by Hugh Cook
The onslaught of thunder was almost upon them.
Chonjara turned, bracing himself against a tree. Yen Olass and Resbit were on the slope below him, climbing. He looked through the undergrowth and glimpsed a wall of water and rearing logs plunging forward. Then the vision disintegrated as the avalanche slammed into the river and spray filled the air.
The waters boiled up, a slurry of floodwater, timber and churning sunlight. Chonjara saw Yen Olass swallowed by the rising flood. Resbit grabbed her by the hair -- then the water took her. Whirlpool waters flooded upward. Chonjara gasped air, then a shock of cold water swamped him. He fought toward the rising surface.
A tree grabbed him.
Trapped underwater, Chonjara flailed and kicked till he broke free. He struck out for the surface. He jolted out into the sunlight and gasped for air. He heard shouts and screams. Melski were attacking, crashing down the steep banks. Chonjara spat water, and swore.
He was floating in a swirling pool of dirty water. The surface was swarming with sticks, leaves and the bobbing heads of dozens of survivors. Here and there were drifting logs. Looking downstream, Chonjara saw other logs locked in a helpless jam in the entrance to the gorge. The water level was beginning to sink swiftly.
'Downstream!' shouted Chonjara. 'Downstream!’
He saw some Melski leaping into the water. As he struck out for the logjam, a man in front of him vanished under the water. Blood belched to the surface. His men were being dragged down and butchered in the depths. Something grabbed Chonjara's heel. He kicked out, hard, and was released.
Burdened by boots and clothing, Chonjara made it to the logjam. Someone helped haul him up onto the logs.
'You!' said Yen Olass, a born survivor.
'Kill him,' said Resbit.
Neither woman had any weapons.
Rocks splintered around them. The Melski had possession of the heights overlooking the gorge: they were hurling down rocks.
'Run!' said Chonjara.
The women fled, bumping down the far side of the logs. Chonjara followed. Men died ahead of them and behind them. There was no hope for the wounded. The rapidly sinking water level exposed the boulders they needed as stepping stones, and they leapt from stone to stone, running so fast they were almost flying.
They regrouped beyond the gorge, where the river flowed over beds of stone and shingle. Chonjara made a quick head-count. Only thirty of his men had survived. He saw movement downstream: more Melski were coming out of the trees, barring the way downriver.
'This way!' shouted Chonjara, plunging into the forest.
He led his men into the forest, heading west. Then he halted. The soldier behind him was Saquarius, a strong capable man, even if not entirely trustworthy.
'Take the lead,' said Chonjara. 'Force the pace.’
Saquarius nodded, and strode ahead. Chonjara stood where he was, urging his men forward. He saw Yen Olass and Resbit were being hustled along with the column; he noted the men who had taken the two women in charge. All of his men had weapons of some kind, though some had lost their swords and just had knives or tomahawks which had been secured to their belts.
At the end of the column were a few stragglers. Chonjara gave them the rough edge of his tongue. He went last, urging them on in front of him. He could still hear distant sounds of fighting. Some of his men were trapped and dying, struggling out of the gorge disabled by wounds, falling victim to the Melski. Good. It would give the survivors a little time.
When the column entered ground which Chonjara thought suitable, he pushed forward and took control of his men. They struggled up a steep gully, and Chonjara directed them into position. He kept Yen Olass and Resbit with him, warning them:
'One sound, and you're dead.’
With his men in position, he looked back down the gully, and saw a body lying there, moaning. Who was it? Nassos.
'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 w
as 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 shelters, 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.
