Lioness of Kell

by Paul E. Horsman

  ‘At last ...’

  ‘You’re trembling ...’

  ‘I was so afraid ...’

  ‘Me too.’

  They pinched each other as if doubting reality, hugged and caressed, kissed and cried.

  Finally Yarwan turned and called into the dark emptiness, ‘Got a good look, people? My love is back! I wish you all a blessed night.’ Then he swept Basil off his feet, picked up the staff and marched to the Magonaut’s gangway.

  ‘What was that you said?’ Basil murmured.

  ‘I’ll tell you. Later. How much time do we have before the others are here?’

  ‘Several hours, at least. They’re on the other side of the river.’

  Yarwan looked longingly at his love, but then he shook his head. ‘I so want to eat you now, my sweet, to know you have really come back to me. But we’ll have to wait. I’ll send out a boat to pick them up.’

  ‘Put me down,’ Basil said. ‘I shall go back and tell them.’

  ‘You sure?’ Yarwan looked worried. ‘You’ve done so much already.’

  ‘I’m sweet, but I won’t melt. I bite.’ Basil gripped Yarwan’s head and kissed him. Then he took his staff from Yarwan’s hand. ‘Be right back.’ His heart sang joyfully in his ears as he shot away into the night.

  CHAPTER 30 - CAGED JOURNEY

  Something woke Wemawee, a sound she couldn’t place. She stared into the dark, with no idea how much time had passed while she slept. The only thing she knew was the pain in her wrists, her neck and body. With difficulty she sat up, naked and cold from the stone floor. There was that sound again. She recognized it as the jangling of keys in the hands of a jailor. Her heart pumped in her ears. Dear gods, not that shaman! she thought, appalled at her own terror. Please ...

  The door opened, and three males entered.

  ‘Get up!’ the first soldier said, as he kicked her thigh. ‘Up, bitch; time for your trip to Bitter’ights.’ He was a sour-faced, thin fellow with mean eyes. Not even a subofficer, though he had a small knob on his helm the other two lacked.

  Their rough hands dragged her to her feet and pushed her toward the corridor.

  ‘C’mon, a bit faster!’ The soldier sneered as he said it. ‘Thought you wisewomen were so tough?’

  Wemawee gritted her teeth. Untie me and I’ll show you how tough I am, she thought, but she kept silent, and walked with as much dignity as she could.

  They brought her to a courtyard, where a cart waited; a cage on wheels, drawn by a large, alien-looking mount.

  ‘There’s your carriage, wisewoman,’ the soldier said with mock politeness. They pushed her inside, and locked the door behind her. There she sat, exposed to the entire world in a wire barred cage on wheels, nude and powerless.

  She didn’t spare the soldiers a glance, but sat down cross-legged and stared straight ahead.

  One soldier mounted the back of the draft animal, while the other two climbed upon the box. Slowly, the wagon rolled forward. Through a once magnificent gate they entered a broad lane. Feigning indifference, Wemawee still took in the surroundings, for knowledge was power and everything could be used.

  It must have been a beautiful place, this. Even broken down, the buildings had traces of elegance. Slender colonnades, delicate stonework, and the remains of the statues flanking the road were well shaped and of a natural simplicity. Apart from the small garrison, this place—was it Spellstor?—appeared deserted; the surrounding land was beautiful but uncultivated. No rebuilding done anywhere, nothing. She sat, wondering what this could imply.

  They rode in near silence. The men spoke little, and that in hushed tones. Wemawee sat motionless, ostensibly staring at nothing, while she studied the way the driver commanded his strange beast by pulling its several horns.

  On impulse, she said, ‘A pity about your commander.’

  ‘Wot?’ the sour-faced soldier said, turning around to look at her.

  ‘Yes, he seemed a good warrior. A pity to lose such a man.’

  ‘Lose? Wot do ya mean, woman?’

  ‘And your mates, too. Were you friends? Battle comrades? Such a shame.’

  ‘Wot’s with our commander an’ the boys?’ the soldier demanded.

  ‘Why, they are dead,’ Wemawee said. ‘That loudmouthed shaman, too, but I don’t think you’ll mourn him much.’

  ‘No! Ah mean, we would. But they’re not dead.’

  ‘Oh, they are. You see, that fool shaman dragged them straight into a large army camp.’

  The soldier looked alarmed now. ‘Wot army camp are ye talking about?’

