Lioness of Kell

by Paul E. Horsman

  She sighed. ‘Then tell me coherently.’

  ‘It’s that bastard Volaut; it can’t be anyone else. He’s had his eye on the prince-warlockry for ages.’

  She frowned. ‘I know. What did he do this time?’

  Basil felt his face grow hot again, but with an effort he wrestled his fear down. ‘The Warlockry Council has summoned me to appear at their midwinter general meeting and prove I have toes.’

  Darquine whistled. ‘You can’t do that,’ she said. ‘Not with your left foot.’

  ‘Curse it, of course I can’t.’ In reaction to his turmoil, fire leaked from his fingers. He raised his hands to his face and stared at the little flames. With a muttered curse, he slapped them out of existence. ‘Ever since my birth, my father has lied to the Council about my foot. He has lied himself ugly in the face that there wasn’t anything wrong with my foot. For that alone the Council will kick him out of the prince-warlockry. Father was so sure he could heal me! He has tried a shipload of spells to make those five stupid toes grow. They wouldn’t; I’ll stay lame. And now ....’

  ‘Now what?’

  He emptied his glass and resisting the impulse to throw it across the room, set it down on the side table. ‘Now the Council will see I’m not beautiful. They’ll judge my father a bungler in producing a deformed child, and a fool in trying to keep it a secret. They will depose him. Perhaps even hang him. Me, I’ll be ... demagicized! They’ll have the healers cut up my brain and take away my powers. I won’t be a warlock anymore.’

  The fear in his face was such that Darquine frowned. ‘Would they go that far?’

  Basil clenched his hands, surprised they were shaking. ‘Yes, they would! That’s what they always do! They’ll make me a lackwit.’

  He took a deep breath and bent forward. ‘There is more. Father has this brilliant solution, you see. He knows of a guy somewhere, who looks like me. With pretty feet, of course.’ He almost choked on the words. ‘Can you imagine? Father wants to bring the fellow here and make the Council believe he is me. Some yokel from the provinces should imitate me, and the Council is supposed to fall for it. How stupid can you get?’

  ‘He’s three sheets to the wind,’ Darquine said, gazing open-mouthed at Basil. ‘Yar scuttled, matey.’

  Her backsliding into the mock-pirate speech of her youth diverted Basil from his troubles. ‘You’re doing it again. It’s so silly.’

  ‘It’s not!’ Darquine’s eyes flashed. ‘My father is a pirate.’

  Basil relaxed, feeling his rage drain away. ‘He’s a merchant captain.’

  ‘He’s a pirate when it suits him.’ Darquine clenched her fists. ‘All our people are. As soon as I get my hands on a ship, I’ll be one. Shucks, I didn’t get my master merchant’s license just to ship dullfruit.’

  Basil sighed. Her father was Wallanck, the Overcaptain of the Chorwaynie Archipelago. Ruler over countless islands and a famous merchant captain. All Chorwaynie captains were pirates when the chance offered itself. Perhaps he should join them; be free of that bloody Council’s nonsense. Then his mind cleared, and he knew what he was to do. He cast a sharp glance at Darquine. ‘A pity you haven’t got a ship yet. I’m going to run.’

  ‘You are what?’ She sat upright in her chair, almost upsetting a table with her legs.

  ‘I’ll not sit and wait for the Council to ridicule and depower me.’ Basil balled his fists. ‘I’ll escape their knives.’

  She stared at him. ‘Well, you’re an adult, what holds you?’

  ‘Lack of money,’ Basil said.

  ‘There is that. Haven’t you got an allowance?’

  ‘My father says I need no money as long as I live here in the tower. The servants arrange for everything I demand of them.’

  Darquine sighed. ‘What a blissful idea. Where do you want to go?’

  Basil grimaced. He hadn’t thought that far; his knowledge of the world outside the Winsproke tower was at best limited. ‘Anywhere. To the continent, for all I care.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Leave Malgarth? You’re mad.’

  ‘Desperate. I need time to think. To make a plan.’

  Darquine sat staring at him, chewing on her single pigtail. Her pirate queue, as she called it. ‘That won’t do,’ she said. ‘Pardon me for saying, but the continent is much too rough for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, piqued. Too rough! The worst thing was she was probably right.

  ‘Let’s go to Towne,’ Darquine said. ‘I’ve got a boat, so we can sail some, and you’ll have plenty of room for thinking. You never know what will happen; midwinter is still months away.’

