"The women and the warlords" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Hugh)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Lord Emperor Khmar hated living inside buildings. Enclosed by four walls, he became uneasy, disturbed by the dead air, the muted sounds, the diminished contact with the weather. Appreciating the benefits of impressing the populace with his wealth and power, he allowed architects to build him palaces, but he refused to inhabit them; the glorious Retzet t'Dektez in Gendormargensis was empty but for guards and caretakers, as Khmar had never so much as stepped inside it.

It was, therefore, hardly surprising that Khmar chose to live outside Favanosin, in tents pitched on good grazing land. There he received reports from the commanders trying to sanitize the mountains to the east and the west, and consulted those officers now trying to plan the next major campaign – an invasion of the southern continent, Argan.

Khmar still had time free to plan a reception for Lord Alagrace, a man he had little liking for; he had saved up some pirates especially, so he could intimidate Alagrace by making an example of them.

When Lord Alagrace reached Favanosin, he was not immediately invited to present himself to the emperor; instead, Khmar interviewed his daughter, then spent two days closeted with General Chonjara. Only then was Lord Alagrace allowed to approach the imperial presence.

Khmar's tents were made of leather supported by bamboo poles. They were not utilitarian survival shelters, but impressive pieces of architecture in their own right; a mounted warrior could have entered the main tent without ducking his head. Guarding Khmar's home was a bizarre bodyguard, an indication of the true nature of the emperor.

Some rulers like to pretend that the exercise of power is an aesthetic enterprise. Approaching their thrones, one enters into an ordered and denatured universe where every care has been taken to exclude any hint of pain or suffering. Khmar needed no such pretences; he travelled light, owning few possessions and no illusions, and saw no need to conceal what he was or how he had come to be what he was. His bodyguards were all veterans who had been crippled or mutilated in battle. Some were minus a hand or an arm, others lacked an eye or a nose, and one – the victim of enemy torture – endured his days without any cheeks, these having been cut away, thus making it difficult for him to drink and impossible for him to chew food in the ordinary way. These bodyguards were tough, arrogant men, confident of their fighting ability; they were armed to the teeth with whips, ropes, bolas, throwing knives, spikes, swords and battle-axes.

When Lord Alagrace, accompanied by Yen Olass Ampadara, arrived for his audience, he was shown inside by a spearman who stumped around on a peg leg. In the main tent, Lord Alagrace and Yen Olass seated themselves on leather cushions in the presence of guards, scribes and a foodtaster. The two scribes were both legless; the food-taster was blind. There was no doubt that Khmar was a barbarian: but he honoured his obligations.

As Khmar did not immediately manifest himself, Lord Alagrace and Yen Olass had plenty of time to meditate upon the less pleasant aspects of war – and the possible consequences of Khmar's displeasure. Both were acutely aware that the Princess Quenerain and General Chonjara had been given ample opportunity to poison the emperor against them.

After they had waited for some time, a young man entered, looked them over, then withdrew. Yen Olass did not recognize him, but Lord Alagrace did: Exedrist, the drunkard. Khmar had four sons, Celadric, Meddon, Exedrist and York; Exedrist lived with his father and served more or less as a messenger boy.

A little later, Exedrist returned:

'The Lord Khmar regrets that he will be delayed, but invites you to indulge your appetites while you wait. He recently had the leading citizens of this town barbecued for conspiring to conceal their wealth – would you care for a choice portion?’

'Thank the Lord Emperor for his consideration,' said Lord Alagrace, 'but we have already eaten.’

Perhaps Khmar had arranged for one or more people to be cooked alive, and perhaps not; if they accepted his invitation, perhaps they would be served human flesh, and perhaps just pork, but Lord Alagrace, who had both personal and religious objections to cannibalism, did not wish to take chances. Exedrist smiled, and Lord Alagrace realized that Yen Olass had lost much of her colouring.

'Khmar is not a monster,' murmured Lord Alagrace, as Exedrist withdrew. 'He simply has unusual enthusiasms.’