  ‘The one where I came from. A big one, with thousands of Kell soldiers–female soldiers–trained to kill in a second. And hundreds of wisewomen, far stronger than that shaman’s pitiful male magic. Your friends didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘Capturing you wasn’t all that difficult,’ the soldier sneered.

  Wemawee smiled. ‘No. But you don’t know why, do you?’ She closed her eyes and didn’t say another word.

  In dead silence, the cart rattled on.

  The soldiers halted at sundown, at the side of a small stream running through a birch wood. In the distance, she heard the harsh chatter of magpies, clever birds of startling green. She tried to reach their minds, but the spell in her head was too strong and it was like groping around in a darkened room. Near dark, they ate cold rations, washed down by water from the little stream. Wemawee stared at the handful of boiled beans and the bit of musty bread that was her portion.

  ‘Your masters feed their soldiers well,’ she said. ‘Is this your general fare?’

  The soldiers chewed their beans stolidly and didn’t answer.

  It started to rain, and the soldiers crept underneath the wagon to sleep. Wemawee, cold and miserable, lay tossing and turning, and the wagon shook with the weight of her big body.

  ‘Curse upon your head, bitch,’ one of the soldiers cried. ‘Lie still if you don’t want me to thrash you.’

  ‘I’m wet and cold,’ Wemawee replied. ‘And moving keeps my blood running.’ I don’t want you to sleep, you bastard. Besides, it prevented them from hearing her wrestle with her bindings. They were but innocent leather, and she was working them to the point of breaking. She lay still for a moment, panting, and gazed at the rainy sky. For a moment, she thought of Wargall. Stupid male. Yet he was of her clan, and she ... she missed him. He didn’t always satisfy her, but he tried. While she’d behaved so badly. Damn! Once more she tried to reach the magic part in her head. She froze. The darkness around it was thinner. It must mean the shaman was dead in truth, and his spell was fading. The blustering fool! That little warlock-boy alone could have killed him. The Spellwarden. She sniffed. He was strong, but she’d show him! With every inch of her being she strove to dispel the blackness; pushing at it, tearing and clawing with her mind till it ripped and squirmed. Suddenly it fled, and her head cleared. She suppressed a cry of triumph. Now for those bindings ... She thought at them. You’re leather, not steel. You’re soft, you’re skin. You can’t hold me; you’ll weaken. Weaken. She felt the stiff material change; losing its hardness, becoming pliable. With a sigh, she shook them off and lifted her hands up in front of her eyes. I’m free! My mind’s free! Now what? With a single thought, she conjured up new clothes. No gauze, she’d been nude long enough. A dark blue robe, of a heavy, comfortable cloth, with supple boots and a thick cloak. Don’t make the same mistake as before—put up your screen. You must learn to think like a warrioress. Her smile was grim. I will fight, too—my way. She turned her mind to the soldiers, uttering words that changed their fitful slumber into deep unconsciousness.

  Now to get out of this cage. She put her hands on two bars and concentrated on the iron. They were solidly wrought—strong enough to keep even a Kell prisoner. But not a wisewoman, she thought. We have other tricks. Rust. You hear me, my fine iron bar? You’ve been outside—in the rain. A long time. You’re rusting. She felt the weather eating away at the metal, the reddish flakes sticking to her fi
ngers. Finally, her impatience got the better of her. She gripped the first bar. Pulling with all her strength, the metal bent a little, a little bit more, and then, with a cry of torn iron and splintering wood, it gave way. That’s one, she panted triumphantly. The second bar followed, and now there was a space large enough to let her wriggle through. Free! She wanted to shout, but her newborn sense of caution kept it to a whisper.

  She jumped from the cart into the high grass. Around her, the white trunks of the birches seemed to whisper at her victory. She stooped and pulled the soldiers from under the wagon. What shall I do with them? Kill them? Again, the thought of that brutal shaman stopped her. Fumbling with unfamiliar clasps, she undressed the three, checking the contents of their pockets for anything useful. Not that they carried much. Some small change, a belt knife, a lucky rabbit foot that set her giggling with its naivety, and finally a wrinkled and somewhat smudged copy of the route to Bitter’ights. She put it into her robe, pondering its implications, while she bundled the soldiers’ uniforms and weapons and put them away in one of the draft beast’s packs.

  ‘Do I go on?’ she muttered to herself, while she unyoked the animal. ‘Do I dare?’

