by Hugh Cook
'I can tell you one thing that's ours to dispose of,' said Haveros. 'We took prisoners in Lorford.’
'Cook them and eat them for all I care,' said Hearst.
'My oath of service is to the prince, not to the earthgrub-bers under his feet.’
'One of our prisoners is Valicia Resbit,' said Haveros. 'You know and I know that she's been favoured with the attentions of Elkor Alish. Your fellow Rovac worrior, your companion in your years in the Cold West.’
'Alish has said nothing of his whore,' said Hearst, speaking with tight-lipped fury, as if he had been mortally insulted. 'You can cut her up and share the bits around for all I care.’
And now it seemed that his attitude had hardened. He refused three different sets of terms, all of which would have allowed the inhabitants of the castle to depart with their lives and go elsewhere. Finally, Hearst was presented with an ultimatum to take back to Castle Vaunting:
'Lord Pentalon Alagrace, his judgment graced by the manifold contributions of Volaine Persage Haveros, the resident interpolator of the imperial province of Estar, imposes terms as follows.
'Surrender must be immediate. Any delay will mean death for all those in the province of Estar who now stand in rebellion against the imperial power. The Supreme Power of Tameran will not countenance any further insolence from those designed by nature to be his slaves. Through the grace of Lord Pentalon Alagrace, hear his commands.
'Our Lord the Emperor Khmar requires the surrender of the ruling castle of Estar, together with all horse and weapons. Those in the castle must leave, taking with them only their clothes and their children. The ruby eye of the dragon Zenphos is to be delivered to the army of rightful inheritance. The prince of the castle is to be delivered up for execution. Any and all diviners, necromancers, sorcerers, witches, palmists, makers of spells and potions or other workers of magic are to be killed, and their heads presented to the commander of the battlefield.
'Long live the emperor!’
It was anyone's guess how much of that ultimatum 173
would actually be carried back to Castle Vaunting; it was the comon agreement of experienced observers that the warrior Morgan Hearst seemed remarkably ill-suited for the role of ambassador, and, if his intransigence was typical, the peaceful surrender of the castle could not reasonably be expected.
* * *
When Morgan Hearst returned to Castle Vaunting toward nightfall, the rain had eased to a drizzle. In the failing light, a ceremony was organised for those chosen for the first wave to attack the castle. The Princess Quenerain officiated.
Dressed in a robe of blue silk -- blue is the colour of the unattainable sky, and hence of virginity -- the princess led the assembled men through the seven Chants, ending with the Voicing.
Rituals differ according to tribe and nation, but all have something in common. An area of ground is temporarily or permanently consecrated for the use of a selected group which has assembled to express a common purposs. Both the consecration and the common purpose may be explicit or implicit; it makes no difference.
The Collosnon Empire had learnt long ago that to command the body is also to command the mind. It used tried and trusted military rituals -- drill, parades and inspections -- to perfect the discipline of the armies. However, disobedience and desertion were still common, and sometimes there was outright mutiny.
These failures were, by and large, the result of lapses of leadership. High caste warlords still tended to behave with the reckless lawlessness which had characterized the chiefs of the horse tribes. The Lord Emperor Khmar tolerated these delinquencies, and was lax when it came to disciplining his commanders.
Still, when failures of discipline were investigated, the emperor himself could hardly be blamed in public, and it would not have been politic even to go so far as to blame the high caste commanders. Accordingly, desertion and mutiny produced more regulations to control the common soldiers, and more rituals to perfect their indoctrination.
The Rite led by the Princess Quenerain was an exercise in indoctrination. If it did nothing else, it persuaded the soldiers that they were important; the Rite, led by the emperor's daughter, existed for their benefit. No doubt some found other consolations in the Chants and the Voicing, but even the most cynical got something from the experience.
By the time it was completely dark, the ceremony was over; an honour guard holding aloft burning torches escorted the Princess Quenerain to her tent, and the first wave prepared for the onslaught on Castle Vaunting.
Lord Alagrace gave attack command to a junior commander, Pukegoh Novdoy. Both Chonjara and Haveros had demanded the honour of leading the assault. However, Chonjara would not have inspired his men with confidence since a woman had so recently beaten him up in public. Haveros was a natural choice, since he knew the interior of Castle Vaunting, but Lord Alagrace thought it unwise to inflame the rivalry between Chonjara and Haveros.
Under cover of darkness, big crossbows were brought up to the castle moat. Grapples with ropes attached were shot through the air. These hooked onto the battlements. Men swarmed up the ropes, their bodies buffeted by a rising wind, a five-scream drop to the glowing depths of fire yawning beneath them. Some of the invaders were to advance along the battlements to storm the gatehouse keep. Others were to abseil down to the central courtyard and try and force entry to the gatehouse keep from there.
When the first wave reached the battlements, at first there was no sign of battle. But the battlements were high and the wind strong: for all Lord Alagrace could tell, a battle might already be raging there.