  Basil looked at her. Why hadn’t he thought of that? ‘We’ve been friends for so long and yet I’ve never been to your place.’

  ‘Of course not. I came here to escape from it.’

  ‘Your father has ships. Could we get a lift to Towne?’

  Darquine jumped up and walked to the balcony. ‘You’re lucky; she’s still there.’

  Basil gripped his dragon staff and limped to join her. ‘Who is?’

  She pointed toward the harbor and beyond it the blue sea. ‘You see those red sails?’

  ‘Yes. What about them?’

  ‘It’s the Willowdrake; one of my father’s vessels.’

  Basil stared at her. ‘And could you ....?’

  ‘If you ask nicely.’

  ‘I just did,’ Basil said and his heartbeat quickened. ‘Please?’

  Darquine laughed. ‘All right. Pack your things, but be quick; that flag in her mast says she’ll sail within the hour.’

  CHAPTER 3 - JURGIS

  ‘A dirigible,’ Maud said as they descended the stairs of the warlock tower. ‘What by Otha’s Tits is a dirigible?’

  ‘You studied military transport, didn’t you?’ Hala sounded irritated, and Maud bit her lip. She remembered a dusty old instructor droning on about it. That week she’d taken her first lover, and she’d been, well, tired.

  ‘Of course,’ she said quickly. ‘By land, by sea, by air. Foot, cart, boat, float, balloon. Oh.’ Balloons went where the wind blew, and dirigibles moved driven by batteries and a woman’s will. ‘It’s a steerable balloon.’ She brightened. ‘I’ve never seen one.’

  Hala’s lips thinned. ‘I have sailed in them. They’re cramped, hot and stink of sweat.’

  ‘It’s an adventure!’ Maud said, surprised.

  The veteran sighed. ‘You can keep your adventures, clansister. I’ve seen it all, far too often. Adventures, lovers, I’m done with them. Give me a room to myself at the hold and my pension, and I’ll be content. Fifty-five I am, without family but the clan, and I’ve fought in the frontlines for nigh on half a century. I’m the only one of my class to reach the rank of Veteran Tigress; the others are all dead. Believe me, I’ve had enough.’ She shivered as if cold in the full heat of the sun. Then she glared at Maud, who kept her face impassive.

  Maud couldn’t imagine fifty years; that was history. ‘Why did you take this duty then?’ she said, suddenly curious.

  ‘Loyalty. The Brannoe asked me. One last job, and then I’ll retire. Peace at last.’ Again, Hala shivered and clenched her teeth.

  They left the tower and crossed the market square. There were still a lot of folks around, and Hala became irritated having to walk around them.

  ‘This takes too much time. We’ll do it the old way.’ The veteran tigress opened her mouth, and her deep battle roar had the crowds ducking for cover between the stalls.

  Maud bared her teeth in a smile. She liked how people scurried away from their fearsome yells, as the two warrioresses came at them in that long-legged gait of the fighting Kell.

  Without further hindrance, they reached the aerodrome. Maud looked about her, at the black-and-white longhorns grazing everywhere. Some aerodrome, she thought as she suppressed her disappointment. If it weren’t for the regularly spaced mooring-towers, this would be a common goat field.

  ‘The prince-warlock’s dirigible?’ Hala asked of a porter
pulling a cart laden with boxes.

  Maud turned to look at her, surprised. The veteran’s tone had lost its snap, and she sounded out of breath.

  ‘Tower six, the red boat,’ the man said without pausing.

  Number six was on the other side of the field, a wooden platform on four legs, dwarfed by the enormous sunfish shape of the airship.

  As they neared, a uniformed young Garthan came down the ladder. ‘You are the passengers for Port Brisa?’ he said. ‘I’m the first officer. Please board, ladies; we’re ready to sail.’

  Ladies? Don’t be an ass, man; I’m a lioness. Maud cast a quick glance at Hala. The veteran hadn’t heard; her eyes were blank and sweat dripped from the wrinkles on her forehead.

  ‘You all right?’ Maud whispered, and she felt Hala’s arm tremble under her touch. The veteran had complained of a cold earlier and kept to her hammock on the journey here. Now those shakes told Maud of something worse than a runny nose.

  Her superior didn’t answer.

  Once on the platform, Maud saw the dirigible’s cabin close-up. It isn’t very large, she thought, remembering what Hala had said about feeling cramped.