  Something inside her said Yes and she knew she would go. She mounted and studied the various horns on the animal’s neck. She had watched the soldiers pull them and she knew more or less which horn did what. Then, without a glance for the naked, unconscious males, she rode off.

  CHAPTER 31- PLANS

  With a sigh, Basil settled down in his chair and looked around the table in the Magonaut’s cabin. ‘I despaired so often. But we’re all together again.’

  ‘Don’t relax now,’ Maud said. ‘There’s an enemy army approaching. We don’t want to be here when it arrives. When the Strapan sees their ship in our hands, he’ll not be pleased.’

  ‘I can’t leave,’ Yarwan said. He spread his hands. ‘I’m more or less in charge of this place. The garrison surrendered to my cannons. Should I run, I’m sure this governor fellow will take it out on the town.’

  ‘Don’t worry, love. We won’t go.’ Basil took a deep breath. ‘Seatome is the first step in the liberation of Vanhaar. And of Kell,’ he added, giving Maud a straight stare. ‘We will hold this town, Lioness.’ He turned to the hedge mage, who looked ill at ease surrounded by so many strangers.

  ‘This is the hedge mage Noah, a local. It’s time for some straight talk. Captain Yarwan told all that he has learned here. It made some things about you clear to me. He spoke of the Warlocks Return movement made up from mages, witches and such folk. You are a mage, Noah. Are you a Returner?’

  Reluctantly, the mage nodded.

  ‘And the Vanhaari Liberation folks are your competitors?’

  ‘Damn, I ...’

  ‘Yes or no?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I suppose you’re both loyal Vanhaari?’

  ‘We are, and they ... Well, Rebeca is as loyal as me.’

  ‘Can you work together?’

  ‘I–think so. We have the same goal, though we have different ideas about ...’ He looked askance at Basil. ‘Warlocks.’

  Of course, thought Basil. One side against us, one side for us–and neither of them knowing who we are. Well, they’ll learn. ‘That doesn’t matter. Go get them, will you. Rebeca, her father, and this Dori who leads your side. Tell them we need their help. If they don’t come ... Then they’re not as loyal as you say.’

  ‘What do you want from them?’ Noah looked confused now.

  ‘Their help with the defense of Seatome; what did you think? I’m the Spellwarden and I want my lands back. If your people want a say in things, want to build their own future, then they will join me. If not, I’ll do it without you.’

  Noah nodded shakily. ‘I’ll go and tell them. Rebeca ...we quarreled. But she’ll listen.’ He hurried from the cabin.

  ‘What’s with you all at once?’ Jurgis said, staring and his twin. ‘You sound perfectly bossy.’

  ‘I’m angry.’ Basil balled his fists on the tabletop. ‘Ever since this whole thing began, I’ve been angry and scared. First that bloody summons frightened me out of my wits, and I fled. I found Yarwan, you, Maud and the others, and you helped me get over my fear.’

  ‘Like me,’ Wargall said, beaming. ‘Isn’t it a great feeling?’

  Basil looked at him and for a second his face softened. ‘Yes, it is.’ He turned to Jurgis. ‘Then you showed me the stupidity of our way of life, brother. All those terrible things we do. That made me even angrier. Add the edicts of that idiot high king and his blasted Garthans; and the Kells breeding themselves into oblivion.’

  At that, Maud made a sound in her throat.

  Jurgis gripped her arm. ‘He’s right. Look at Wargall; compare him with those other males. Our young friend here is a loud, exuberant rascal–which he will grow out of–but he isn’t dying from lack of spirits. You know what will happen to your people if your males’ listlessness isn’t stopped.’

  ‘Yes,’ Maud grated. ‘I know.’

  ‘Then we’re agreed about that,’ Basil said. ‘At last I have a focus for my anger. Seatome is our foot in the door. We will capture this Strapan, and use him as a bargaining point. With that, the message in a bottle and the masks, we have strong arguments for the Unwaari to pull back to their own lands.’ He rose, feeling his anger strengthen his arguments. ‘We’ll secure the town. Then we’ll send a ship to Towne for reinforcements, while I go to Bitter’ights to get Kelwarg’s book and let’s hope the bastard himself. Meanwhile we’ll send a messenger to Unwaar and demand their unconditional removal from our lands. We’ll rebuild; make it like it was, but different. I ...’ He hesitated. ‘I would live in a tower again; study away from the world. But I know I mustn’t. That way we would repeat our mistakes.’ He put his hands on the table and leaned forward. ‘Are you with me?’

