Lioness of Kell

by Paul E. Horsman

  Noah’s face was unreadable. ‘Neither would your patients.’

  ‘They would, if it saved their lives, or spared them long weeks of recovery,’ Maud said. ‘No need for stitches, now.’ She twisted the ends of her bandage in a tidy knot. ‘There you are. The scar tissue is still tender, but you should be able to walk home.’

  Jurgis looked at their faces. ‘You both seem shaken. Is it truly that intimate?’

  Basil gave his brother a straight stare. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you imagine having violent sex with a man?’ the hedge mage said.

  ‘No!’ Jurgis said, rather loud. Then he colored.

  Basil’s face was expressionless. ‘I could, but not against his will.’

  ‘It’s like the latter; very unpleasant.’ Noah bowed. ‘Still, I’m grateful. Both for your sacrifice to spare me suffering, and for doing the impossibility of killing a singer and his men.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Basil said. ‘That singer needed killing, with his talk of slaves.’ He clasped his hands behind his back, loath to touch the mage again. ‘I’m Basil. Maud gave her name already; she is a lioness serving the Kell Queen. That young fellow pilfering the dead is Wargall, the Kell Warrior, and my inquisitive brother is Jurgis.’

  ‘Your introductions evoke a sense of wonder,’ said Noah, and he stared hard at Maud, and then at Wargall. ‘You two don’t look like any Kells I’ve seen. Nor have I heard of a clan M’Brannoe before. Now that could be my ignorance, but I’m sure there isn’t a Kell Queen. That bastard Kelwarg calls himself clan chief of All the Kell, and there isn’t anyone else in charge. I must accept you are not from here, or else the most blatant liars walking this rotten world.’

  Maud smiled. ‘We came here to seek this Kelwarg.’

  Noah started. ‘Why?’

  ‘To kill him,’ Basil said.

  At this, the hedge mage gave an incredulous laugh. ‘You must be joking, though it’s far from funny. No one can kill the Black Warlock; too many have tried and failed. He’s over a century old and immensely powerful. No mage can match spells with Kelwarg.’

  ‘I’m not a mage,’ Basil said. ‘I’m the Spellwarden.’ He wiped his hands on his trousers; even looking at Noah made him nauseous.

  ‘There’s no such beast,’ the hedge mage said, raising his eyebrows. ‘If you’re trying on an impressive alias, you’re out of luck. The last one bearing that title died in the war. Nor are there any warlocks left. Who are you really?’

  Basil shrugged and turned away.

  ‘You’re suspicious,’ Jurgis said. ‘I’m a thief by profession and suspicion is a good thing. It kept me alive often enough, so I ought to know. You will understand that we’re as cautious of you as you are of us. Can we trust you? Whom do you serve? Why was that singer hunting you?’

  For a moment, Noah stood still, as if thinking. Then he gave a curt nod. ‘Fair points. Last question first. They wanted to kill me, because I approached the mighty person of the Strapan too close. There was at least a mile between us, but still too close. And whom I serve? Let’s say we’re a bunch of locals who would see the Unwaari kicked out. The question about trust will have to answer itself. For the moment I suggest we get away from here fast; danger hasn’t done with us yet.’

  ‘What danger? More of those guys?’ Maud said. ‘And who’s Strapan?’

  ‘Strapan is a title. He’s the Unwaari governor of the Southern Reaches, which is half of Vanhaar. He’s a useless pig. The danger–well, this tenman’s file you disposed of was a Singers’ Own unit.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Many things, but in this case they were outriders for a far larger group. The Strapan is traveling to Seatome with his court and two hundred guards in attendance. He will pass close by this ruin. Can you handle that many enemies, Master Basil?’

  Basil turned to face him. ‘If I must. But it would scoop me out, so I’d say we follow your suggestion and run.’

  Noah smiled. ‘You’re not a fool, then. Douse your fire; we can talk of our suspicions later.’

  ‘What about the bodies?’ Maud asked.

  ‘Leave them. When the escort discovers the dead singer, it will shake them. The soldiers don’t count, but this Erwal was a member of the Strapan’s court.’ Noah’s smile grew wolfish for a moment. ‘His bootlicker’s death so close to his august person should scare the crap out of the fat bastard.’

