gate should be, there was darkness. In a moment of madness, Drake got to his feet. Step by step, he advanced. Until he stood within the gateway. Within the shadows. He went on.
And found himself in the streets of Selzirk.
By the polished silver light of the moon, he saw the shattered shadows of half-demolished buildings. Saw another mound of monsters heaped up a hundred paces away. Why did they heap themselves like that? For security? For bodywarmth? Did they have warm bodies?Drake turned.He moved as if in a dream.He knew what he had to do.
He had to regain his bamboo pole and the makeshift valises which it supported. Everything he needed to survive was there: warmth, food, tinder-box. There would be no food between here and Chenameg, not in a land ravaged by refugees and by the Swarms.As if in a trance, he walked past the mound of monsters.A claw extended.Touched him on the shoulder.He stood quite still.Waiting.For what?To die.The claw dug into his flesh.The moon . . . shifted behind cloud . . . then emerged again . . . then . . . was swallowed by a whale-bellied thunderhead of cloud . . .. . . and the claw . . .The claw relaxed, shifted.Drake dropped to his knees.The claw fell free.Scraped on the stones of the Salt Road.Drake, on his belly, flowed away, soundless, silent.
Regained his bamboo pole, shouldered the weight, and stepped to the edge of the Salt Road. And started counting paces. Once he had counted off a hundred paces, he stopped. Now was the time to scream, to cry, to weep, to vomit.He did none of those things.
Instead, he closed his eyes and breathed for a while, very slowly, very quietly. Concentrating on his breath. Breath is life. So said the weapons muqaddam.T am alive,' said Drake.
He was alive, even though Selzirk had fallen. He was alive, even though the world had ended. And what now? Well, he had decided that already – the only chance was to push on east. To Chenameg.
Burdened by his bamboo pole, Drake marched. And did not stop for rest until he was exhausted. By that time, it was dawn.He laid himself down in a ditch, and he slept.And dreamed.
And why, in his dreams, did the moon run red with blood? Why did he hear his father screaming as he fell from a coalcliff in Stokos, to die on the white-fanged rocks of the sea? Why did he dream himself dead, with Plovey his god in the after world? Why did he wake weeping?'Courage,' whispered Drake to Drake.And, that day, he lengthened his footsteps.
And, in time, saw mountains amidst the clouds to north and to south. And passed through the Mountain Gap, thus leaving the Harvest Plains for Chenameg.
Rough ground. Huge forests dark with ancient trees.
Tall bamboo, talking in the ever-weeping wind. Mud. Quarry pits. Abandoned mines. The hutches of poverty. A burnt-out town. A single giant centipede, which he evaded.
He came upon a scene of slaughter. A Galish kafila had been attacked. Dead men and dead camels lay together, maggots swarming within their flesh without favour. Everything worth having had been looted; all that remained was bales of hemp and ixtle, urns of coffee and hyson, blocks of nephrite jade and ingots of steel.No food.
That evening, Drake came upon three men who sat by the river, cooking an animal of sorts on a gad. Rough men they were, with the smell of blood about them.'What's that you're cooking?' asked Drake.'Aardvark,' came the answer.'It looks good,' said Drake.
And, when they saw he accepted their lie, they let him sit and share. Which he did, even though he knew the animal was human.'What's your name, young gaberlunzie?' they asked.
'Oleg,' said Drake, thinking his uncle's name would serve as well as any other for the moment.
And he let them feed him strong drink, pretending to fuzzle himself on the liquor. When they saw the cup tremble in his hands, tremble enough to make wavelets jabble from side to side, they drew knives and attacked.But of course their victim was still stone cold sober.
And, shortly, two corpses lay at Drake's feet. The third man was in the river. Drake resented his departure, for the villain had carried away Drake's sword as he fell backwards (very dead) into the waterflow.'A knife will serve for the moment,' said Drake.
And made camp, for he had good meat to smoke for proper preservation before he pushed on east.
And then, through rain and mud and mist and cloud, he persevered upriver, coming in due course to the Gates of Chenameg.
Here the Velvet River entered Chenameg, boiling out through a narrow gorge. A path clung to the southernmost flank of that precipitous gorge. The path offered the only road inland; elsewhere, gaunt cliffs confronted the traveller.But none could follow the path for free.
A gang of the rough and the reckless had set themselves up as masters of the Gates of Chenameg. They had built a huge gabionade to deny public access to the path. This gabionade had no gates; the only way to enter was by rope ladders, which were lowered at need then pulled up again.
To get through, and travel further inland, it was necessary to pay with food, gold, jade, jewels or women.
But, as yet, the need of the travelling public was not desperate. For, as yet, few monsters of the Swarms had been sighted in Chenameg. So a huge refugee camp had grown up in front of the Gates of Chenameg. And here, in a squalor of mud and filth and rain and refuse, thousands of the half-starved eked out their rations, traded, bartered, cheated, gambled, pimped, whored, stole, fought, and patronized a rabble of astrologers and fortune tellers.
Drake went straight to the Gates, and offered himself for hire.'What are you?' they asked.'A master swordsman,' he said.'But you have no sword!' they said.
And threw things at him. First clods, then rocks. So he retreated, and scoured amongst the camp, seeking steel for sale. Much there was, and cheap, but most was worthless. He saw any number of worthless duelling swords, their thin blades welded to the hilts. But what he wanted was good steel, blade and tang forged as a single unit.In the end, he found what he was seeking.
And bought it, with five fists of meat.
Then took it away, and drew it to a rare ray of winter sunlight, and gloated. Steel it was, and slender, light enough to thrust with, yet with weight enough to hack wood at will, or cleave head from shoulders. Within the blade, the play of light and shadow hinted at a thousand interlaced perfections.'Now,' said Drake, 'to seek some honest employment.'
So he went back to the gabionade which guarded the Gates of Chenameg. But another weaponmaster was there before him. And Drake saw the man go up a rope ladder all happy-eager, then his corpse come down without his weapon.'So much for that,' said Drake
And found work as protection man for a tented brothel, taking his payment in meals for each of his appetites. Meanwhile, he put out word as wide as he could. He was interested in a woman. Red in hair, red in skin – not by dye but by nature.
Now, in the face of the Swarms, there were but three reasonable routes of escape.
One was to outrun their onslaught north by fleeing along the Salt Road. Many had taken that route, some with success – and others without.
A second was to try for the west, daring the open waters of the Central Ocean. But that needed ships, and many who could flee that way had left it too late.
The last option was to head east. Inland. Which many had done. And, as the Swarms encroached further east, many who had broken their journey (to sojourn at hunting lodges or elsewhere) were driven to the gates of Chenameg.
And, towards the end of winter, Drake got news of a woman in red. He responded without undue excitement – there had been seven false alarms already – and followed the newsbearer to a rainshelter near the river.
Inside the rainshelter sat Plovey of the Regency, warming himself at a small fire.
Outside, two hulking men were working to erect another rainshelter. Sitting in the mud, hands tied behind their backs, were three women, roped neck to neck.One was Zanya.Who saw Drake, but did not shout or cry or even smile, for she guessed that her silence would serve him best.
And Drake sauntered up nice and easy to the two hulking men putting up the rainshelter.'Good morning,' said Drake, polite as anything.'It's afternoon,' said one of the men, without turning.'Why, so it is,' said Drake.
And knifed him.
'Gurumph!' cried the knifed man, in a choked voice. And fell.
The other leaped back and drew a dirk.
