Hugh Cook - The women and the warlords

'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.

Yen Olass removed the blood-rag guarding her quim,

and held the ghastly item between thumb and finger, momentarily uncertain as to what to do with it.

'That's one thing I won't have to worry about tomorrow night,' said York.

'Tomorrow?’

'When I take Monogail.’

Yen Olass was no longer sleepy. Her body burnt as if her veins had been filled with scalding water. Suddenly alert, as tense as a beast of prey about to strike, she stared at the man lying beside her and said:

T don't think you'll have her. First, she's too young. Second, she's under protection.’

'Oh, don't worry your head about that,' said York cheerfully. 'I've had them that young before. They rip, of course, but there's no helping that. As for her protection, so called…’

He laughed.

Then yawned, closing his eyes for a moment.

Yen Olass stuffed the blood-rag into his mouth.

As he gagged, she snatched the knife and stabbed him. He tried to sit up. She punched him in the throat. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed backwards. Yen Olass wrenched the knife out. Holding it with both hands, she plunged it into his heart. Then lugged it out and struck again. And again. And again.

'For Monogail!' said Yen Olass, slamming home the knife one more time.

Then she grunted, strengthened her grip on the knife, and twisted, turning the blade in the body.

'For my mother!’

She was hot, burning, sweating. With one hand she pushed down on the dead man's body, and with the other she hauled out the knife. Her frenzy was passing, and she began to realize exactly what she had done. She felt no horror at this murder. Instead, it gave her a profound sense of satisfaction. She licked the blood from the blade. Slowly. Tenderly.

'Dara ko cha,' said Yen Olass, using a phrase from her homeland which meant 'The apple bites back'.

She had bitten back with a vengeance.

But was York really dead? He looked dead enough. She had seen battlefield corpses which looked prettier. Nevertheless, it was best to make certain.

Carefully, Yen Olass aimed the knife at a well-chosen spot and jabbed it in. There was no response. She smiled, as happy as a cat with cream.

'Darling,' she said, and kissed the dead man.

But she did not kiss him on the lips, which were stained with her blood and his. Instead, she kissed him on the throat. Then, remembering how the Lord Emperor Khmar had once demolished a man in her presence, she gave York a love-bite. Then she went to work.

When she was entirely finished, Yen Olass looked as if she had just climbed out of a bath of blood. Searching the suite, leaving bloody footprints on the floor, she found plenty of spare linen. She washed her body in wine, there being no water available; she finished up clean but reeking of alcohol. Never mind. She dressed herself in wool and leathers which had belonged to York. She wore no armour, because she would be moving through the castle by stealth.

Yen Olass took the knife which had already served her so well. There was going to be a lot more killing in the castle tonight. She was going to free Hearst, Watashi and the others, even if she had to kill a dozen guards and sentries to do so. Once she had liberated her manforce, they would be tasked with the job of liberating Monogail and Yerzerdayla. Then they would kill out the castle, taking their victims while they slept. By dawn, the floors would be knee-deep in blood, and Yen Olass and her companions would be far away on stolen horses or a stolen ship. If they had to ride, Monogail would sit on her horse. Once she had recovered her child, nothing would separate them, not ever again.

Yen Olass opened the heavy wooden door which guarded York's suite, and slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. By the light of a guttering torch, she saw a sentry sitting in the hallway, his head nodding down to his chest.

Yen Olass held her breath.

Was he asleep?

She hoped so.

She crept forward, moving stealthily, knife in hand so she would be ready to strike if the sentry woke and grappled with her.

'No need to mouse along like that,' said a deep, heavy voice. 'He's dead. I've killed him already.’

Yen Olass started.

A shadow advanced out of the shadows. To her horror, she saw it was Nan Nulador. This time, he was armed with a double-bladed battle-axe.

T was going to give the happy couple a little more time to finish their business and get to sleep,' said Nan Nulador. 'You've saved me a long wait.’

'Nan Nulador,' said Yen Olass, dropping her voice down, using a special tone. 'Sleep.’

Nan Nulador continued to advance. Her voice no longer had any effect on him at all. Suddenly, he leapt forward on the attack, the axe sweeping toward her.

Yen Olass screamed at him.

Her scream killed him.

He fell face first, chopped down dead.

Yen Olass started at his dead body in amazement – then saw the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his back.

'Drop the knife,' said the archer, advancing out of the shadows.

By the light of the guttering torch, Yen Olass saw that the archer was a Yarglat. She had never seen him before. He had already nocked another arrow.

'Drop the knife!’

Yen Olass threw it with all her force. It winged wide, and went clattering into the darkness.

'You need practice,' said the Yarglat dryly, drawing the bow. 'But I don't. Any more tricks and I'll kill you without blinking. Understand?’

Yen Olass nodded.

'Good,' said the Yarglat. 'Now come with me.’

The castle was asleep, and Morgan Hearst was ready to move. His cell was pitch black, as the torch they had left with him had long since expired. But by now he knew this prison intimately. He had tested the door for weaknesses, finding none. Climbing up onto the heavy lintel above the door, he had probed the stonework. Again he had been disappointed. But the floor and the walls had yielded up interesting secrets.

Now, moving in the dark, he remove the loose flagstone and took out the items he had earlier discovered beneath it. There was a length of rope, a knife and half a horseshoe, which had been ground down at one end to make a kind of chisel. Hearst explored the wall, once more finding the loose stone. Using the horseshoe chisel, he levered it out, exposing a steel tunnel descending from unknown heights. It was wet, but it was not a sewer; it smelt dank, but was not unclean.

Hearst had feared to leave earlier in the night, thinking that the turnkey might come and check on him, and raise the alarm. But there had been no checks, so he doubted that anyone would come for him before dawn. Now he would escape. And if escape proved impossible, then he would kill himself to deny his enemies the pleasure of sacrificing him.

Silently, Hearst eased himself into the tunnel. It was a tight squeeze to get through the hole made by removing a block of stone, but once in the tunnel he had room enough to go on all fours or to waddle. He went downward, hoping the tunnel would exit somewhere near the base of the castle. Once he was clear of the castle, there would be no holding him.