crossings, swimming races, archery contests, drums, trumpets, drinking, dancing and gambling.
For at least two days, she would be the Silent One, which was almost as good as being empress. Maybe better.
She wondered what she would get to eat that night. She supposed she could have whatever she wanted: she started thinking up lists of things to order. Would they have grapes? No, much too early in the year. What a pity. But someone could surely come up with a gaplax or two, if she really insisted. And insist she would.
She should try and get hold of some nice clothes, too, so she could take a present back to Resbit. Something in silk. And some furs for Monogail, for the winter. And a new jacket. But how would the Silent One justify asking for children's clothes and a heavyweight jacket? She would have to ask Watashi to put it all on the list of things required as a ransom.
Perhaps she should ask for a horse, too. Or at least a pony. But there was no decent pasture on the Lesser Teeth. So she would need some turf as well, maybe half a shipload. Or was that being too extravagant? No. They were ransoming off the Lord Emperor of Tameran, the great Celadric. The higher their demands, the more credibility they would gain. If their demands were too modest, their hosts might begin to suspect that the emperor was actually dead.
That was logical. She decided to inform Watashi of this exquisite logic as soon as possible, and put in an order for a couple of horses, a shipload of turf, a case of the best silk, a wardrobe of leather clothes with fleece linings, a complete set of four-season furs in a child's size and an adult's size, a mirror, a dreamquilt, and a female lyre-cat to mate with Quelaquix. And some talking birds with bright feathers, if available.
Why not?
Opportunities like this only came once in a lifetime; it was best to make the most of them. Besides, she had given years of good service to the empire, as an oracle, and she had never been paid for any of her work, except when Lord Alagrace had tipped her; she was rightfully entitled to what she was asking for.
Feeling more relaxed and cheerful than she had for days, Yen Olass began to look forward to the reception which was awaiting them.
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Castle Vaunting was no more; the great fortress built by wizards had been destroyed. Hearst claimed the damage had been done by a walking mountain. Yen Olass knew that was ridiculous – nevertheless, something had smashed the castle.
The moat which had once been filled with fire had been buried for the most part, but the fire now forced its way up through pits, craters, and chasms which gashed Melross Hill at random. Scattered masonry, tottering fragments of walls and the stumps of ruined towers littered the landscape. The rains had washed away part of the hillside, making high-rising ruins out of some of the castle's dungeons. In places, the skull-bald rock of the hill itself poked through to the open air, revealing the dark mouths of caves and tunnels.
This glorified rubbish dump was known as the castle scrag. Perched on the edge of the castle scrag was Castle Celadric, named to the greater glory of the reigning emperor. Compared to the ruins of the wizard fortress, it looked like a toy. A beautiful toy, because it had been built for height; Yen Olass counted thirty fluted spires. She knew that they had been built for a grim purpose: to be used as platforms for archers to shoot at the Neversh when those monsters made their incursions. In the town itself, other spires echoed those of the castle. To the south, the monsters of the Swarms commanded the lands, and worked steadily at the causeway designed to give them access to Estar. Once Hearst had got the ransom, taken it to the Lesser Teeth, negotiated with Draven to redeem Celadric's life and had negotiated with Celadric for control of the west of Argan, then the real battles would be only beginning.
Remembering the five baby keflos she had killed on the flats near her home on Carawell, Yen Olass shuddered. She was glad that only men would be condemned to those epic battles of the future; with her part done, she would be able to go home and forget about such world-redeeming heroics. She had never yet seen one of the Neversh, and trusted that she never would.
Castle Celadric, commanding Melross Hill, was built out of stone, but the town of Garabatoon, down by the river, was built of logs. To the north, the forest had been felled, and the land brought under cultivation; the tallest vegetation was now hedges of sprite bamboo. Yen Olass wondered what had happened to the Melski – then turned her attention to other things, because they were approaching Garabatoon's High Hall, where the reception was to be held.
Entering the high-gabled wooden hall, she found it was everything she could have desired. In contrast to the rather stark garrison town outside, the interior of the hall was lavishly decorated. Tapestries hung on the walls, and the entire ceiling was ablaze with flowers, cunningly entwined in fishing nets.
At the far end of the hall, a chair was set up on a dais, like a throne. With a lordly confidence, Watashi strode forward and assumed the chair. Servants scurried forward, and, bowing and scraping, explained his error in tense whispers. Yen Olass already knew what he had done wrong. The chair was for the most senior guest present; the Silent One, as a member of Celadric's entourage, outranked any uitlander overlord like Watashi. Looking decidedly miffed, Watashi quit the chair for a lesser seat on one side of the hall. Yen Olass, a slight smile hidden behind her veil, stepped forward and seated herself in the place of honour.
She studied the other members of their party. Morgan Hearst and Eldegen Terzanagel, their grey robes flowing, their heads cowled, their hands – and Hearst's hook hidden in their capacious sleeves as they walked forward with their arms folded, both looked like venerable scholars. And, indeed, they seemed to be absorbed in some deep and scholarly argument, almost oblivious to their surroundings. Yen Olass thought they were playing their roles perfectly. In fact, they were not playing at all – speaking to each other in the High Speech of wizards, they had become absorbed in a low-voiced but vigorous argument concerning the aetiology of the Swarms, and of the Skull of the Deep South which controlled those monsters.
When all the guests were seated, a minor functionary approached. He regretted that Lord Meddon and Lord York were delayed; they were reviewing urgent despatches from the southern borders, giving details of an incursion by the Swarms. In the meantime, would Yen Olass deal with two urgent matters of discipline?
She said she would.
Trumpets blared, and guards led in a young, pale, frightened woman. A herald advanced with a sheaf of papers.
He bowed.
'This is the evidence against the accused. Do you wish to have it read in public?’
T will examine it with the eye's silence,' said Yen Olass, glad that she had reviewed the section on Trial Proceedings in the Book of the Sisterhood.
The herald advanced, knelt before her and yielded up the papers. Yen Olass began to read, swiftly.
The Silent One dealt with delinquent oracles and with people who tried to suborn the Sisterhood for their own purposes. The woman now in front of Yen Olass was an oracle who was said to be delinquent. In this kind of trial, there was no bill of particulars; the accused had no right to know the nature of the charges being brought against her; evidence could be presented in writing, without the accused ever knowing who was bringing such evidence against her, or, indeed, what that evidence was.
In this case, it was mostly rumour, gossip, hearsay, and, quite possibly, outright fabrication. On the principle that where there's smoke there's fire, Yen Olass assumed that the girl before her had certainly done something wrong.
But what? She might have stolen a kiss on the sly with the baker's boy, or she might have whored her body through half the army. Yen Olass knew that the maintenance of good order and discipline required the administration of immediate punishment; at the same time, she had to endeavour to protect the mystique of the Sisterhood.
In a penetrating voice, Yen Olass proclaimed her judgment:
'You have dared altogether too much. You will restrict yourself to your quarters until you have completed a suitable period of penance. Now, out of my sight!’
Weeping bitterly, the girl withdrew. Yen Olass spoke to the herald, directing him to deliver any and all additional or supplementary copies of the evidence to her quarters by nightfall. She had not yet been assigned quarters, but did not trouble herself about that – she would most certainly have a suitable suite of rooms before dayfail, or know the reason why.
Already she knew what she would have to do. She would have to interrogate the girl in private, and find out