  At the entrance, the dirigible’s captain met them. ‘Welcome aboard, Tigress.’

  Without a word, Hala presented her orders.

  The captain frowned. ‘I take it we can sail?’

  Hala nodded, breathing hard. She shivered again. ‘Sail,’ she said through clenched teeth.

  Maud gripped the veteran’s arm. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Cursed ... bogs,’ Hala mouthed. ‘Must sit.’

  Maud’s eyes narrowed. Bogs. Damned rotten moment for it.

  ‘You’re not sick, are you?’ the captain said, eying the veteran with suspicion.

  ‘Bog fever,’ Maud answered. ‘These bouts come and go. She needs to lie down.’

  ‘Then she can’t sail.’ The captain’s face tightened. ‘Fever ....’

  Divine Otha! There goes our mission! Maud squared her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry; it’s not catching. You have a cot available?’

  ‘I can’t sail with a sick person aboard,’ the woman protested.

  ‘You have to,’ Maud said, and her scowl of desperation made her appear ferocious. ‘The prince-warlock’s orders brook no delay.’

  ‘The veteran can use the watch cot,’ the first officer said. ‘It’s only for one night.’

  The captain looked at Maud’s face and turned away. ‘Warn me when you’re ready,’ she snapped to the first officer. ‘Engineer! Start her up.’

  ‘Aye aye, ma’am,’ a voice answered from the back of the cabin.

  Without another word, the captain disappeared behind a door with a sign saying “Bridge”.

  ‘Don’t mind the Old Lady,’ the first officer said. ‘Officially she’s right. We’re not supposed to sail with a sick passenger. But the prince-warlock .... Well, he’s paying our wages. You’re sure it’s not catching?’

  ‘Perfectly sure,’ Maud said, fuming. Miserable cowards! She forced a smile on her face. ‘You get it from swamp flies, not from humans.’

  ‘Well then,’ the young airman said, brightening. ‘Lead her this way.’

  ‘Come lean on me,’ Maud said, taking the veteran’s arm. ‘You should lie down for a bit.’

  Hala tried to focus her eyes. ‘Orders must be ....’ A new bout of shivering made talking impossible.

  ‘They will be,’ Maud said. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘No! You’re too ....’ Hala’s teeth chattered, but Maud knew what she wanted to say. She was too young. Ha!

  ‘Cadet or not, I’m a warrioress. If you’re out, I’ll go into Brisa. That’s our way.’

  Hala cursed desperately.

  ‘It’s only a town,’ Maud said; she didn’t see the difficulty. ‘It’s not a war zone.’

  The older woman closed her eyes, shaking uncontrollably.

  From Winsproke on Malgarth’s west coast to Port Brisa in the north was by air six hours. A long time of utter discomfiture, sitting at Hala’s bed, wiping her forehead and listening to her fevered babbling. Maud was embarrassed. Watching the strong woman’s weaknesses and hearing her inner torments—the loneliness, the terror of losing her strength and with it her usefulness, and the utter weariness of nearly fifty years being a tigress.

  When the first officer came to tell them they’d arrived, Maud felt wrung out, and eager to get away from the tiny cabin.

  ‘We’re there,’ she said, bending over Hala. ‘I’ll need the money and the contract.’

  ‘Take m’gun.’ The veteran forced the words out. ‘Y’never know.’

  ‘Your gun?’ The order surprised Maud. The small handgun was a costly possession, and she hesitated before unhooking it from the veteran’s belt.

  Hala waved at her bag. ‘Ammo ’n powder. Load it.’

  Maud inspected the weapon. As a cadet, she wore a sword, but while she’d been trained to use a gun, a personal firearm was a badge of honor. At the first try, the flint gave a healthy spark. With quick fingers, she emptied a powder cartridge into the flaring muzzle. A little bag contained twenty bullets and wads. She inspected one bullet by eye for any irregularities and put it with a wad on top of the powder. With the gun’s ramrod, she pushed all of it down the barrel. Then she checked the safety catch. With eyes closed, she went down the list again, but she hadn’t missed a thing.

  ‘Done.’

  The veteran nodded weakly.

  ‘We’ve moored,’ the first officer said from the doorway. He stared at the gun in her hand and swallowed. ‘When you are ready, Lioness?’

  ‘I’m coming.’ She pressed Hala’s hands. ‘Don’t worry; I’ll be back.’

