Lioness of Kell

by Paul E. Horsman

  ‘So you have,’ the lioness said.

  The two Kells flew low over the water, side by side. The sun reflected their passing in the rippling surface, while tame water birds accepted them without fear.

  To Wargall, this flight was the epitome of his new existence. A warrior on active duty, on an important mission, with the only female he really cared about as his companion. It was more than had he ever dared to dream about, and his heart sang.

  The brooms were fast. Because of their heavier bodies, they were specially made for them and bigger than the ones the others used, but this didn’t hamper their speed in the least.

  They were already several hours away from Seatome, and Wargall felt he could go on for many more hours. Somehow, he thought, that broom spell keeps me from getting tired. He made a mental note to ask Basil. He was naturally curious, and things like this tickled his interest.

  Suddenly, something dark in the distance drew his attention. He glanced at Wemawee and it was clear that she had seen it, too. He pointed upward, and she nodded.

  Quickly, Wargall steered the broom upward and then he saw it. Smoke! It was unmistakably a dark column of smoke. They had flown this way before, only days earlier, and there hadn’t been a sign of buildings or anything that could produce a fire.

  ‘Faster,’ he shouted, and obediently his broom spurted forward. Wemawee followed and on they raced.

  The wind brought a whiff of burning, and Wargall yelled. Below them, the dhow lay as a burned-out wreck against the riverbank. Her single mast was broken and the blackened remains of the triangular sail flapped in the wind. The rear of the boat rested on the bottom, the front side still smoldered.

  He landed in the grass alongside the wreck and ran to it. Bodies. He had been in several fights; he had seen dead bodies and left several on the ground himself. But these blackened remains, negligently strewn through the burned ribs of the dhow, disturbed him greatly. They were dead; so much was clear. They had died a terrible death, but how?

  Wargall forced himself to look around. Maud would want a report from him, so he steeled himself to memorize all the details.

  Something bothered him. ‘This wasn’t a natural fire,’ he said. He turned to look at Wemawee, standing with her eyes narrowed.

  ‘Magic,’ she said. ‘Someone shot the boat up with a spell.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Wargall said.

  A bird somewhere moaned. A bird? He walked along the wreck, inspecting every visible inch. Then he saw her, stuck under a fallen piece of the steerhouse roof, and submerged to her chin. It was the girl he’d arm-wrestled, that long ago day. She had her eyes closed, and a low moan came from her mouth. He clambered over the wreckage to reach her, and gripped the broken roof. He pulled, but it stuck somewhere. ‘Damned thing,’ yelled he. ‘Come loose.’

  He heard Wemawee call something, but he was fully concentrated on the roof and the girl beneath it. He pulled once again, and suddenly, with a loud creaking, something gave way. He gripped the girl under her armpits and tried to lift her up. She was bigger than he by half a head; almost as big as the lioness. Her weight, in full, water-soaked armor, was considerable, but he managed it. Panting, he struggled back to the riverbank, and laid her down in the grass.

  ‘A live one?’ Wemawee said, and she kneeled hurriedly down beside the leopardess. ‘Burns. Can’t do much about that here; only clean them up. The shock should keep her under till we’re back.’ She put her hands on the girl’s hips and pressed her eyes shut in concentration. Softly she started to sing, and Wargall, totally insensitive to magic, stared as he saw how the burns cleared of dirt and soot. Then something shiny covered them, and finally Wemawee rose.

  ‘That will have to do,’ she said. ‘I’ll take her back; I know how to hold her hurt body.’

  Wargall nodded. ‘Let’s go then.’

  He helped Wemawee get the girl in position, and then they rose up. Slower, as if the broom didn’t appreciate the double load, they flew off.

  A flash and a sensation of intense heat shot past Wargall, and instinctively he cried, ‘Up!’

  The broom shot high into the air and he turned her around, to see a blue-robed singer on a carpet right behind him. The man waved his hand, and another beam missed Wargall by a gnatwing’s breadth.

  ‘Curse you!’ Wargall shouted. ‘You’ll not get me that easily.’ He dove underneath the carpet and up again. In a sharp turn, he tried to ram the singer. The man jumped aside and wriggled his fingers. Wargall escaped, but the heat singed his curls. Again, he went for the singer, and again the man jumped out of the way. Wargall turned and circled back over the singer’s head. The man seemed confused, for he looked around for his victim. Then, hovering right over the carpet, Wargall jumped.

  He landed next to the singer and grabbed him. The man screamed in fright and dropped to his knees with Wargall’s arm around his neck. The carpet wasn’t all that big, and the thrashing singer threatened to send them both over the edge. Wargall scrambled to stay in the middle of the carpet’s pattern and exerted pressure. The man’s fingers grabbed Wargall’s arm and little flames scorched the boy’s skin, but he held on. Slowly, he forced the singer’s head back. The man’s writhing became more and more panicked. The carpet below them heaved, and it was all Wargall could do to hold on to his opponent.

  Then, making use of the carpet’s motions, he swept the singer from left to right, and back again. He felt the man’s neck snap, and the body went limp beneath him.

  ‘Gods,’ Wargall said. ‘Thank you.’ He rose shakily to his knees and looked around. Wemawee hovered half a mile away, and he waved at her. Now what? He though. ‘Down,’ he said aloud, but the carpet didn’t react. It was flying in circles, like a rudderless ship.

  On impulse, Wargall shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Broom! Here!’ To his surprise, the broom came from somewhere, and landed beside him.

