't mean you and me. I meant me and my friend.’
And he gestured at something near Yen Olass's head.
At first, through a deliberate act of will, Yen Olass prevented herself from understanding. But then his meaning forced itself upon her. His friend was his knife. He was determined to cut her. At the beginning or at the end? She was going to find out very shortly.
She watched as York discarded armour and clothing, dropping each item carelessly. She watched with helpless fascination. Her head still hurt where it had hit the wooden bedstead. She had felt his strength then. If she fought, he would break her as a bully boy breaks a kitten. And if she surrendered, he would break her anyway. She felt paralysed with fear.
What weapons did she have? Her steel finger nails, which were no match for a knife. And her voice.
Yen Olass used her voice.
T killed my first man at the age of twelve,' said Yen Olass.
All h
er skill and training went into the threat. Undertones of menace rumbled in her voice. Her tones were the tones of truth, making her threat a statement of absolute, irrefutable fact. By rights, York should have blanched, flinched and faltered. But he did nothing of the sort. Instead, he laughed.
'Maybe so, little Yenolass,' said York. 'But it didn't make you a man.’
'My name is Yen Olass,' said Yen Olass, emphasizing the way her name broke into two words.
Her name was the last dignity left to her.
'A slave owns nothing in its own right,' said York. 'Not even a name. Tonight, I'll call you Skak.’
He took off the last piece of his clothing, and stood before her, naked. She could not keep herself from looking. His cock was flaccid, a dead weight hanging limply. That was the final insult. He had rejected her love: now he was not even lusting after her body. Yet he was going to rape her all the same.
Yen Olass still did not look at the knife, but she thought about it all the same.
'What's your name?' said York, working his flesh.
Yen Olass held silence.
'Your name!’
His shout hit her like a battering ram. She flinched, as if she had been struck. Then, reluctantly, she named herself: 'Skak.’
And, speaking the word, naming herself with the crude Yarglat term for the female part, she finally accepted her destiny, which, she saw now, was the true and inevitable destiny of a woman – to humble herself before the power of a man, and to be broken by a man. York stood before her, naked, his male strength now rising erect. Now, gazing on his raw masculine might, she said:
'Skak. That's what I am.’
Defeated, she closed her eyes. Though she was lying down, she felt dizzy with fatigue. The moment she closed her eyes, she seemed to be falling. She felt as if the world was collapsing, as if her body was disintegrating.
'Open your eyes,' said York.
He wanted her to watch. To see.
With a dull, helpless obedience, Yen Olass complied. Then, unbidden, she began to slide out of her clothes. York laid himself down beside her. His worm sagged, as if starting to lose interest, so he played with himself, keeping his flesh alert while she stripped, Finally, all that remained to dispose of was one small item.
