The Women and the Warlords

by Hugh Cook

  Hearst struggled to the wall. It curved overhead. Working his way right round the pit, he found it the same all the way round. It was as if he stood in the bottom of an hourglass. It was impossible to climb that curving wall. There was only one way out: a slimy round pipe set in the wall at neck height.

  Hearst struggled into the pipe and began to crawl. It was narrow, and it stank. After a long, hard struggle the smell got worse, as it was joined by the stink of something scorching. The pipe was getting warm; he guessed it emptied into another fire chasm.

  He felt his way carefully, stopping when the heat grew intense. The muck coating his eyelids had dried by now; he flaked away the crust and opened his eyes. As he expected, he saw firelight reflecting from the walls ahead. So this was the end! He was going to die in a sewer. He was, he realized, already very thirsty. How long would he last? A day? Two days? Maybe longer.

  Unless there was a way past the fire.

  He crawled forward, and found himself confronted by a man-wide chasm. It went down a long, long way, widening as it went; below was a veritable lake of fire. On the other side of the chasm was a rock ledge, one horse-length wide, studded with stone bollards. In the rock wall behind the ledge there was a door, revealed by the glowering, shadowy light of hellfire.

  Hearst, crouched in the sewer pipe, could not jump across the chasm, even though it was only man-wide. However, he still had the length of rope he had found under the loose flagstone in his prison cell. He could make a noose and throw it so it landed on one of the stone bollards. Then he could swing across the chasm, open the door and--

  And what if the door refused to open?

  Hearst declined to think about that. Swiftly, he made a lasso out of his bit of rope. On the third try, he managed to drop it over the nearest bollard. He hauled on the rope to tighten the noose. The bollard toppled over and fell into the chasm. As it fell, the rope snapped taut and was wrenched from his hand. He gave a small, involuntary cry -- and then was ashamed of himself for doing so.

  Hearst backed into the sewer, until he was in the cooler sections, away from the fire. By means of long and involved contortions, he managed to strip off the three cloaks he wore over his other clothing. He cut the cloaks into strips and tied the strips into ropes. Each cloak made a rope long enough to bridge the chasm even after he had fashioned a loop at one end.

  He was ready to try again.

  He was very tired now. His body was weary from crawling, scrambling and climbing, and from the shock of his plunge into the pit. He was starting to suffer occasional muscle cramps. He crawled back to the fire chasm and tried again.

  The first time he threw a rope, the loop at the end dropped neatly over a bollard. He pulled on it. The bollard did not move. But would it hold firm when it supported his full weight? For that matter, would the rope hold? He would soon find out. He wrapped the end of the rope round his right forearm, careful to keep it clear of his razor-sharp hook. He gripped the rope in his hand, pulled it taut then advanced.

  As he hauled himself out of the pipe, a blast of heat flushed his face, neck and belly. When he was out of the pipe as far as his navel, he felt his body starting to sag in the middle. He paused, winding the slack of the rope round his right forearm. He wriggled forward. Soon the rope was taking half his weight, with his feet supporting the rest. He was now suspended over the fire chasm; he felt as if he was cooking. The far side was just out of reach.

  His toes worked their way to the edge of the sewer. He lifted one foot, and explored the edge of the sewer with his boot. Then he kicked off, jerking his knees in to his chest.

  He swung across the chasm. Knees tucked in to his chest, he slammed into the far side. His feet took the brunt of the impact. There was a ripping sound: his cloth rope was tearing. Desperately he reached up with his left hand, took the full weight of his body in that hand, wound in the slack with his right forearm, then repeated the process.

  His hand slammed home on level rock. He had gained a purchase on the top! In a few seconds, he had hauled himself up onto the rock ledge. He rolled away from the heat and lay panting. His body was wringing wet with sweat; his mouth was a desert. Slowly, he gathered his strength and got to his knees. He stood up. He felt the blood swoon from his head; dizzy, he collapsed to his knees. He crawled to the door, one horse-length from the chasm.

  He rested by the door for a while, then, when he had recovered somewhat, he got up and inspected it. There was no handle on the inside. He tried to lever it open, and failed. The hinges were on the far side. When he threw his weight against it, it did not even creak. It was a solid door. He would have to cut a hole in it. Either that, or die.

  He decided to work in the middle, cutting a hole he could reach through to lift whatever bar secured the door. Of course, if the door was bolted shut, the bolt would be to one side, out of reach. With that happy thought, he set to work with knife, hook and chisel.

  Morgan Hearst had by now entirely lost track of time. He worked methodically, without thought, pausing only when his arms cramped, and he had to straighten them to ease the muscle spasms. He was very tired now; as he worked, he had occasional hallucinatory dreams for two or three breaths at a time.

  At last he managed to make a small hole which he could poke his chisel through. Peering through the hole, he made out the dim outlines of a small, bare room. Or was it a section of a corridor? He could see very little of it. But what he could see was a slit window admitting grey dawniight.

  He had run out of darkness.

  Hearst worked harder. Every time he stopped to look at his steadily widening hole, the light on the far side was brighter. Eventually, brilliant daylight was streaming in through the slit window. Panting, sweating, swearing occasionally -- silently, for it hurt his throat to speak -- he hacked, gouged, jabbed and scraped, splintering the wood and ripping it away.