Yen Olass, feeling slightly ill, said nothing. However, she had composed herself again by the time the Lord Emperor made his entrance, striding into the tent with an easy, rolling gait.

Khmar was a squat, ugly, bow-legged man with calloused, muscular hands, big bony fingers and thick, horny fingernails. His dark eyes glittered, hunched in shadow beneath lumbering brows. Scalps dangled from his big skullknuckie belt. A respectful two paces behind came a svelte young man with a cool, calculating gaze. This was Celadric; Yen Olass had seen him before in Gendormargensis.

'Alagrace,' said Khmar, without ceremony. When he spoke, Yen Olass saw his teeth were filed to points. 'My lord.' 'A good journey?' 'Excellent, my lord.’

'But you chose lame horses. Yes? Why so slow? Because I was waiting to chop your head off? Believe me, I was tempted when I found out how you were dawdling. Here – look at this. See what they've made of my son.’

Seizing Celadric, Khmar pulled him forward like a slaver leading an auction piece to the block. Celadric, the ultimate diplomat, remained unruffled, preserving his dignity. At twenty-three years of age, he was already a power in his own right, having obtained port privileges for the empire in Ashmolea, and having successfully negotiated valuable trading concessions in the Ravlish Lands.

'Seel’

'He's grown tall, my lord,' said Lord Alagrace.

'Yes. Tall and beautiful. Like his mother. He gives tentspace to tame poets, who sing the praises of his flesh. Eyes like limpid olives – hands as soft as dead men's cocks. I am my father's son – but my son is his mother's little girl.’

Celadric shook off his father's grip.

'As an instrument of state policy,' said Celadric, 'rape has its limitations. Sometimes it's better to teach a foreign power to love us.’

'Hear him!' said Khmar, showing his scorn.

'I've succeeded where you've never ventured, and never will,' said Celadric.

His tone was not one of defiance, but one of certainty; Yen Olass realised Celadric had no fear of his father, and this knowledge comforted her. Perhaps, if something terrible happened, she could threw herself on Celadric's mercy. Perhaps he would help her.

'Oh yes,' said Khmar. 'Some we must love. And why? Because we can't ride horses over water, that's why. Or so the past tells us. But that changes. Now! We're learning to walk on water, even now. We'll take them. First Argan. Then Ashmolea.’

'What do we need it for?' said Celadric.

'Listen to my son!' said Khmar. 'What do we need it for? We need as a man needs a woman. My age must conquer – now! – because his age never will. Isn't that so, Yen Olass?’

Hearing the Lord Emperor pronounce her own name, Yen Olass flinched as if she had been hit.

'Why did you run away, Yen Olass?' said Khmar.

'Lord Alagrace wanted me to south with him,' said Yen Olass, 'but the Sisterhood refused. When the Sisterhood defies the Lawmaker, surely my duty is to serve the Lawmaker, who holds power as your personal appointment.’

'Who asked you to play politics?' said Khmar.

His voice was savage. In his voice, Yen Olass heard the lash, the knives, the spikes. Yen Olass quailed.

'My lord, I exist only to serve,' said Yen Olass, trembling.

In her voice was complete and total surrender. She hoped surrender would be sufficient. But it was not.

'You defied the man who had been made your master,' said Khmar, relentlessly. 'Why? Surely Losh Negis was man enough.’

'I first met him when we were hunting,' said Yen Olass. 'He prided himself on his skill. Was it wrong to give him a chance to prove it? Was it wrong for me to want a man to hunt me down? Do you think I never looked behind me, in the hope of his dust? I hoped for much, but the way was too easy.’

Yen Olass was playing the part of one of the archetypal women of Yarglat mythology: the highblooded female who runs and resists in the hope of being hunted down and raped. Khmar was not immune to the appeal of the myth.

'He was a man,' said Yen Olass, her voice now strong and vibrant. 'Or so I thought. The man to take me. The man to master me. I trembled for his touch. Yet the horizon lay empty behind me.’

Khmar grunted.

'You came south. You followed the same road as Alagrace.’

'Did I make the chase too easy then?' said Yen Olass. 'Should I have gone to east, or to west?' Khmar grunted again.

