by Allan Cole
"All of Orissa and most of the surrounding countryside are now under Director Kato's rule. I was told he used the term 'pacified.' Which meant all who opposed him were hunted down and slain. And all their family and all their friends. The Anteros were atop that death list.
"You should know that all Pisidia has been shocked by the assault on your family, my dear. We've wept and said many prayers for your ghosts. Men and women, even infants, were slain. Until all Anteros, the rumors claim, were wiped from the face of the earth."
"But what about Emilie?" I said. "My grandniece. Do you know for certain that she's been slain? Have you even heard her name mentioned?"
My heart sank when she nodded yes.
'That is a tragic tale in itself, I fear," she said. "One of your brother's most trusted captains died trying to save your little Emilie. Her name was Kele—you may recall it from your brother's journal."
Yes, I knew it well. Kele had been his most loyal and able skipper. She'd commanded the fleet that took them to Tyrenia. And her father, Lu'r, had skippered my brother's first voyage in search of the Far Kingdoms.
"Kele spirited Emilie out of the city when the collapse came and the assassins were hunting down your family. She carried her up the river to the rebel stronghold, dodging Kato's forces for weeks. I believe that stronghold is called Galana. Perhaps you know of the place?"
I nodded. It was in the small temple of Galana where my journey had truly begun fifty years ago. It was also the Maranon Guard's private retreat for old soldiers and would be an ideal place to withstand a siege.
"Captain Kele," Hana continued, "was cornered before she reached her goal. She turned to fight, sending others ahead to Galana with little Emilie. In the end Kele was slain and the girl was safe. But only temporarily so. At least that's the last news I heard. As I said, it was as much rumor as news.
"The account making the rounds now is that the rebel defenses at Galana have been breached, and although they were not overwhelmed, the child herself has been taken."
"And killed?" I asked. "Do they say she was killed?"
Hana gestured helplessly. She didn't want to arouse false cheer. But she didn't want to alarm me unduly, either. "Yes, they did. However, it's speculation, I'm sure," she said. "Although ... what else could you expect her fate to be?"
"If Novari's got her," I said, "I'm not sure. Death may not be so bad an end if that's the case."
Hana grimaced. Besides my own tale, I'd told her what Maranonia had said about the child's innate power. A power that Novari desperately wanted. And Hana could guess what means the Lyre Bird would take to achieve that aim.
"Even with a child?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "Even with a child."
Then I asked, "What of Novari? What role has she played, other than the power behind the scenes, of course."
"I'm afraid your assumption is in error, my dear Rali," she said. "The Lyre Bird is very much onstage. In fact, she takes the center. Wait, I'll show you ..."
She got up to rummage in a chest and brought back a roll of blue cloth. She unrolled it, saying, "A merchant brought this to me a few weeks ago."
She held it up. Emblazoned on it was the picture of a wondrous golden bird perched on an ancient harp.
It was Novari. The Lyre Bird.
And Hana said, "This is the flag that now hangs over your city. She's been declared a living goddess in Orissa, and it's her banner that Kato flies—that he commands all to fight and die for."
She crumpled up the flag and hurled it to the floor, then kicked it to the side and slumped back into her chair.
"Many have become convinced of her godhead, I'm sorry to report," Hana said. "Her magic is very powerful. Especially with the Evocators' workshops in her hands. The Law of Unification is a staff she is increasingly learning to wield. It's amazing that Palmeras and the rebels have been able to hold out against her for so long."
"It's Emilie," I said. "Little Emilie is shielding them from the full force." I looked up at her. "But if she's dead..."
Hana sighed. "Yes. All is lost. But we'll pray that it's otherwise. And if the gods be willing, you'll reach her side scon." I SAILED THE next day with the bells of Pisidia tolling at my back. I could still feel Hana's farewell kiss on my cheek and hear her whispered prayer fluttering in my ear.
The winds were with me and the gods' attentions were elsewhere, for I sailed without incident for many a day and many a night It was a dismal experience. Day after day I agonized over what had happened to my city. I was even more devastated as the reality of what had happened to my family sank its claws deeper and deeper with each league that I traveled.