  He hesitated. ‘I must hurry home, to warn them the Strapan is coming. We haven’t had a visit since before my time. Why would he come now, with such a large force? My elder must hear of this. It may sound awful cheeky under the circumstances, but I’d like you to come with me. I’m sure Mistress Dori wants to have a word with you, Master Basil. She can explain to you all about warlocks; she’s from before the war. Don’t worry; should it become necessary, we can get you out of town in a hurry.’

  ‘That Dori woman is pre-war?’ Basil’s stare was almost unbelieving. ‘That makes her as old as my father is. I want to speak with her, too.’ He looked at Maud. ‘What do you think? Is it worth the risk?’

  The lioness grunted. ‘Perhaps. If those people can help us. All right, I’ll waive my earlier objections. Would Mistress Dori know a fisher or anyone else with a boat? We lost contact with our ship in a storm, and we’d like to know all is well with them.’

  ‘The storm caught you? It came way too early in the year. You’re lucky to be alive; it was a big one. But don’t worry; there are still fishermen in Seatome. I’m sure Dori will find someone to look out for your ship.’

  Five minutes later, they had extinguished the fire, and the tower was dark and silent again.

  ‘I would like a necklace of their ears,’ Wargall said, looking at the dead soldiers.

  ‘What!’ Jurgis gripped his shoulder and shook him. ‘Never! What a barbaric idea.’

  Wargall’s face split in a broad grin. ‘Got you there,’ he crowed. ‘It was a joke.’

  Jurgis slapped his arm. ‘If that’s your idea of a joke, you’ve got much to learn.’ Then he looked at Maud. ‘Perhaps that tigress with the queen would agree. She seemed the sort.’

  ‘She wouldn’t,’ Maud said. ‘Those cruelties went out with the Turnaround. Don’t joke about it, Wargall. It’s been true too long.’

  ‘Sorry.’ The boy looked crestfallen. ‘I just thought it silly-funny.’

  Maud touched his cheek. ‘Cheer up, Warrior; no harm done.’

  They walked away, keeping the river in sight. Basil had found suitable twigs to transform his staff and floated beside them.

  As he cast the spell, Noah looked suspicious. ‘You know a flying spell. How is that? Only singers have those powers.’

  ‘Of course not; warlocks used to fly, too,’ Basil said testily. ‘What knowledge do you have, hedge mage?’

  ‘The usual,’ Noah said with a shrug. ‘Cantrips; magic of woods and fields, like trapping small animals and dousing for water.’

  ‘All of them handy things. But they make you ill prepared to judge the power of a full warlock.’ All at once, Basil had had enough of the whole situation. ‘Keep close to the river. I’m going to look at this Strapan fellow.’

  Noah said something, but Basil didn’t listen as he shot away into the sky.

  It was late afternoon. The skies were cloudy, though the visibility was fine. The ground was an endless expansion of hillocks, like a choppy sea, dotted with brush and trees. Then he saw the column, a long ribbon of moving figures, coming from the northwest. He dove to get a better look. A mass of soldiers on foot, carrying bannered lances. Several well-dressed dignitaries on spelldrakes and following them a mighty beast, as tall as two men. It had a tail instead of a nose, and four long, curved teeth. On the beast’s back was a man on a throne, swaying with every step of the monster that bore him. Behind the throne stood a smaller figure, clutching a large parasol to keep the weather away from his master. The sight tickled Basil’s sense of the ridiculous and he laughed aloud. Then a screech echoed his laughter
and a ball of feathers and sharp talons attacked him. Basil screamed in fright. ‘Up! Up!’ The staff shot up and seconds later, cold clouds enveloped him. The bird screeched once, and winged back to the warm sunlight.

  ‘Curse it!’ Basil felt blood trickle down his face where the beast had raked him. The damp air stung in the scratches. ‘Damned, trice damned!’ he shouted, shaken, and angry at himself as only now he activated his protective spell. Then, swearing all the way, he returned to the others.

  He found them a few miles further down the river, walking through a rocky field past a series of rapids.

  ‘What did you run into this time, brother?’ Jurgis had to shout to get heard over the noise of the water.

  Basil looked at him, for a moment too angry to speak. ‘He had a bird. I was careless and didn’t have my screen on. It came at me from above, straight out of the sun.’

  ‘The Strapan’s hunting eagle,’ Noah said. ‘I tried to warn you, but you were gone so fast.’

  Basil growled. ‘I know; I was acting the fool.’