'You talk of Losh Negis, but when you get here, it's Alagrace you've chosen as your master.’

'A woman must have a man to serve,' said Yen Olass. 'Since Losh Negis will not master me to his purpose, I must serve what man demands me.’

'You are not a woman yet,' said Khmar. 'Just a girl. Perhaps you feared to be made a woman.’

Yen Olass lowered her eyes.

'I hoped with fear. I will not say I was not afraid. This filly feared, yet hoped for a stallion. She has not been gratified.’

'Losh Negis,' said Khmar, 'has sat by the fire too long. There is a disease. Men call it civilization. He has begun to suffer. He needs something wild enough to cure him. I'll send you north, and he can face the consequences. If he really needs me to break his women to service, there's something wrong with him.’

And Khmar reached out, and touched her. His hand was warm against her cheek. Yen Olass did not know what emotion was appropriate, and therefore showed none.

'A man should have had you sooner,' said Khmar. 'In my grandfather's day, you would not have waited so long. There was no Sisterhood then. No sewing up.’

'The empire was smaller then,' said Celadric, his voice oboe-smooth. 'Simplicities sufficed.’

'Then and now,' said Khmar.

'We are faced with the case of a slave who ran away from the Sisterhood,' said Celadric. 'From Losh Negis.’

'From the Sisterhood,' said Celadric. 'She had not been handed over to the Ondrask when she fled.' 'A quibble,' said Khmar.

'No,' said Celadric. 'A point in law. You have seen the correspondence. It is the Sisterhood which demands that she go under the spikes.’

Khmar grunted, and glared at his son. He had not, of course, read any correspondence on the matter, though he might have had some read out loud to him.

'The law is my law,' said Khmar. 'The Sisterhood obeys me.’

'You can enforce your law in Gendormargensis as you wish,' said Celadric. 'But at what cost? The Sisterhood serves us in many ways. Since the Blood Purge, who else can we rely on for order in Gendormargensis? If this slave can challenge the Sisterhood, others will surely try it.' 'So?’

'So kill this worthless female inlet, otherwise you may one day have to kill people you value.’

Yen Olass by now had conceived a murderous hatred for Celadric. As she listened to the cool, elegant young man writing her life off, she wished she could tear his face off.

For a moment, her life hung in the balance. Khmar was undecided. He did not like being lectured by his son. Nevertheless, there was some truth in what Celadric said.

'In my youth,' said Khmar, 'I rode females as you ride horses. The filly is far from worthless. The fault lies with Losh Negis. With some speed for the hunt, he would have made her his woman. If he chose to sit in his yashram poking his fire, he can't hope for my sympathy. He loses his woman.’

'But the Sisterhood-’

'I declare the slave sold to Losh Negis,' said Khmar. He hunted for one of the foreign words introduced into Eparget to express legal terms necessary for ruling an empire, yet lacking from the language of the Yarglat. He found what he was looking for. 'Retrospectively. A word which alters history, yes? I did not believe it, but my son once told me it was just so. Yes. Retrospectively.’

Yen Olass saw that Khmar was poking a little fun at his son, and enjoying it. Dragging out some more ponderous legalese, savouring its alien flavour, Khmar continued:

'The Sisterhood's claims to the slave are null and void. It is Losh Negis who owns her. And it is I, Khmar, who takes the woman from him. Because I love him. Because I wish to stir the man in him. Because I wish to remind him that he is too young to squat by his fireside – and to remind him what happens when he does. The woman can stay with Alagrace, as his oracle.’

'She cannot be an oracle,' said Celadric, 'for an oracle, by definition, is a servant of the Sisterhood. She-’

'She's sewn up tight enough,' said Khmar. 'That makes her oracle enough for me. Yen Olass – you will be Khmar's oracle. Khmar's own Sisterhood in the south. Till I'm dead. Then my son will kill you.’

Khmar hawked, and spat on the floor.

'You think I hawk and spit because I'm a barbarian,' said Khmar, addressing Yen Olass. 'Well, I am. And proud of it. I'm my own man, not like my son, owned by a thousand weightless talk-talk men, castrated dancing boys the lot of them.’