Suddenly there was a rumbling roar. The ground shook. The walls of Castle Vaunting flushed sullen red with reflected light. The clouds themselves glowed with reflected fire -- and, from the castle moat, blazing flames lept upward. The ropes laced across the moat crinkled into flame. Lord Alagrace swore. The first wave was cut off, trapped in the castle: they would have to fight their way to victory or die.
A moment later, a lurid blast of white lightning swept a section of the battlements near the gatehouse keep. He heard thin voices cry out. The sound was diminished by wind, height and distance, but Lord Alagrace knew he was hearing men screaming. And he suspected they were his own.
* * *
While the Collosnon army mounted its assault on Castle Vaunting, Yen Olass Ampadara slept with the monster Hor-hor-hurulg-murg and the woman Valicia Resbit, sometime mistress of the Rovac warrior Elkor Alish. They slept in a tent, with guards outside to make sure that the two who were prisoners could not escape.
Before sleeping, the three of them had talked for hours. Yen Olass had found out that Resbit was definitely pregnant, or thought she was, and was convinced she was going to bear a boy-child with a sword-arm like her lover's.
The hours of talk had already given Yen Olass a markedly better command of Galish. Conversation had given life to the dead forms of the language which she had laboured on, day in, day out, ever since midwinter, and she was already starting to learn new words.
Now, the two women slept huddled together for warmth, their bodies making one mound of softly breathing wool and fur, a single blanket sheltering the two of them. The Melski slept apart. Hor-hor-hurulg-murg needed no body-warmth to make himself comfortable; his body was supremely adapted to the slush and wet, and, though adult Melski were accustomed to sleeping in the air, he could have got a reasonable night's sleep curled up in a hole in the bottom of a lake or a river.
All three of them, captive creatures in danger of their lives, were exhausted; they did not wake when the flames of the castle moat roared up, making the ground reverberate and shake; they slept on, dreaming, till morning came.
* * *
At dawn, a report came from Castle Vaunting by means of signal flags. Casualties were heavy; Pukegoh Novdoy was dead. The enemy had repulsed all attacks on the gatehouse keep, but the Collosnon commanded the battlements. No fire, lightning or other magic had been used for hours; the strength of the defending wizards must be e
xhausted.
Lord Alagrace sent back a question:
'Water?’
The reply came back:
'Rain pools. Small. Enough one day.’
Lord Alagrace conferred with siege marshals. They could build a bamboo tower beside the moat, rig chains between the tower and the battlements, and send food and water to their men by means of a flying fox arrangement. But that would take days.
Lord Alagrace ordered the survivors of the first wave to rest, tend their wounded, eat, sleep, then launch a further assault on the gatehouse keep in the afternoon.
From intelligence Haveros had provided, Lord Alagrace knew he still had enough men on the battlements to have a reasonable chance of defeating the enemy absolutely by this all-out assault. If that failed, either his siege marshals would have to find some way of sending reinforcements to the battlements immediately, or some way would have to be found to reopen negotiations with the enemy.
And if that failed, Lord Alagrace could still starve out Castle Vaunting by siege. He might lose all the men of the first wave, but victory would still be his. In the end. But now ... he was bone-weary, having been awake all night. Lord Alagrace retired to his tent, leaving orders for his guards to wake him if any fighting started.
Haveros made his own plans. When fighting started again, all eyes would be turned on the castle. Yen Olass took his message to the Princess Quenerain: he would come to her in the afternoon, once fighting started on the battlements. Yen Olass would stand guard while they obtained their satisfaction.
They had waited long enough.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
While the struggle for control of the battlements proceeded, two members of the besieging army seized the opportunity to indulge in some close-quarter tactics of their own. Haveros and the Princess Quenerain had been apart for too long; now, at last, they were together, secluded within the tent set aside for the princess to prepare herself for the Rite of Purification. Nobody would disturb them while the battle raged: nobody would even think of them.
The Princess Quenerain shed her clothing. Haveros stripped naked, and clutched her perfume. She shuddered, panted, gripped him with claws, receiving him into her body.
And then--
The world slurred. He clutched air and held it. 'Cluth?' she said. 'Nabeek
Her eyes widened to peacock iridescence. Light danced across her body. Her breasts enveloping. And then:
The world snapped into hard focus. They gasped for breath, as if they had been swimming underwater.
'What happened?' said the Princess Quenerain, her voice a whisper, terrified.
'Madness. From . . .’
From what cause? He touched her, lightly, to comfort her fears. And touched her. And touched her. Grease beneath his fingers. Roast meat. He closed, bit. She wrestled him. They lurched, fell. Laughing -- her laughter ripped from her lungs like a scream -- she fled from the tent. He caught her just outside, and they went down together and--
Realized what they were doing.
She was bleeding. He had bitten her neck, hard, drawing blood. Armed men staggered across the ground, as if driven by heavy wind. One steadied himself, and stared at the naked lovers. He had bitten through his lower lip.
Someone was screaming.
