exactly what had happened. Then, if the offence was minor, penance could be fixed at two or three days of solitary confinement; if there was some major scandal, Yen Olass would have to root it out, and might have to send some people back to Gendormargensis for execution.
She did not find the challenge formidable. Instead, she found it quite delicious. In the past, faint rumours of amazing scandals had reached Gendormargensis from the provinces – members of the Sisterhood involved in prostitution, or money-lending, or gambling, or opium rings. If there was a real full-blown scandal here in Garabatoon, Yen Olass would find it exquisitely interesting to poke and probe and get to the bottom of it.
Her investigation would also allow her to interrogate oracles in depth about the politics of Garabatoon and the intentions of its leaders.
Serendipity, she thought.
(To be precise, what she actually thought was 'dara ta kara', an idiomatic phrase from her homeland of Monogail, meaning 'apples from heaven'; as there were no apples in the northern wastelands, this indicates that within the last four or five thousand years, the people of her racial stock had lived in warmer lands further to the south.)
While Yen Olass was cogitating, a squad of armoured guards led in the second prisoner. At first she did not look at the prisoner, but feasted her eyes on the four guards, who were armoured, not with the simple cuirass and open-faced helmet standard in the armies of the Collosnon Empire, but with a gilded panoply of full body armour, the crowning glory of which was jewelled and visored helmets decorated with flowery plumes of green and gold and blue. She had once had a plumed helmet herself – but it had not been as pretty as these, and she had soon lost it.
She turned her attention to the prisoner, and was surprised to see it was the Ondrask of Noth. He stood there before her in his stinking animal skins; as always, he was loaded down with feathers, beads, skulls and assorted other talismans. There was a faint smile playing across his face.
'What is this prisoner accused of?' said Yen Olass. 'An act of impropriety in relation to an oracle,' said the herald.
This was a serious charge, yet the Ondrask seemed amused by the proceedings. Yen Olass was annoyed. He was in the presence of the Silent One; he should comport himself accordingly. Perhaps there was something wrong with him. Perhaps he was slightly touched.
'What is the nature of this act of impropriety?' said Yen Olass.
The herald did not answer. He seemed embarrassed. He looked at the papers relating to the case, coughed, then looked away.
'Well?' said Yen Olass.
The herald hesitated.
'If it's too obscene to say in public,' said Yen Olass, 'then give me the papers and I will examine them with the eye's silence.’
'No need,' said the Ondrask of Noth boldly. T will demonstrate.’
'You will do no such thing!' said Yen Olass, outraged.
The Ondrask of Noth cackled madly. He dropped down on all fours and came bounding toward her. He mounted the dais, reached her throne, and began to lick her hands. Yen Olass swatted him. and shouted:
'Guards!’
The four guards in gold-gleaming armour removed their visored helmets and stood revealed as the Lord Emperor Celadric, his brothers Meddon and York, and the pirate chief Draven. The Ondrask tore away Yen Olass's veil.
'Welcome, Yen Olass,' said Celadric. 'Welcome to Garabatoon.’
'But… but you're in the Greater Teeth!' said Yen Olass.
Draven laughed.
Meddon wheeled to face the seats where Yen Olass's followers were waiting, undecided as to whether everything was entirely lost.
'Seize them!' shouted Meddon, pointing.
The reaction was instantaneous.
Morgan Hearst threw aside his grey robes, revealing arms and armour. Left-handed, he drew his sword with a scream of defiance:
'Ahyak Rovac!’
And Watashi was drawing his own blade to fight beside him. They leapt forward – and went down as lead- weighted nets plummeted from the ceiling. An entire section of flower-upholding nets had been dropped at Meddon's shout. Men swarmed forward to overpower and disarm their captives before they could cut themselves free of the nets.
Yen Olass got to her feet. But before she could try to escape, the Ondrask of Noth grabbed her. His arm came throttling round her throat and jerked her backwards. He pressed his body against her. She felt his urgency.
'Let her go,' said York. 'She's not for you.’
'What?' said the Ondrask.
At his exclamation of outrage; Yen Olass smelt the stench of his breath adding itself to the stink of his body.
'She's mine,' said York. T claim her.’
'What would you want her for?' said the Ondrask. 'You've got women-’
'She would amuse me for a night,' said York. 'After that… the armies are waiting.’
Yen Olass felt the Ondrask's grip slacken. She was able to breathe more easily. Her breathing was quick, frantic, shallow, shocked. She felt her skip-quick heart rabbiting for the horizon.
'My lord,' said the Ondrask, appealing to the emperor.
Celadric smiled, and shook his head.
'But you promised!' shouted the Ondrask. 'Your word! Are you going to deny
His voice trailed away. Celadric was waiting. Waiting and watching. For what? Yen Olass, familiar with the politics of the Collosnon Empire, understood exactly what Celadric was waiting for. He was waiting for the Ondrask to say something unpardonable. Once that happened, he would find himself negotiating with the sharp edge of an axe. Celadric, with his new ideas for a sanitary, streamlined empire, was ready to do away with the religion of Noth with its sweat and its dirt, its dances and horse sacrifices, its shamans and dream-saying. The Ondrask of Noth understood too; he said no more.
Celadric spoke to the silence:
'Do you expect your emperor to be your pimp?’
'My lord,' said the Ondrask, 'the woman is old and ugly. I thought your brother might care… might care for an opportunity to review his declaration.’
The Ondrask was stumbling. He was finding it difficult to find suitable words. This was not surprising: his life was in the balance. Unlike Yen Olass, he was not used to confronting people who wanted to kill him. Celadric cocked his head at York. 'Well?’
'Old earth ploughs easily,' said York.
This brought a laugh from the assembly. Yen Olass was unfamiliar with this agricultural idiom, as it had entered the language and had become popular while she had been living on the Lesser Teeth. Nevertheless, it conjured up images – earth, horse, plough, sun, sweat, fluid, blood. She remembered something which she had entirely forgotten about in the excitement of reaching Garabatoon.
'I have my months,' said Yen Olass.
Her penetrating voice was heard by everyone. Someone stifled a giggle; someone else failed to stifle a hearty guffaw. York did not look disconcerted, not even for a moment. A slow smile spread across his face, then he spoke:
'Messy but nice.’
Celadric frowned; he found his brother rather too crude and earthy for his taste.
'You,' said Celadric curtly, pointing at the Ondrask. 'As a favour to compensate you for the loss of the slut, I dedicate a human being for you to sacrifice tomorrow, instead of a horse. The human being is Morgan Hearst.’
The Ondrask's face fell. This offer, ostensibly a special honour, was an insult to his religion. In war, captive horses were more valuable than captive men; to kill a prisoner was nothing, an empty gesture, but to slaughter a