All my kinsmen had been slain, Hana said. So many lifetimes, so much struggle and pain, to make the Antero name.
Wiped out by Novari.
I brooded over the long journey. And polished my weapons and kept myself fit for what was to come.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Return to Orissa
IT WAS LATE summer coming on to fall when I reached the mouth of the Orissan River.
I approached with extreme caution. I'd already dodged swarms of patrol craft flying the Lyre Bird's flag. They were bristling with armed men, and each carried an Evocator to sniff for magical contraband But I knew the delta region well: where the fog banks and hidden coves were most likely to be; where the coastline was most deserted and would offer the most ideal cover.
I leapfrogged from fog bank to cove to fog bank. Several times I slipped into a cove and climbed a hill to spy on the patrol ships. Once, I saw a patrol run down a petty smuggler. They boarded the ship, searched it, and seized some cargo from the hold.
This was not so unusual. All civilized people have regulations to protect their trade. Under Orissan law—the Orissa I'd last seen five decades before—the ship, its captain, and the crew would have been arrested and made to stand trial. The penalties would range from heavy fines to imprisonment Perhaps even banishment, if the smugglers were citizens.
What happened next, however, was not only unusual but appalling. Through my telescope I saw the ship's Evocator order the goods placed under special seal. Then the captain and crew were beheaded on the spot and their corpses were dumped into the smuggling ship, which was burned in place.
I shadowed another such patrol craft for two days. I watched them board ship after ship. Almost all were allowed to pass without harm when the search was completed. But a few were as unlucky as the first group I had seen.
If I wanted to avoid the same fate, I'd have to approach Orissa by land. It was a week's walk from the delta to the city. Four days on horseback. Whatever means I took, I'd also need a disguise that would pass muster at the many checkpoints I assumed Novari and Kato would've posted along all the main byways.
The most wrenching part of my decision was realizing it was unsafe to leave my ship behind. There was no hiding place I could trust completely. If someone stumbled on it, Novari's Evocators would soon be swarming all over the ship and quickly pick up my spoor, which to the Lyre Bird would be unmistakable.
I found a likely inlet to do the deed and ran the ship up on the shore. I cut a splinter of silver from the mast. If by chance I survived, I could recreate her from the splinter and fly home to Salimar. I didn't think that circumstance was likely, but I did it anyway.
Then I said a prayer of apology to the ship's soul and cast the spell that would destroy it. Cold blue flames licked up all around her. There was no smoke, but as each piece of the ship caught fire, the air shimmered, then there was a sharp crack as it vanished into nothingness.
When I departed, all that remained was the depression on the beach where I'd driven her ashore.
TWO DAYS LATER I came out of the hills and found the main road leading to Orissa. I was riding a fat old war-horse whose best days were behind her. She fit perfecdy with the disguise I'd adopted.
I was posing as a Guards woman who'd been pensioned off because of the wounds she'd suffered fighting for Oris
sa. To that end, I'd removed my golden hand'—wrapping it in clean white rags—and stashed it in my saddlebags. I covered the stump with a wooden bowl carved for that purpose. It had an attachment fixed to it so I could grip the bow I carried slung across my back. I made the magical eyepatch appear like sturdy leather, tanned a deep brown. And I rubbed a little rouge into the scar below to make it stand out more.
I demoted myself to sergeant, and to avoid untimely slips of the tongue, I kept my first name—Rali. I wasn't worried about arousing suspicion. After all, many Orissan children were named for me after my victory over the Archons. And if anyone thought of it, they would assume I was one of those children who happened to follow her namesake into the Guard.
My costume was an appropriate mix: military cloak and boots, civilian shirt and breeches, topped off by a battered bowman's cap with a wide brim. I cast spells to make my sword and other weapons seem more like those of an ordinary sergeant. Besides sword and bow, I had various knives and daggers stashed about me. And a good many other nasty surprises in my saddlebags and pack.