  She stepped through the door onto the platform of the mooring tower and looked around for a moment. It was a warm evening. The sky was filled with lights, and the broad band of Otha’s Highway stretched across it. Maud smelled the smoke from a thousand hearth fires coming from the town, the stink of refuse and unfamiliar foods. Then she nodded to the first officer. ‘I’ll try to be quick.’ Her feeling of oppression lifted as she ran down the stone stairs. I’ll show them!

  At the town gate, a halberd barred her way. ‘Where be you going, lassie?’ The unshaven face of a guard in a rusty breastplate smiled at her, baring a row of bad teeth.

  Maud was unused to familiarity from a male, and the look she gave him was frosty. ‘Step aside, soldier.’

  The guard’s smile turned nasty. ‘Don’t cause any trouble, wench. I’d have to spank you.’

  Maud shifted her shoulders, and the muscles in her arms rippled. ‘You would try to,’ she said scornfully and walked on, pushing aside the man’s halberd. The guard staggered and cursed, but she ignored him and walked into Brisa.

  The veteran had said it was a rough town. Well, it certainly wasn’t Tar Kell. Those drunken sailors she saw careening from tavern to tavern, that bone-thin trollop venting her desperate wares, the off-duty guards betting on a cockfight; none of it would’ve been tolerated back home. Maud chuckled. Had Hala warned her for this? The old tigress really was a prude.

  As she walked past, a few drunks whistled and shouted lewd jokes. Maud disregarded them. She was looking for a boy, red-haired, pale of face and beautiful.

  From one of the shady taverns, three men stepped into the street. The foremost, a big, hairy fellow with a rough beard and a massive belly, stopped in his tracks.

  ‘Whaddayathink,’ he said, his voice slurred by drink. ‘A lonesome girlie. I’ll have fresh sports tonight.’

  ‘Leave her be, Atark,’ the thin man at his shoulder whispered. ‘She’s a Kell, man!’

  ‘Ah don’t mind,’ the big one said, with a leering eye. ‘So she’s an outlander. In bed, they’re the same as we, aren’t they?’

  Maud had only vaguely heard their exchange, but she noticed the smell of stale beer and sweat as the big man stepped in front of her.

  ‘Gimme a kiss, lass,’ he said, barely understandable, while he tried to put a clums
y arm around her waist.

  ‘You’re asking for trouble,’ Maud said clearly. ‘Move away, Garthan; you stink, you’re drunk and way too old.’

  The big man didn’t listen. He belched, gripping her chin with a hairy paw, and leaned forward to kiss her. At his touch, Maud felt an explosion of anger that was new to her. Animal attack! With her right hand, she got a strangling grip on the man’s throat, killing his screams as her left hand crushed his crotch. Thus, she ran him backward to the nearest open sewer.

  ‘Never mess with a Kell,’ she said in a steely voice, before dumping the near unconscious man into the muck-filled drain. She looked around, with one hand to the sword on her back, and saw the shocked onlookers back away. With a loud snick, she pushed the blade back into its sheath. Not bothering to hide her contempt, she walked on, leaving a field of silence behind her.

  A few blocks away, she stopped in the middle of a crossroads and looked around her. The empty streets were shadowy, and the narrow houses shuttered, hiding their occupants from Brisa’s dangerous nights. The only sound was a vague shouting in the distance.

  Damn! How do you find one redheaded lad in a wretched warren like Brisa? Maud growled. She’d made the tyro’s mistake of relying on the veteran for orders, instead of asking. You’re supposed to be a lioness, girl!

  The loud voices came nearer, and as she turned around to see what it was, a fleeting shape cannoned into her. For a moment, both swayed. A whispered excuse, a face pale as death and a mass of wavy red hair, passed in a flash.

  It's him! But before she could follow the boy, an angry group of men and women surrounded her, waving knives and sticks. They were frothing at the mouth and slavering like a pack of wolves ready to tear their prey apart.

  ‘Have you seen the scoundrel?’ a well-fed fellow in an embroidered nightshirt barked. ‘A ratty knave with demon’s hair?’

  ‘Yes!’ Maud cried. ‘He just bumped into me! Follow, I’ll show you where he went.’ She led them into the narrow street and at the end, where she’d seen the boy go left, she turned right, towards a square with a large, temple-like building. ‘He ran that way. Hurry! You must be close.’

  The pack howled and disappeared into the dark.