Yen Olass squeezed her eyes shut. But nothing could shut out the sounds. Lonth Denesk did not cry out – could not, with his throat hacked open – but she heard the butchering thuds of heavy steel cleaving home to bone. It went on for what seemed like a long time.
Then it was over.
Slowly, Yen Olass opened her eyes.
Lonth Denesk lay dead in bloodstained snow. Tonaganuk stood alone. He had dropped his shield, he had dropped his battle-axe, and he was – clutching his chest. As she watched, Tonaganuk sank to the ground, crushed down to his knees by disabling agony. Chonjara stepped forward.
'Leave him!' said Haveros.
If Haveros had stayed silent, nobody would have objected if Chonjara had gone to his father's aid. But now that Haveros had spoken, Chonjara could not intervene – Haveros was insisting that the tradition be followed, and the tradition was that a duel was not over until both men were dead or one had walked away, a victor, without any assistance.
Back in the old days, when the horse tribes had been nomadic wanderers instead of the rulers of an empire, this tradition had sometimes meant that a wounded victor died slowly in full view of the witnesses, unable to crawl away from the body of the man he had killed. But those were the old days: in Gendormargensis, it was unusual for anyone to enforce that ruling.
But now Haveros did.
And so it was that Tonaganuk died, slowly, of a heart attack, expiring in the Enskandalon Square under the eyes of his son Chonjara, who was forbidden to take those few paces forward to be by his father's side.
CHAPTER FOUR
A light snow was falling; the spectators were starting to disperse. Lonth Denesk's bloodstained corpse was an ugly sight, so Haveros removed his cloak and used it to shroud his father's body. Haveros looked strangely lost. It was very quiet.
Chonjara gathered his father's body into his arms, surprised to find it weighed so little. All his life, Tonaganuk had seemed to him the ultimate warload, and now…
As Karahaj Nan Nulador joined his master, Chonjara quietly ordered him to take the body to the house of Quenstain Garkers, an old family friend living close to the Enskandalon Square. Nan Nulador bowed, took Tonaganuk's body in his own arms, then departed, carrying his burden lightly.
Chonjara strode away, determined to be the first to reach his mother with the news. That was his duty. And since his father was dead, it was now also his duty to take over his father's place, and become in his own right the ultimate warlord…
Seeing Chonjara leaving, Lord Alagrace hesitated, uncertain as to his priorities. It was vital that he speak with both Chonjara and Haveros as soon as possible, to make sure they understood he would have their heads if their two clans went to war with each other in Gendormargensis. He also wanted to protect his tame oracle by making an immediate personal report to the Sisterhood, explaining that the fault lay with Chonjara. Otherwise, Yen Olass might be interrogated by the Silent One, and that formidable lady, reviewing Yen Olass's performance, might uncover some very embarrassing facts.
Lord Alagrace, disturbed to see how shocked and shaken Yen Olass looked, went to her first, though he knew he had little time to spare to comfort her. As he reached her, the Ondrask of Noth came to his side.
'You're needed elsewhere,' said the Ondrask, fully aware that today's killing might precipitate a disastrous feud. 'I'll take her home.’
Lord Alagrace was surprised. The Ondrask was a most unexpected ally.
'If you want to help,' said Lord Alagrace, 'come with me when I talk to Chonjara.’
'Talk to him yourself,' said the Ondrask, suddenly turning rude and abrupt.
'As you wish,' said Lord Alagrace, who was sure he could cope with or without the Ondrask's help.
Yen Olass allowed herself to be led from the Enskandalon Square. She was in a daze. To her surprise, she found herself walking along hand in hand with the Ondrask. She so seldom touched another human being that this was something of a shock. The Ondrask had never touched her when they were together in the cave or at his yashram.
'Have you got my things?' said Yen Olass.
'Here,' said the Ondrask.
He had her rug tucked under his free arm, and he was carrying her nordigin containing her Casting Board and Indicators.
When they reached room 7 on height 3 of tooth 44 on Moon Stallion Strait, Yen Olass realized that the Ondrask had known exactly where they were going, anticipating every turning, and leading the way into her room without being told it was hers.
He had known where she lived.
'Thank you for carrying my things.' said Yen Olass.
Her thanks were sincere. When the high priest of a powerful religion plays porter for a female slave, he is making a considerable concession.
'My pleasure,' said the Ondrask.
The response was odd. and so was the way he looked at her. Yen Olass was not really sure how to handle the situation. In the wilderness, where the Ondrask had been a refugee from the storm, things had been easy enough. At his yashram, when she had been advising him on his problem with Haveros, she had felt confident in her professional role. But now?
Yen Olass wished he would vanish, but he lingered.
'Do you wish for a reading?' said Yen Olass.
'No,' said the Ondrask.
The room was as cold as a morgue. Yen Olass got out her tinderbox and tried to light her brazier. Her hands were shaking, and not just from the cold. Performing as an oracle was how she justified her existence in Gendormargensis; her professional abilities validated her right to live and eat, and Chonjara, by attacking her in public, seemed to her to have threatened the entire basis of her life.
'Can I help you with that?' said the Ondrask.
'You can help me by bringing Chonjara to heel,' said Yen Olass. 'He's your dog.’
'Don't worry about him,' said the Ondrask. 'If there's any trouble from today's events, well… if you got into too much trouble, I could-’
'Don't say it,' said Yen Olass.
She suspected that he was about to offer to buy her from the Sisterhood. She doubted if he would find that possible. However, with help from the Lord Emperor Khmar, maybe he would – and to be bought by a man was the last thing she wanted.
She watched as yet another spark from steel and flint landed on a bit of tinder and promptly went out. As she persevered, the Ondrask fingered her seven-stringed klon. His long dirty fingernails plucked at one of the strings. It rattled discordantly against the sounding board. In the small room, where the Ondrask's stench was given little chance to dissipate, he was not pleasant company.
Yen Olass wanted to tell him to leave, but did not dare be so direct.
'It's not proper for you to be here,' said Yen Olass. 55
'Don't you have time to talk a little?' said the Ondrask.
Touching, fingering, staring, he looked like someone appraising an inheritance. Out in the wilderness they had, if only briefly, seemed like kindred spirits. But they were back in the city now. Here this bizarre shaman, with his greasy hair and his gaudy feathers, his dangling skulls and his primitive talismans, seemed like something out of another world. He had no place in her room.
'I am constrained by the Rule,' said Yen Olass. j
'People cannot live by the rules,' said the high priest of the horse cult. 'What is a rule? A word that tries to ride a person. Is that fitting? Do you ride a horse, or does the horse ride you?’