Keeping the riverbank on my left, I rode for an hour or more with the road to myself. I savored that short time. It was one of those rare moments in life when, amidst the greatest adversity, all your cares are suddenly swept away and you find peace.
I was riding under a warm Orissan sun, with the smells of the familiar river wafting on the breeze. A few fishermen plied their nets in the middle, and birds were circling, calling out to their brothers and sisters to come see this marvelous feast On my right was field and forest and farmland. Small animals would dart from the brush, be startled by my presence, and freeze for a moment then dash back. Cattle moved close to the fences, lowing as I passed. The scent of olives and grapes and oranges mingled with the river wind to make that most unique of perfumes—the scent of home.
I basked in it all like a simple animal taking pleasure when and where she can get it. Then I saw a farm cart coming toward me, and the real world came crashing back.
But just before I reached the wagon I whispered to myself: "Welcome home, Rali."
The heavily laden cart was drawn by a resentful mule. A graybearded farmer walked beside it, tapping the mule behind the ear with a stick whenever the notion took him. Each time he was tapped, the mule curled his lips as if to bite—which would make the old man mad and earn the mule another rap behind the ears. As I came close I could see that both were near the end of their tempers.
"Good mornin', Granddad," I said.
The old man and the mule jolted up. They'd been so deep in their feud they hadn't noticed me. Both gave me a wary look.
"Mornin'," the farmer replied abruptly.
"Is there a village near here, Granddad?" I asked. "A place where an old sergeant can rest her feet and work her parched throat, if you know what I mean?"
By now the farmer'd seen my battle scars and noted my military bearing. He grinned, suddenly friendly. "There's a right enough place about an hour on, Sergeant," he said. "But watch the innkeep's pour. He's tight-fisted with strangers."
"He better not skin me short of a decent drunk," I growled. "I've had enough of liars and cheats. May Te-Date strike down all the fat-arsed bastards who rob poor soldiers of their due."
"I know whatcha mean, Sergeant," the farmer said. '1 was a soldier once. Just a lad then. And nothing so grand as bein' a Guardswoman like yourself. But I did my part. Yes, indeedy I did. And all I got was grief when I mustered out."
"Damned paymasters," I snarled. "Cheatin' me out of my proper pension, they are." I indicated my stump. "Supposed to get extra for that." I touched my eyepatch. "And more for me ruined glim. Half blind I am, sir! Not that the pittance you get for missing parts can ever repay the loss, mind you. But it's somethin'. If you can get it, it's somethin', anyways."
I snorted. "I'm off to Orissa to set one of them paymasters straight. And I got just enough in my purse to get me there and back. With maybe a drink or two to calm my nerves. So that innkeep better pour me a straight one. Because I'll be thinkin' about paymasters and missin' pensions when I look at that drink. And I swear I won't be responsible if he cheats me!"
"Can't blame you, Sergeant," the farmer said. "Wish I could go along and see he gets it right." He chuckled. "And maybe see what happens if he don't."
He had a jug hooked to his belt and he lifted it off, uncorked it, and handed it to me. "Here's a trickle to wet your throat until you get there, Sergeant," he said.
I grinned thanks and took a long, gurgling drink. Fire hit bottom and blasted back to the top of my skull.
"Whooee!" I said, my grin wider still. "My throat's not wet, it's on fire!"
The farmer laughed and I took another chug.
"That's cider fit for the king of demons himself," I said. "Haven't been bitten by its likes for many a long day."
"Everyone says I jug a good cider," he said.
"If they didn't," I said, "they'd be liars and they'd have to answer to me, sir. And I don't take disagreement lightly."
The farmer eyed me. He hesitated, then pushed past that hesitation. "You be careful in Orissa, Sergeant," he said. "Things ain't right, you know?"
"You mean because of that new batch of bastards they got runnin' the place?" I said.
Although there was no one around for miles, the farmer reflexively looked over his shoulder. Then he said, "Some-thin' like that, Sergeant. Listen, you best not talk that way in Orissa. Callin' the Powers That Be bastards and all."