Haveros scrabbled up handfuls of dead grass and mud, plastering it against his nakedness in a vain effort to hide his shame. The Princess Quenerain flinched from the hate in the eyes of the soldiers. Her hands, like damaged butterflies, fluttered at her face. She wanted to see, yet she wanted to hide her face from the world which was about to say--
'Dralkosh!' shouted a soldier. 'No!' bellowed Haveros.
A spear-butt took him from behind, beat him to the ground. As though it was her they were pounding, the Princess Quenerain sank to her knees in the mud. Shuddering. Other soldiers were taking up the cry of 'dralkosh', but one, standing quite near, said in a low and level voice:
'Woman, have you no shame?’
The voice was real. The cold mud was real. And her body -- naked in public view. This was not a dream. The Princess Quenerain clutched her hands to her places, knowing that the gesture was futile, since if this was not a dream then she was most certainly dead -- or as good or dead.
Out of the corner of her eye, the Princess Quenerain noticed a figure in a battered fur coat skulking away, trying to look inconspicuous. It was Yen Olass Ampadara, who had been standing guard outside the tent. She almost made it -- then someone saw who it was, and raised the alarm. Yen Olass tried to sprint away. A man stuck the butt of a spear between her legs. Down she went, face first into the mud. The man leapt onto her back, grabbed her hair and yanked it back. To cut her throat? No: all he did was scream;
'Dralkosh!’
'This,' croaked Haveros, trying to rise, 'has gone too far.’
Then someone hit him on the head, and he was knocked unconscious.
^ % sfc
Lord Alagrace did his best. He quailed at the thought of returning to Tameran and telling the Lord Emperor Khmar that his daughter Quenerain had been stoned to death in the imperial province of Estar.
However, there was little Lord Alagrace could do.
The facts spoke for themselves. The survivors of the first wave had been fighting the enemy on the battlements, when a sudden spasm of communal madness had broken the impetus of the battle. That madness had swept through the entire Collosnon army, causing men to shout or throw themselves to the ground, to attack each other, to mutilate themselves with weapons, to step into the flames of the castle moat or cower down to the ground, terrified of the weight of the sky.
And the madness had caused the lovers Haveros and Quenerain to reveal themselves.
Lord Alagrace blamed wizards, but his soldiers had never seen wizards. They believed in them, certainly -- after the evidence of the blazing flames of the castle moat and the lightning used against their comrades on the battlements, they could hardly disbelieve. But the figure of the dralkosh was much more familiar.
If a man was impotent with a woman, that was evidence to suggest she was a dralkosh. If her children were born deformed, or the wrong sex, or dead, or were not born at all, that too meant she could be a dralkosh. If there was flood or famine or plague or a man went mad or a dog turned rabid, someone must be to blame, and often it turned out that a dralkosh was at the root of all the trouble.
Now the army had two dubious women in its ranks. One was the Princess Quenerain, who had already once been the centre of a scandal. The princess, supposedly so pure, so virginal -- yet now discovered to have been fornicating with Haveros while a battle was on. Fornicating, while another woman stood guard: Yen Olass Ampadara, known to be an oracle, known to possess occult powers, known to tell fortunes and read the future, known to be a brash and wilful woman, known to have used sorcery to help her disable General Chonjara when she humiliated him in front of the army.
Something had gone seriously wrong: madness had attacked the whole army. Someone had to be blamed: a cloven of shameless dralkosh, their unclean bodies urging and gaplax. They stood condemned.
True, there were dangers in stoning the emperor's daughter to death. However, battering women to pulp was, in the Collosnon Empire, the traditional way of working off public and private frustrations. Here the frustrations were great, for the army was stalled in this deadwater province, stalled outside a strategic castle which they had to take, with fire preventing them from reaching their enemies and tearing them apart. Khmar was far away, and known to be dying. The Princess Quenerain was close at hand, and she, tall, proud and beautiful, was a perfect victim.
That made two.
And Haveros made a third.
Stoning a man to death was unusual. But Haveros was known to have sinned with the princess before. Not everyone believed the story that Khmar had sent him to Estar: some thought him a genuine traitor. And the whole army was offended at a senior commander indulging himself in sexual pleasures while their comrades fought and died on the battlements of Ca
stle Vaunting. Out of hate, superstition, jealousy, and, in some cases, a genuine desire for justice, they decided that he would be stoned to death with the women.
All things being equal, their commanders would have 182
talked them out of it. However, all things were not equal. Chonjara dearly wanted to see Haveros dead. Chonjara remembered his father dying of a heart attack in the Enskandalon Square in Gendormargensis; before he expired, the old man had begged his son to come and help him. Thanks to the old combat rule invoked by Haveros, Chonjara had been unable to take a single step toward him. Chonjara wanted Haveros dead, and Chonjara's lobby was a powerful one.
Lord Alagrace saw only one way to save any of the three. Remembering how he had saved Haveros in Gendormargensis by getting a dralkosh to claim responsibility, he went and spoke to Yen Olass Ampadara:
'Admit your guilt. Admit that you're the one to blame. Say you bewitched the others. Say you dreamed their dreams for them. Say it's your fault.’
'But it's not,' said Yen Olass.