  ‘Always,’ Yarwan said. ‘Because you’re you, but also because you’re right.’

  ‘To the hilt, brother.’ Jurgis looked red and angry himself. ‘That’s the way Vanhaari should live.’

  Maud raised her fists. ‘And Kell for the Kells? I’m with you.’

  ‘On to Glory!’ Wargall said, his face shining.

  Basil sighed. ‘I’m glad,’ he said. Then he patted Yarwan’s chin. ‘You exchange adventures, love; I heard most of it already. I’ll go check on that Strapan guy. We don’t want him to surprise us, do we?’

  ‘Must you?’ The captain sighed. ‘Yes, we need that info. Just be ... You know that, too.’

  Basil returned within the hour, looking triumphant.

  ‘They’re still at the ruined tower. We must’ve shaken them,’ he said, punching Jurgis in an unusual display of masculinity. ‘Half of the soldiers guard that fat bastard on the elephant like they’re glued to its sides. The other half searches the whole area. They all appear alert and very nervous. None of them ever looked at the sky; it’s clear the idea of a flying enemy never occurred to them.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘They won’t reach the town today, not this way.’

  ‘That will buy us some time.’ Yarwan’s hand shot out and plucked a feather from Basil’s red curls. ‘Been among the chickens again, my fox?’

  Basil grinned predatorily. ‘The Strapan will miss that stupid hawk I told you about. This time I was ready.’

  ‘Well done,’ Yarwan said. He tucked the feather back in Basil’s hair and cocked his head. ‘Keep it. We Jentakans are proud of such trophies.’

  The hedge mage must have been very persuasive, for he returned with a portly man, a thin, very Vanhaari girl, an old woman and–Basil stared at the wizened little horned figure in its colorful robe.

  ‘A gnome!’ he said. ‘By the gods, a gnome!’

  ‘That’s Izzabod,’ Noah said, smiling broadly. ‘He is Mistress Dori’s assistant.’

  ‘A greatheartily welcome to you, wisenoble Izzabod,’ Basil said, pressing his hands to his heart.

  ‘Timelong ago someone gnomespoke to this one,’ Izzabod said, show
ing rows of sharp teeth in a surprised smile. ‘Much happy Izzabod is with your high politeness.’

  ‘You must be a warlock,’ the old woman said. ‘No one else would know how to address our dear friend. I am Dori, once of Spellstor Center.’

  ‘Welcome to you as well, Mistress Dori, Master Isaac, Mistress Rebeca.’ The young girl walked stiff-legged to a chair, avoiding looking at Noah or even being too near him. Isaac looked uncomfortable and only Dori appeared at ease.

  ‘Well,’ Yarwan said, ‘I am glad you all decided to come. Noah will have told you the Strapan is on his way here with a sizable force and will soon be at the door. Whatever his purpose is, when he finds the garrison locked up and the town in our hands, he will not be pleased. We can fight him, but we want your cooperation.’

  ‘Why should we cooperate, Captain?’ Dori said. ‘What do you offer us?’

  ‘Offer?’ Yarwan stared at her. ‘Mistress, if you refuse, I will free the garrison, take the brig and the two dhows and sail for home.’

  ‘But then they’ll kill us!’ Rebeca cried. ‘You can’t just leave!’

  ‘Why should I defend you if you refuse to help?’

  ‘But we didn’t refuse!’ The girl looked at her father. ‘We’ll help.’

  Dori’s eyes twinkled. ‘You have our cooperation, Captain. But you knew that already.’

  ‘Did I, ma’am?’ Yarwan said, and all at once the old woman looked uncertain.

  Izzabod chuckled. ‘Clever captain got you there, mistress,’ he said. ‘To help him and the noble warlock serves all of us.’ He gazed at Basil with big, unblinking eyes. ‘A puissant warlock. I feel his power enveloping me like a mighty cloak, comforting and threatening at the same time. Who are you, so young, with so much strength?’

  ‘I am the Spellwarden, Basil son of Argyr.’

  Izzabod nodded in contentment. ‘High, high, I knew it.’

  Dori looked about to faint and Rebeca showed unexpected anxiety as she leaned toward her. ‘Are you all right?’

  The old woman waved her hands. ‘Yes, yes, it was the shock. Basil son of Argyr. Those names ... So familiar, once. We must speak.’