I snorted, but ducked my head as if chastened. "I'll watch my big mouth, Granddad," I said. "Although I don't know what the world's comin' to when a soldier can't complain. That's our right, dammit!"
"Not with this crew it ain't," the farmer said. He sighed. "I keep out of their way. Hide the crops and animals when the tax boys come. Pay 'em for what they catch me with. And grin as big as I can when I do. 'Cause these folks are serious about their money.
"Heard they took some farmers out and hung 'em in the town squares so everybody'd get the point. Well, I got it right enough. Stay low. Pay what you have to and keep a buttoned lip."
"I won't run from a fight," I said. 'That paymaster's gonna hear from me. Rope or no rope."
"Just don't call his bosses bastards when you do," the farmer pleaded. "And when you come back this way, I'd be pleased to buy you a drink and you can tell me all about it."
I touched my hand to my hat brim in salute. "Thank you for the wamin', Granddad," I said. "And thank you for the drink in my belly and the other you promised."
I started to hand the jug back. He waved it away. "Keep it," he said. "In case I miss your return. If I do, I won't have that promise on my conscience."
I thanked him again and bid him adieu.
I was in a hurry so I passed by the inn he'd mentioned and was glad for the company of the jug. I definitely needed it when I came upon the first patrol.
Thankfully, I saw them in time and was able to get ready. The patrol cantered around a bend so sharp that the road seemed to disappear into the river. My first warning was the fluttering blue and gold banner of the Lyre Bird. Then I heard the clatter of armor and thunder of horses, and the whole patrol came into view. I saw the man carrying the banner point in my direction and turn to shout over his shoulder.
The patrol quickened its pace and headed my way.
There were ten in all. Eight on horseback. Two on an open supply wagon crammed with the makings of a barricade. They were off to some crossroads, no doubt, to set up a guard post.
Behind the standard-bearer were the patrol leaders—a grizzled sergeant and a downy-cheeked Evocator.
I drew up as they approached, uncorked the jug and took a hefty swig. I weaved slightly in my saddle.
The sergeant barked a halt, then cantered forward with the Evocator to inspect me.
I fumbled a salute, weaving dangerously wide.
"Evenin', Sergeant," I said. "I'm a sergeant myself, you know. So it's pleased I am to make your acquaint—uh, acquaint—
to meetcha." I burped and took another pull on the jug, which put me off balance and I had to wave my arms to get straight in the saddle again.
Then I pretended to notice the Evocator for the first time. I let my eyes widen and hiccuped in embarrassment " 'Scuse me, Your Holiness," I said. "Didn't see ya right off." I touched my ruined eye. "What with me missin' glim and all."
The young Evocator had a milky complexion and mean, beady little eyes. He sneered as only the young and spoiled can sneer.
"Look at the jug she's got clutched to her breast," he said to the sergeant. "It's plain she's half blind ... blind drunk, that is." He laughed. It was a high, braying sound.
The sergeant cringed as if he'd been forced to listen to that grating laughter until he could bear it no more.
"Her kind are a waste of the pensions we spend on them," the Evocator said.
He deigned to look at me. I burped, tried to sit up straight, and knocked my forehead trying to make a salute.
The Evocator made that whiny laugh again. The sergeant shuddered, then quickly painted a weak smile on his lips and nodded agreement
'That's the way of her breed, Evocator Jhanns," he said, "as you've been pointin' out to us for nearly a month." The young wizard frowned and the sergeant moved quickly on. "For our enlightenment, of course, Evocator Jhanns. And the lads are all touched you think so much of us. Repeatin' that bit of enlightenment ever' chance you get. So's we don't forget."
The sergeant kicked his horse closer, barking, "What's your business, Sam't?" But the bark was show. I could read sympathy in his weary old noncom's eyes.
"What he said," I replied. Nodding at the Evocator and hiccuping.
The sergeant looked puzzled. "Gettin' drunk, you mean?"
I shook my head hard, nearly losing my balance in the process. My horse blew a long shuddering blast and shifted to help me recover. The old mare was grumpy at my sudden change in behavior.