  The first time he tried to force his hand through the hole, it got stuck. Splinters jagged into it as he wrenched it back. He attacked the door in a vicious frenzy, expending the last of his energy. When he halted, gasping, the hole was large enough. He reached through and groped around, searching for a bar which he could lift to open the door.

  Someone grabbed his hand.

  Hearst hauled with all his strength, trying to retrieve his hand. It was impossible. He swore aloud. His voice was a croak. He swore again. He had been caught in a trap. After all that effort, he had been caught. His rage overmastered him. He slammed his head against the door in frustration.

  The door began to open.

  As the door opened, Hearst was dragged into the daylight. Then his hand was released, suddenly. He fell backwards onto the floor. He lay there, exhausted, half-blinded by the light. A small group of people gathered round and stared down at him. His vision blurred then focused. He recognized the Lord Emperor Celadric, dressed in lightweight silks; the emperor's brother, Meddon, wearing chain mail and bearing weapons; the Ondrask of Noth, in his ceremonial regalia; the pirate chief Draven, and, standing beside him and looking very pale, the Princess Quenerain.

  'You took longer than I expected,' said Celadric. 'Yes,' said Meddon. 'Still, you're lucky to have made it. Half our prisoners die in the attempt.’

  Hearst managed a few words in a wretched, rusty voice. 'Am I free then?’

  'Oh no,' said Meddon, laughing. 'Not that lucky. The Ondrask has sharpened a knife for you.' 'Any last requests?' said Celadric. 'You can have my woman, if you like,' said Draven. The Princess Quenerain flinched. 'Water,' said Hearst.

  'The prisoner is to be denied all water,' said Celadric, then turned and walked away.

  'If it's any consolation,' said Meddon, 'you're going to be in good company. General Chonjara is going to be executed today. That's part of the deal with our friend Draven. He doesn't want the general escaping then coming looking for his woman.’

  'Watashi?' croaked Hearst.

  'He goes into the stocks in the market place at noon,' said Meddon, 'along with your other friends. They'll
be stoned to death by the mob.’

  And Meddon smiled, produced a wilted flower and dropped it on Hearst's chest. This was a subtle insult, reminding him of how easily he had been taken the day before. Then Meddon too turned and walked away.

  Hearst jerked his hook up to his throat, intending to slash his carotids then and there. But the Ondrask stepped on his right arm before he could do himself any injury. The Ondrask gave a curt order in a language Hearst could not understand.

  And guards seized hold of the Rovac warrior Morgan Hearst, and carried him away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Garabatoon was crowded for the river festival. Just upstream of the bridge, a clutter of rafts and small boats jammed the Hollern River. Then there was a long stretch of river which had been left clear for boat races, river crossing competitions and so forth. Then, further upstream, there were three rafts.

  The three rafts lying upstream from Garabatoon all belonged to the Ondrask of Noth. One was a floating funeral pyre, on which sacrifices would be carried out. Another was the Ondrask's personal residence. The third housed the Ondrask's retainers, who numbered about two dozen.

  Toward mid-morning, people began to drift out of Garabatoon, and soon both banks were lined with spectators. Then General Chonjara and Morgan Hearst were led to the riverbank. Both men were stripped to the waist and had their arms tied behind their backs.

  Hearst watched as Chonjara was led out along a gangplank to the floating funeral pyre. He was made to lie down in amongst the high-piled firewood. He almost disappeared in it. The guards withdrew. The Ondrask climbed up to Chonjara, raised a knife high, stabbed down, and hauled out Chonjara's beating heart. The crowd gave a roar of approval.

  Even as Hearst was hustled forward by the guards, other guards were putting torches to the firewood. A black cloth had been thrown over Chonjara's body, but the wood around was splattered with gore. Hearst was laid down in amongst the firewood in a coffin-sized indentation. He took his last look at the sky. The Ondrask loomed over him.

  The Ondrask spoke briefly. Hearst did not understand,

  but a guard standing at the Ondrask's shoulder translated. 'Goodbye, Morgan.’

  'I speak Ordhar,' said Hearst, using the Collosnon battle language.

  'The Ondrask speaks only Eparget,' said the guard, in the Galish Trading Tongue.

  There was the sound of the black cloth being twitched away. Hearst could not see the body. The Ondrask bent down, leaning to one side. He was dipping his finger in blood. He anointed Hearst with the blood, and spoke earnestly. The guard translated.

  'Morgan, I have to kill you, but I bear you no ill. My religion holds that the soul of the warrior goes to Nazagost, the place of the Testing. Have courage for the Test. Endure.’

  Hearst made no answer.

  He watched as the Ondrask raised his knife. The blade had not been cleaned. It was still bloodstained. As Hearst watched, a drop fell from the blade. He could smell smoke. He heard the fierce crackle of flames, and knew the wood was well and truly ablaze. He saw the the Ondrask grimace, about to stab downwards. Despite himself, Hearst closed his eyes.