  ‘There’s still a bit of salve left,’ Maud said.

  Basil bit back a snarl. ‘No need. My body will take care of it, like it did with that earlier bruise. It regenerates everything, except for those bloody toes.’ He looked at the hedge mage. ‘You were right. At least two hundred men, all guarding a guy in a gilded chair on the back of a walking hill. What kind of idiot travels like that?’

  ‘The mighty Strapan.’ Noah’s voice sounded flat. ‘He rides an elephant; it shows us his magnificence.’

  ‘His foolishness. So that’s an elephant. Must be mighty uncomfortable. He’s not a magic-user?’

  ‘Nah, just a bureaucrat with high-placed friends. He rides through his domain, going from tower to tower. That’s all he bloody well does.’

  ‘He doesn’t govern?’ Maud stared at the mage. ‘Then who runs the country?’

  ‘It more or less runs itself.’ Noah’s face tightened. ‘Quiet now! I saw a flash of singer blue. Over there, by those windytrees.’

  Jurgis closed his eyes. ‘I sense him. He behaves like he’s alone.’

  ‘Are you a warlock, too?’ said Noah, surprised.

  Jurgis shrugged. ‘No; I’m the poor relative. I can sense magic, that’s all.’

  ‘The man’s alone?’ Basil said. ‘Does he think he’s invincible?’

  ‘They all do.’ Noah shivered. ‘The bastard will be a mage scout. They often work unaccompanied. He must be killed before he warns the main group.’ He looked aside at Basil. ‘Can you do it once more?’

  ‘He’ll manage.’ Jurgis glanced at his brother. ‘Come, twin.’

  ‘Wait!’ Maud said, but the twins were already gone.

  Crouching low, they circled around, till Jurgis went down on his stomach and patted the ground beside him.

  Gingerly, Basil lay down. Dammit; I’m the Spellwarden, not a spy! But his twin’s smile was infectious, and he grinned back. Jurgis moved like a snake through the grass, and Basil tried emulating him. It felt awkward, propelling himself by the elbows, but after a few feet he got the hang of it.

  Jurgis’ hand in his face made him stop. His brother pointed with his head, and Basil saw a blue-clad figure striding through the bushes. There he is! Noisy fellow.

  Jurgis brought his head close to Basil’s ear. ‘Kill him.’

  Just like that? Basil felt his blood grow cold. Am I to be an assassin, then? His mind filled with doubt, he flipped through book after book in his well-stocked memory for a compact spell, something that wouldn’t alert those two hundred soldiers nearby. Then a name popped up, Ardhimishai. A long-vanished tribe of killer mages, before the days of the warlocks. When he was half as old as now, he’d found their gruesome magical weapons fascinating. He remembered a strong root, thorny, with spiky leaves. The spell wasn’t difficult–that had appealed to him at eight years old–and easy to pronounce. There! The throwing root appeared in his hand and he shuddered at the sight of it–a weapon no less cruel than those singers were. Its handle felt warm in his hand, as if alive. Shall I throw it? He still hesitated. Not like this! I’m a warlock, not an assassin. Without hesitation, he stepped from the bushes and faced the singer.

  ‘Looking for someone?’ he said, calm as he could.

  The blue robe spun around. ‘Who the hells are you? No matter; your presence is forbidden.’ He lifted his hands and started a spell.

  Basil sniffed. ‘So you’re a fool like Erwal was.’

  The singer paused. ‘What do you mean? Do you know Erwal?’

  Basil pursed his lips. ‘Know him? He and his men sought to kill me.’

  ‘You’re still alive,’ the blue robe said, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘I won,’ Basil said. ‘He wasn’t much of a mage.’

  ‘Then die!’ the singer screeched and a deadly beam sped toward Basil, to scatter on his screen.

  ‘At least I gave you a chance.’ Basil took a deep breath and flung the strangling root at the singer. Like a sentient being, it curled around the tender flesh of the blue robe’s neck and contracted. Blood colored the cloth purple, while with a soft gurgling sound, the singer collapsed.

  ‘Done,’ Basil said, sweating.

  Jurgis looked green. ‘Whatever was that?’

  ‘A strangling root. Check his pockets, will ya?’ Then Basil felt his stomach twist, and he was sick in the grass.

  Moments later, his brother came back. ‘Nothing of interest,’ he said. ‘You’re all right?’