He glared, and pointed at Celadric.

'I can see what's coming when I'm gone. Perfume-farting hairdressers made ministers of state. Shit-soft little law-voicers snuggling up the emperor's ear, pleading discretion. Well, not till I'm dead. That's for certain. That's something.’

He turned his attention to Lord Alagrace.

'Oh, Alagrace will love it when I'm dead. Old woman-breasted Alagrace. He's waiting for it.’

'My lord-’

'I never said you'd hasten it! Only that you waited for it. Isn't that so? Well? Tell me? Is he waiting for it?’

The question was for Yen Olass. She sensed that the question was a test of some kind. She had to presume that her life depended on the answer. For the moment, Khmar had granted her life. Yet, if he executed Lord Alagrace – as a traitor, perhaps? – he might slaughter her as well. Had he planned it that way? Was he amusing himself, by giving her a hope of survival, just so he could take it away?

'Well?' said Khmar.

'The question,' said Celadric, 'is not rhetorical.' 'Who is it who asks me to play politics?' said Yen Olass. 'Is it you?’

Her question was directed at Celadric. She was hoping that whatever answer he gave would entangle father and son in an argument, distracting attention from her. She desperately needed time to think. But Celadric did not get a chance to speak.

'I do!' said Khmar.

'Am I the road or the traveller?' said Yen Olass.

Now all her training and experience as an oracle was being brought into play. She felt as if she observed the proceedings from a staggering height. She felt lucid. Weightless. She saw everything with hallucinatory clarity: Khmar's predatory eyes, Celadric's cool disdain, the relentless scrutiny of the bodyguards, the intense blue of the sky framed by a flap-window, the sharp pinpricks of sunlight stabbing through the leather of the tent where a seam was tearing apart.

'You are both and neither,' said Khmar.

Her feint had been deliberately cryptic, sounding out his intentions. By the way he had parried, he had refused to hint at the answer he wanted.

'Khmar is dead,' said Yen Olass, slowly. 'Lord Alagrace and Celadric meet in conference. They had once thought to inherit an empire which they could shape at will. Now they find they are locked in a struggle of life and death with the powers of Argan. The struggle will last out their lives and beyond. They find they have not inherited an empire: they have inherited Khmar.’

There was silence. Yen Olass conjured up an image of amber. Contemplating the everspan peace of encapsulated light, she meditated.

'Who tells you of Khmar's wars?' said Khmar, frowning; the invasion of Argan was a long-standing part of the empire's policy of expansion, but the imminence of that invasion was not supposed to be common knowledge.

'The whole waterfront talks of it,' said Yen Olass. 'It is said that soldiers talk because they have tongues. That suggests a remedy, if I could name the culprits: but I cannot.’

'And what were you doing on the waterfront? said Khmar.

The question caught Yen Olass off balance. Unable to conjure up a plausible lie – she had lied so often to save her life that by now the truth seemed lethal – she told the bare facts.

'Finding out where the gaplax come from,' said Yen Olass.

'I could tell you the answer to that,' said Khmar. 'They're spawned by sons with their cocks up their mothers' bums.’

'Not that kind of gaplax. It's an insect. It's half as long as your arm. They live in the sea, and they're caught in pots. They're caught with rotten meat, not by whistling. They're bright red. Not before, but after. They're cooked in boiling water.’

Yen Olass realized she was babbling, and stopped abruptly. Then she added – she could not help herself-

'But they're very nice to eat.’

'Then we will have some cooked for us,' said Khmar, clapping his hands, once, to signify that the audience was over. 'We will eat alone. Alagrace can go. He has already eaten, and we have no wish to overfeed him.’

Yen Olass and Lord Alagrace both made reverence to the emperor, and began to withdraw.

'Yen Olass,' said Khmar, 'I said that we would eat alone. Not me. We. We is two people.’

In the mouth of an emperor, of course, 'we' can mean many things. But Yen Olass did not say this. For once, she was lost for words.