  He felt a lacerating pain in his chest and heard his own scream. Opening his eyes, he saw the Ondrask holding aloft his beating heart. Then he was falling, his sight failing. He fell through fire, smashed into a barrier, and knew no more.

  * * *

  Morgan Hearst opened his eyes and stared up at a strange sky of blue and green. He tried to speak; a croak came out of his mouth. A stranger, a woman with long hair, fed him water. Honey had been mixed into the water. He drank, and it was good. 'This is Nazagost,' said the woman. 'The place of Testing.’

  So it was true. He had died, and had come to the place of Testing. Slowly, he raised his right arm, and saw the articulation of wood and metal that held his hook in place. He was bitterly disappointed to find he had been reincarnated as a cripple.

  T will contend against any man, god or hero if the battle can win me my hand,' said Hearst.

  'It can win more than that,' said a familiar voice, as someone sitting behind him spoke. 'It can win you an empire.’

  'Yen Olass?' said Hearst.

  His chest was hurting. Looking down, he saw a ragged cut in his skin, as if someone had sliced it with a jagged knife. He tried to turn around to see Yen Olass.

  'Are you dead too?' said Hearst.

  'We'll all be dead if we carry on with this nonsense,' growled a voice.

  Hearst propped himself up on an elbow and saw Yen Olass Ampadara and General Chonjara sitting in opposite corners of a ... a bamboo room? A room on a raft? He glanced up at the ceiling. Loose-woven bamboo, still fresh and green, making a pattern of blue and green as the sky showed through. But he had seen his own heart! He remembered it being dragged out of his body.

  'There was a hole in the bottom of the sacrifice raft,' said Yen Olass. 'You were dropped through it. We recovered you. I pulled you out myself -- I'm a good swimmer, you know.’

  'But my heart--’

  'An ox, stupid. He had two great big beefy oxen under that great big black cloth. One for Chonjara, one for you.’

  'But I felt my ... I felt my heart getting torn out. I remember.’

  'That's your imagination speaking,' said Yen Olass. 'You were slashed across the chest, that's all.’

  'But if the whole sacrifice was a sham,' said Hearst,

  starting to get angry. 'Then why cut me at all?’

  'Because my lover is something of a sadist,' said Yen Olass.

  'Your lover?' said Hearst. 'The ... the Ondrask?' 'Not yet,' said Yen Olass. 'But he will be. Once I'm Kenagek.' 'Kenagek?’

  'The Kenagek is the mother of the emperor,' said Yen Olass.

  'You're going to try and make yourself Celadric's mother?' said Hearst, feeling confused.

  'No,' said Yen Olass. 'Celadric is going to abdicate in favour of Monogail. He doesn't know it yet, of course. But he will.’

  'How are you going to persuade him?' said Hearst.

  'With a knife,' said Yen Olass. 'A castrating knife, if necessary. He's accepted an invitation to dine with the Ondrask at noon. His brother Meddon's coming too. We'll kill Meddon and kidnap Celadric. Once we get him to the Lesser Teeth, we can make him agree to anything we want.’

  'You've left something out of your battle plan,' said Hearst.

  'What's that,' said Yen Olass. 'York.’

  'Oh, I've killed him already,' said Yen Olass happily. 'I'm famous, don't you know. Hundreds of soldiers are out combing the countryside for me. Celadric always wanted his brother dead, but as a matter of form he's even committed his persona! bodyguard to the hunt.’

  'You're crazy,' said Hearst scornfully. 'Garabatoon is still swarming with men. What've you got here? Five? Six?’

  'About a dozen,' said Yen Olass. 'And the same number of women.’

  'You'll all be dead by nightfall,' said Hearst.

  'By nightfall, we'll be safely at sea,' said Yen Olass. 'Losh Negis--’

  'Who?’

  'The Ondrask here,' said Yen Olass. 'There was a banquet last night. Afterwards, he went to Draven's ship, anchored just downriver from Garabatoon. He'd offended the emperor, and did not think it safe to spend the night in Castle Celadric. They spent part of the night plotting. Today, while we seize Celadric, Draven's men will be raiding the marketplace at Garabatoon, to release Watashi and the others.’

  'A handful of pirates versus a whole town?' said Hearst. 'That's ridiculous!’

  ' 'Draven's got sixty men,' said Yen Olass. 'Some of them have got Collosnon armour. They can pose as Celadric's soldiers.’

  'They'll need more than a little amateur acting to cheat the mob of its victims,' said Hearst.

  'They're going to burn down the town,' said Yen Olass. 'Start a few fires, and people will be running in all directions -- most of them drunk. Draven isn't stupid, you know. Probably there'll be so much confusion that nobody will notice the prisoners are gone until this time tomorrow.’

&n
bsp; 'Celadric will be missed sooner.’

  'Yes, but nobody will know where he's gone. We'll grab him, stuff him into a sack -- a wet sack, with dirt and worms and rotten apples in it -- then smuggle him down the river in a boat. With someone sitting on him. No, with two people sitting on him! Then we'll put him on Draven's ship.’

  'How do you know you can trust the pirate?' said Hearst.

  T don't know if I can trust him at all,' said Yen Olass simply. 'But I don't have much choice. My child's on his ship.’

  'Which child is that?’