'There is conflict between two parties,' said Yen Olass. 'Even if his guilt is certain, he is still entitled to ask for a reading. Even if sentence has already been pronounced against him, he is still entitled to ask for a reading.’
Lord Alagrace was displeased. This was not what he had expected to hear. Still, no oracle's reading could alter the outcome, as far as he was concerned: Chonjara was guilty of trying to overthrow his authority. Guilty, and dangerous, and a candidate for immediate execution.
'Give a reading then,' said Lord Alagrace.
'I will have to get my nordigin,' said Yen Olass, for the carrier box containing her Casting Board and 365 Indicators was elsewhere. 'It's with the translators' baggage.’
'You should have it with you!' said Lord Alagrace, allowing himself to unleash some of his anger against this defenceless target. 'So you haven't got it – do without it.’
'The Rule does not permit me to,' said Yen Olass.
She wanted to take Lord Alagrace and shake him. Fear was mastering his judgment. She knew he wanted Chonjara dead straight away. She knew delay would favour Chonjara. But she also knew that delay was a necessary risk.
'In obedience to the Rule I will go for my nordigin,' said Yen Olass, seeing the danger of Lord Alagrace taking them both to destruction.
She turned to go.
'Stop her!' said Lord Alagrace.
Soldiers barred her way. She turned back to Lord Alagrace and said, her voice cold:
'In this time of danger, Khmar's oracle urges all parties to follow the forms.’
She saw Nan Nulador nod in agreement.
'I must obey the Rule,' said Yen Olass.
'You're Khmar's Sisterhood in the south,' said Lord Alagrace. 'You can make your own Rule. You'll give us a reading. Now.’
'What's this?' said Chonjara. 'A reading which isn't a reading? Are you going to have me judged by a dralkosh?’
Lord Alagrace saw his own error, too late. He tried to salvage what he could.
'She has Khmar's favour,' said Lord Alagrace.
'Khmar wouldn't be the first emperor to favour a dralkosh,' said Chonjara, shaking off the men who held him.
'I am an oracle,' said Yen Olass, raising her voice. 'An oracle, obedient to the Rule.’
'A runaway slave, and Khmar let you live,' said Chonjara. 'A slave, yet Khmar fed at your table. You poisoned his foodtaster, but you let the emperor live. Why? Because you wanted something from him. You got what you wanted.’
'She is an oracle,' said Lord Alagrace.
'You tell us yourself,' said Chonjara, 'she conjures up readings out of nothing. Out of the air itself! I saw the Witchlord! I saw his dralkosh, Bao Gahai! I know that look! You can tell it in the woman's eye! Are we going to let this dralkosh die a virgin? Form a square! Form a square!’
Lord Alagrace was jostled as excited men formed a square. Yen Olass tried to escape. Chonjara grabbed her by the hair and hauled her back. She hit him, very hard. He slammed a fist into her solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her. Then he threw her into the middle of the square, where she went sprawling in the mud.
'Who fights for the privilege?' said Chonjara.
He had everything in his favour now.
'Khmar's foodtaster is alive and well,' said Yen Olass, staunchly, picking herself up from the mud.
'And I wonder what he paid for his life,' said Chonjara. 'Come on, who fights for the woman?’
Half a dozen grinning bravos stepped forward. Then a bigger, taller man joined them: Karahaj Nan Nulador. For a moment, Yen Olass allowed herself to hope. She had a champion. He would find a way to save her: somehow. Chonjara had named her as a dralkosh, but she had given Nan Nulador a son, and he would not forget.
'Nan Nulador,' said Chonjara. 'Get out of there. You fight when I tell you to, not otherwise.’
Wordlessly, with a glance of apology at Yen Olass, Nan Nulador withdrew.
So this was it then: the end. She was going to meet the fate traditional for women who get embroiled in the affairs of men: rape, destruction and death. She was going to be fought over, then carried away and mauled and pawed and slavered over and cut open and poked then taken out and stoned to death with rocks battering her bones and her breasts and her head and smashing her face to a pulp, she had seen it done, she knew what happened.
She saw the possibility of a quicker, cleaner way. Now that she could no longer preserve herself by submitting to the ruling power, Yen Olass chose to die fighting. She spat into her right hand, and closed it into a fist. It was the traditional Yarglat gesture of contempt and defiance, and she had practised it in secret a thousand times when she was playing at being Yarglat of the Yarglat.
Could she take out Chonjara? She could try – and if she died trying, it hardly mattered. Chonjara, using all his energies and wit to dominate and control the crowd, had not yet had time to recover his sword.
'I killed my first man at the age of twelve,' said Yen Olass.
By dint of long practice, the line came out perfect.
'You can make a fist, I can see that,' said Chonjara, who, as a general, was not about to compromise his dignity by fighting with a woman. He pointed at one of the bravos who had lined up to contend for Yen Olass. 'Take her!’
The man stepped forward. Nan Nulador intercepted him and flattened him.
'Nan Nulador!' said Chonjara.
'Am I ruled by a dralkosh?' said Nan Nulador, standing over the comatose body of the man he had downed.
Chonjara hesitated. He could answer yes. He could persuade the crowd to tear Nan Nulador apart. But Chonjara valued his bodyguard; the muscle-mountain was too valuable to sacrifice lightly.
'By your oath,' said Chonjara, 'I command you to stand back and stay silent.’
Nan Nulador bowed his head and withdrew.
'You can command his body,' said Yen Olass, 'but not his judgment. There's one person who knows Khmar won't be happy about this!’
There was a murmur from the crowd, and Chonjara was not sure what it meant. He gestured at another of the bravos.
'You!’
'So that's the man you choose to face Khmar,' said Yen Olass.
And the hero hesitated.
'Khmar will take you and break you at his leisure,' said Yen Olass, addressing Chonjara. 'As for me – when I piss again I piss on the grave of your sheep-lick shasha father.’
In the crowd, someone tittered.
'That's enough from you, whore,' said Chonjara. 'We can cut you open and rip you apart here and now.’
'We?' said Yen Olass. 'You and who else? How many others do you need to help you? I would've thought you could've managed on your own. After all, you managed all right in Mentigen.’
There was a roar of laughter from the soldiers. Yen Olass knew all the army gossip, including the rumour that a small tribe in Mentigen had made Chonjara stand at stud to a mare to save his life when he had been their prisoner.
Chonjara charged.
Yen Olass cowered down, as if in fear. Then snatched up a handful of mud and threw it. She ducked sideways as Chonjara kicked and flailed, fighting blind, bellowing, his eyes full of mud. Yen Olass took him from behind, her arm sweeping up between his legs. Crunching into his testicles. Lovely.
As Chonjara went down, Yen Olass followed through, putting in the boot. Then stopped, panting. Should she kill him? She wanted to, yes. But the army would feel obliged to destroy a woman who killed a man.
And if she let Chonjara live? Was the army ready to be persuaded that Chonjara was a fool, that Khmar would punish mutiny, that there was no evidence to condemn her?
'Take your boot off his throat,' said Volaine Persaga Haveros, stepping forward.
