'Alish!' said Phyphor. 'That was well done. That was very well done.'
Alish ignored him, and walked past without answering. Wizards! This slaughter was all their fault. A plague on all your houses, then, if you have houses.
In the camp site were the dismembered remains of a few Melski children; one body had fallen into a fire and was charring with a foul stench. Alish threw himself to the ground, threw himself to the earth, wet though he was. He was the leader, and to collapse was not one of his privileges, but he collapsed all the same. He would have wept, except he was too proud to weep, ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
In the evening, they set off down the river. That night they heard Melski in the water, exchanging recognition signals. Alish feared an attack, but none came: the Melski seemed content to drift downstream with the rafts. When dawn came, there were none to be seen in the water – but soon afterwards, the leading raft saw one asleep on a rock. It woke, and dived into the water, and the current carried it away.
Alish feared the Melski might go downstream ahead of the rafts to organise an ambush. The river banks were growing progressively steeper: soon it would be possible to drop rocks from above.
He also worried about Hearst, who sat apart, brooding. Why? Because he had failed to help Blackwood's Melski friends? Because Alish had lied to him? Or because he had missed the battle?
Whatever the problem, Alish hoped Hearst would not do anything reckless – he did not wish to have to kill the best warrior in his command. However, if it did come to a confrontation, there was no doubt who would win: they had matched blades in practice often enough to know that Elkor Alish was by far the better swordsman.
Another who worried about Hearst was Durnwold, who valued the Rovac warrior above all because he had shown that the world could dispense with the governance of the Favoured Blood. The common wisdom throughout the continent of Argan was that the world would collapse in chaos without the guidance of its traditional rulers, but Hearst had proved that a common warrior could be both wiser and stronger than a prince. When Comedo had grovelled in helpless fear as the Collosnon attacked, Morgan Hearst had dared the lopsloss, secured the mad-jewels – and had then gained victory for Alish by using his judgment and opening the lead box holding the mad- jewels.
However, one man cared nothing for Hearst, and that was Blackwood, who believed that Hearst had conspired with Alish to get him out of the way so the attack on the Melski could proceed without possibility of betrayal. As survivors of the court intrigues of Chi'ash-lan, about which they sometimes told outrageous stories of treachery and deceit, the Rovac were entirely capable of such a stratagem, and Blackwood knew it.
Hearst, for his part, was brooding on the distance separating him from Alish. It had come as a shock to know that he had been excluded from the secret councils which had decided to use a mad-jewel to stand sentry at Castle Vaunting, but now Alish had deceived him, had in fact told him a direct lie – and that was something entirely different again.
Hearst had blurred memories of an argument in Castle Vaunting. He had been drunk at the time, but he thought he vaguely remembered Alish threatening to kill him. Had that really happened? And if Alish had really said that, had he really meant it? Was it possible that they might one day match steel against steel, with lethal intent?
No. That was impossible.
In the Cold West, they had been inseparable. They had shared the same tent, and sometimes the same woman… and then… and then everything had changed…
As the rafts drifted at leisure down the river, Alish completed a commander's rounds by trying to make peace with Blackwood. He had little success.
'Mister,' said Blackwood. 'Don't try that comrade-talk with me. I know what happened. Murder. Women and children. Killing fishermen, stealing their boats.'
'They're only gooks,' said Alish.
'Mister,' said Blackwood. 'You don't believe that.'
Alish had seen alcoholic Melski in Lorford: gross green stumbling wrecks blinded by the alcohol which, for them, was an addictive drug bringing death in two or three years. Many scorned the Melski because of the inability of their body chemistry to handle basic poisons. But Alish, no brawling boneheaded blademas-ter, was too widely-travelled to find such provincial sentiments satisfactory.
Unlike some other people – for instance, the Korugatu philosophers of Chi'ash-lan – the Rovac had no formal theory of war crimes. Nevertheless, the concept was not unknown to them. One did not murder an embassy come to parley during a truce, systematic genocide was considered a bit excessive, and the habit of serving prisoners with bits of grilled meat cut from their own bodies was generally frowned upon.
Moreover, Alish, having learnt a certain unforgettable lesson from personal experience, knew the human cost of what he did – and knew that, as far as ethics were concerned, the term 'human' could reasonably be extended to cover the Melski. He did not find his latest battle-memories easy to live with. it happened,' said Alish. it's done.'
He spoke as if the words were a formula for ending recriminations: and amongst the Rovac, they were. it was a cruel business,' insisted Blackwood. it was necessary.'
'Oh yes, everyone has to die, so I suppose death's necessary.'
'Listen, Heenmor is evil: evil without redemption. Ours is a just cause. We don't want to shed innocent blood, but we had to. We're trying to save the world!'
'The world will be much the same when Heenmor is dead,' said Blackwood. 'Only then you'll have to find another excuse to kill people.'
'You don't understand, Heenmor – '
'Oh, I understand, mister. You've thought yourself a reason to kill lots and lots of people and be proud of it. Well then, kill away. Be happy in your work.'
'I don't enjoy killing.'
'Oh, you don't? And I suppose your sword doesn't either? And does that make the dead less dead?'
'What would you do in my place?'
T could never be in your place, mister. I could never swim through that much blood to get there. But swimming makes some happy, it seems. Your fighting men look happy enough.'
'Of course,' said Alish. 'We've won a victory.'
'It wasn't much of a victory.'
'You're right,' said Alish. Speaking, he felt that he should be glad that Blackwood seemed to have abandoned the subject of his personal sins. But he wasn't glad. It was painful to talk about it, yet worse to keep silent. And who else could he talk to? Not Hearst! 'Yes,' he said. 'You're right. It wasn't much of a victory. There was no fighting to it.'
'Just butchery.'
'Yes. But that's the sort of victory men love. They're getting the best part of their reward now. Inside that cabin.'
Since the evening of the day before, men had been taking turns to go into the cabin he indicated. 'What are they doing in there?' 'What do you think?'
'Is it always like this after a victory?' said Blackwood, looking away.
Alish studied the banks, which were steadily becoming cliffs as the rafts glided down the river.
'Men imagine victory often enough during our campaigns of mud and rain,' said Alish, slowly. 'And when victory comes, they make it everything they had imagined.'
'But not all soldiers can be like this.'
'No,' said Alish. 'Some are worse. The Rovac are worse. In the Cold West, it was policy. Our very name became another word for terror. In the Cold West, there was nowhere for our victims to run to, not during the snows. I remember 'Yes, well,' said Blackwood, who presently had no appetite for any gut-slaughter stories, 'Perhaps you