  Basil nodded. ‘Let’s get back. I must clean up. Spewed all over myself.’

  They hurried back to where the others waited.

  ‘Divine Gorm and Otha, what have you been doing?’ Maud said furiously. ‘Talk it over first; I died a thousand times just now.’

  Jurgis hugged her. ‘Sorry, love. Basil took care of that creeping singer. Why did you speak to him, twin? You almost gave me a heart attack when you stood up.’

  ‘I am not a hired killer.’ Basil clenched his fists. ‘If he hadn’t attacked first, I had another spell ready to knock him out. Killing is so easy; I don’t want it to become a habit. That would make me like them.’ Without another word, he went over to the river and pulled off his shirt. On his knees, he tried to wash the stink of his vomit out of it.

  CHAPTER 27 - TO THE RESCUE

  Shaken and battered, the Magonaut returned to the Vanhaari shore.

  For a day and a half, mighty winds drove the Magonaut across the ocean. Her engine was down, the screw bent at the first attempt to fire up, and under topsails alone she went farther and farther away from the continent. All this time, Yarwan was up, driving his people, praying and cajoling, keeping his head in the middle of chaos, till near the end of the second day, the raging winds had subsided enough to turn the ship back to the cave.

  On the way back, Yarwan, unable to sleep or even sit down, stomped the deck, filled with fear for Basil’s safety and anger at his own stupidity. He should’ve recognized the storm signs, postponed searching the cave and sailed to safer waters. He’d lost one life already; one of the original crewmembers of the Daisee went overboard in a sea so high that any rescue was impossible.

  The sight of the cave brought him to a halt, as he stared in shock at the still wild sea running into the lower mouth to come pouring out of a second one above it.

  ‘They’re dead,’ he said in an empty voice. ‘The sea trapped them inside and they drowned. Gods, Basil ...’

  ‘Don’t despair yet.’ Elhir touched his arm. ‘I’m sure the Spellwarden will have found a way to escape. Lioness Maud isn’t easily fazed either; nor is Master Jurgis.’

  Yarwan gave a jerky nod. ‘Yes, yes; he knows a lot of clever tricks.’ Basil ... He uttered a long, shuddering sigh. ‘We’ll stay around, in case they are searching for us.’

  He gave his orders in a firm voice, but his eyes were hollow. ‘Set a course along the coast, mistress. From Cape Return to the distant border of Unwaar and back. We’ll sink any enemy that moves, and wait for
a sign from Basil. See to it, will you.’

  Elhir saluted and went down to the chart table in the captain’s cabin.

  Yarwan stood alone at the railing and stared with blind eyes at the half-submerged cave.

  It was the third day, six bells in the morning, when Yarwan came on deck. The sun hung golden on the horizon, the sky was blue and the sea tranquil.

  Elhir had the watch and stood staring at the coastline. ‘Morning, Captain,’ she said, turning around to face him. She forbore to ask if he had slept well, for which Yarwan was grateful. He had spent the night tossing in his cot, unable to relax. The memory of that awful cave spitting seawater filled his mind with pictures of Basil drifting somewhere, pale and lifeless, forever lost.

  He grunted and pulled his hat deeper over his eyes against the sunlight.

  ‘In two hours time we’ll pass Seatome harbor. The chart gives it as a big place.’

  ‘Hoist our flag,’ Yarwan said. ‘We’ll tell them the Chorwaynie Merchant Marine is off their coast. And have the guns run out.’

  ‘Aye aye, Captain.’

  ‘Sail to the northwest,’ the lookout cried. ‘Fishing boat.’

  ‘First sign of life on this whole damned coast,’ Yarwan growled. His servant came up with a mug of steaming hot tea, and Yarwan inhaled the rich aroma gratefully, feeling it soothe his nerves.

  The wind favored the fishing boat and before long its patched sail was visible from the quarterdeck. It was a strange-looking vessel. Garishly painted, with a high prow and aft a tiny cabin, and with many-colored bunting streaming from lines overhead, it looked more like a carnival float than a fishing vessel.

  ‘Festival’s coming to town,’ the first mate said with a grin. ‘She’s coming real close.’

  Yarwan shook his head. ‘Have Dalja’s girls stand by, they should prevent any foolishness.’ He turned around. ‘Awake, Mister Lannard?’