horse demanded a real commitment to the values of religion.
'As my lord wishes,' said the Ondrask, and bowed.
Like many other people faced with the alternative of immediate death, the Ondrask chose to eat the shit that was set before him. Yen Olass knew just what it tasted like. To her surprise, she felt a momentary pang of sympathy for him. It passed swiftly, for she had other things to think about.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
By tradition, the Yarglat did not eat with their womenfolk. It was true that, during the reign of the Witchlord, the dralkosh Bao Gahai used to dine with Onosh Gulkan on a regular basis – but she had been an exceptional woman in more ways than one.
Since Celadric came to power, however, the tradition had been declining. Celadric had deliberately held a series of banquets to which men and women were invited. Some important Yarglat generals who had refused to attend those banquets had subsequently been demoted, exiled or assassinated.
Over the generations in which the Yarglat had ruled the Collosnon Empire, the old traditions had been reinforced by wave after wave of immigrants coming south from the homelands of the horse tribes. But, under Celadric's rule, nomads coming south no longer received a warm welcome. He was breaking down the last vestiges of tribal culture, deliberately fostering a cosmopolitan atmosphere.
By breaking the old patterns, Celadric hoped to destroy the power and prestige of the high caste Yarglat warlords, ending their independence and subjecting them to the full discipline of imperial law. He wanted to put an end to the disastrous feuding and duelling of past generations. Breaking the old tribal monopoly on power would also allow him to recruit talent from elsewhere in the empire.
Remembering the fearsome lesson of the Blood Purge, talent had been reluctant to let itself be recruited. But now, at last, Celadric was starting to have some success. In a few more years, he would no longer be in the ridiculous situation of trying to run an empire with only a handful of competent bureaucrats; over the next few decades, he hoped to be able to start tackling the empire's larger problems, such as dredging the Yolantarath River to avoid the annual spring floods.
On the day on which Yen Olass Ampadara was captured, Celadric held one of his famous mixed banquets. In part, he was pursuing his policy of cultural change. But, quite apart from that, he wanted to celebrate. And he certainly had plenty to celebrate.
While Celadric's brothers had debated about whether to raise the ransom Draven had been demanding, Celadric had negotiated his own release. Tomorrow morning, his sister Quenerain – the source of so much unpalatable scandal – would be married off to Draven. And a solemn treaty would be signed, thanks to which the Greater Teeth would become a part of the Collosnon Empire, administered by Draven.
Celadric knew that the times had favoured him. With the reduced trade in the Central Ocean, the pirates had fallen on hard times of late. After the treaty was signed, the Greater Teeth would be used as a base for Operations against the Swarms, and Celadric had been able to offer hefty payments in the form of rents for military bases and harbour dues. To put it simply, he had bought out the pirates. Nevertheless, the fact remained: he had conquered the Greater Teeth, which had successfully resisted some of the world's most formidable military minds.
He was in a good mood.
The only thing that irritated him was his concubine, Yerzerdayla. She had asked him to release the captive oracle, Yen Olass Ampadara. Over the years they had spent together, her cool judgment and her carefully calculated advice had served him well. But lately…
More and more, over the last year or so, Yerzerdayla had been making little requests of him. Spare this man. Free this woman. Restrain the torturers. Let the hostage go. Sometimes, she didn't really seem to appreciate how difficult it was to rule the empire. Given a perfect world, of course he would have been the perfect ruler. He was not given to gratuitous cruelty, like his father, Khmar. But the world was not perfect. And, in an imperfect world, it was sometimes necessary to be a little bit ruthless in order to expedite the efficient administration of the empire.
Once, quite recently, Yerzerdayla had embarrassed Celadric badly by making one of her requests for mercy during the course of a banquet. He had refused – but, doing so, had put himself in quite a bad light. To avoid any similar scenes at this evening's entertainment, he ordered Yerzerdayla to confine herself to her chambers until the morning.
He wanted to enjoy himself.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
At the banquet that evening in Castle Celadric, Yen Olass sat in a place of honour, on York's right; from time to time he thumped his fist on the table and shouted out, calling for special treats and titbits to be brought forth for her. Serving maids scurried to obey.
York spoke to her with elaborate courtesy, addressing her as 'my Lady Ampadara', 'my beloved honey-sweet', 'light of my life', 'consort of the seventh moon' and 'star of stars, joy of the summer heavens'.
When a low-ranking warrior down the far end of the banqueting table cried out that she was a dralkosh, York got to his feet, stalked the warrior (he tried to run, but guards barred his exit), slashed his face, smashed his jaw, bit off his nose, cut off his ear, broke his neck, opened his throat, then rammed the wreckage with a roasting spit. (His father, the late Khmar, would undoubtedly have approved.)
Such little courtesies were the honours properly due to a royal consort, and a naive young girl might have thought her luck was changing. But Yen Olass was not fooled for a moment. York had spoken clearly enough in front of the assembly earlier in the day. Her fate was to be raped by royalty then handed over to the army to be raped to rubble and then, in all probability, smashed with rocks in a muddy field, with her remains being left to rot in the open until the scavengers came to dog down their hunger.
For the moment, she played the game. She returned York's compliments, she got him to compel the kitchens to yield up a gaplax (grapes unfortunately proved unobtainable – indeed, she was informed that none grew in Estar) and she applauded her hero when he defended her honour by junking the man foul enough to call her a dralkosh.
(Her applause was genuine; she had no sympathy whatsoever for anyone ready to call her by that obscene name.)
While Yen Olass played this cruel game, she kept her wits about her. She ate well, but did not gorge herself, and she watered her wine heavily. Toward the end of the banquet, she excused herself so she could go to the toilet. As she left the room, two brawny serving maids fell in beside her; they escorted her to the stink pits and stayed with her until she returned to the banquet. Yen Olass was not disappointed: she had not expected escape to be that easy.
Shortly after she returned to the banquet, heralds shouted for silence, guards ejected those drunks too intoxicated to know when to shut up, and Celadric rose to speak.
'It is late,' said Celadric.
An incautious warrior groaned, and he, too, was ejected without ceremony. But many at the banquet table would have shared his sentiments. When the Lord Emperor Celadric indulged himself, he did so only very mildly, for he was something of a kill-joy; in his father's day, on a night like this the whole court would have partied until dawn, with at least one warrior drinking himself to death, but it was almost certain that Celadric was now going to tell everyone to go to bed.
'It is late,' said Celadric, emphasizing the point. 'And we'll all be up early tomorrow, for the river festival. So, very shortly, we'll all be going to sleep.’
There was another groan, but this time the guards failed to detect the culprit.
'Good sleep makes for good health,' said Celadric.
The truth was that he did not like drunks roistering through his castle late at night, fighting, shouting, swearing and vomiting over the floor. And he certainly saw nothing heroic in those drinking men who liked to compete in