  Wargall giggled. He swung the dead singer over his shoulder and sat down on the broom. Still laughing madly, he rejoined Wemawee. She looked at him and he blinked. ‘I ...’

  ‘Battle madness,’ she said. ‘Fight it.’

  Wargall took a deep breath and balled his fists. Then he slowly exhaled. ‘Better now.’ He shifted the dead man on his shoulder. ‘Let’s go back.’

  ‘There they are!’ Basil limped from the gangway to the quay as fast as he could. Dusk had fallen and still there hadn’t been any sign of Wargall and Wemawee. But there they were, coming in slowly, as if exhausted.

  ‘What’s that they are carrying?’ Jurgis said. ‘Bodies?’

  The two clambered from their brooms. ‘Need a healer,’ Wemawee said. ‘Stretcher, bed. Burns.’ Then she sat down and buried her face in her hands.

  While Jurgis called a sailor over and sent her to the castle for medical help, Wargall marched forward. With a shrug, he let the dead singer fall from his shoulder and straightened.

  ‘Lioness,’ he said, saluting. ‘I have a report to make.’

  ‘Then do so, Warrior,’ Maud said calmly, standing with her hands at her back.

  Wargall wavered, but steadied himself. ‘The dhow has been destroyed by fire spells, ma’am. There is one survivor with heavy burns. The dead man is a singer. I don’t know if he was the one who shot up the dhow, but he certainly tried to do it to us. I ...’ Wargall faltered, and started again. ‘I jumped onto his carpet and killed him.’

  ‘In mid-flight?’ Maud said, incredulous.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Wargall said. ‘There wasn’t any other way. I am sorry I couldn’t bring the carpet; didn’t know the commands. But perhaps the singer’s body will serve?’

  ‘Thank you, Warrior,’ Maud said, again the emotionless superior. ‘I want your report in writing. Tomorrow. For now, go and rest. Dismissed.’

  ‘Ma’am.’ Wargall saluted and went over to Wemawee. ‘Come to the ship.’ Silently, the young wisewoman rose, and together, they wove their way to the Magonaut.

  ‘Shouldn’t we help them?’ Jurgis said an
xiously.

  ‘No.’ Maud stared after the two, stumbling into the ship. ‘This is the warrior’s way. It’s very important for him, right now. And for her, I think.’

  ‘Like those archeresses in the gatherhouse with their scratches,’ Jurgis said.

  ‘Exactly.’

  Shortly the healers came and carefully laid the burned girl on the stretcher.

  ‘Who cared for these wounds?’ one of them said.

  ‘The Wisewoman Wemawee probably,’ Basil said. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s beautiful work.’ He pointed to the burns on her underbody. ‘She must tell us how she did these coverings.’

  ‘I’ll ask her,’ Basil said. ‘She won’t mind sharing her knowledge with you.’ He kicked the dead singer with his toeless foot. ‘Take that, too. I would appreciate hearing everything you can tell me of him.’

  The healer looked down on the singer’s body. ‘A pity he’s dead. I would have loved to examine him alive.’

  ‘You would be like them?’ Jurgis said pointedly, and the healer colored.

  ‘Perhaps it’s better this way,’ he admitted.

  Basil hadn’t listened to their exchange. He was thinking how to tell Yarwan the news. He wouldn’t take it well.

  ‘Dead?’ Yarwan said and his face tautened with shock. ‘Jorlok, the crew, the leopardesses, all dead?’ His hands gripped the edge of his desk, where he’d been sitting, updating his logbook.

  ‘Wargall managed to pull one girl from the wreck,’ Maud said softly. ‘She’s in a bad way.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘A carpeted singer caught them by surprise and attacked. They weren’t expecting any danger.’ She growled deep in her throat. ‘I should’ve warned them.’

  ‘Jorlok was in command,’ Yarwan said, rubbing his temples. ‘He should have been prepared. Still, they didn’t have orders to shoot first.’

  ‘From now on, they will,’ Basil said. He whirled around to Maud. ‘Pass it on. From this moment, every archeress or soldier will shoot carpet flyers on sight. Saul will change his for a broom, if he doesn’t want to be killed. All of us will both leave and enter town at street level, so that we can be recognized.’

  ‘I will send the other dhow to recover the bodies,’ Yarwan said.

  Basil turned to him. ‘You will not!’ He saw his love recoil and gripped both his arms. ‘I understand, love. But as long as we don’t know how many of those bastards are on the loose out there, we are not going to risk another ship’s crew.’

  Slowly, Yarwan nodded. ‘You’re right. Damn, I ...’ He gave a long sigh. ‘The crew won’t like it.’

  ‘Tell them it’s the Spellstor’s orders,’ Basil said grimly. ‘The same orders go for Isaac and Dori’s people. I can’t stop the hunting teams going out, or the town would starve, but they must always check in and out with the guards at the gate. Tomorrow morning, Saul and I will do a reconnaissance flight. If there’s anything going on, I want to know.’

  He saw Jurgis’ face. ‘Saul has those nasty beams he can shoot, dear heart. You are much more use on the ground.’

  Reluctantly, Jurgis nodded.

  CHAPTER 37 - REINFORCEMENTS

  The following morning, with the sun just peering over the horizon, Basil and Saul left the town, flying low.

  ‘How does the broom feel?’ Basil said, as they left the gates.

  ‘It’s different,’ Saul said. ‘More direct. A carpet is always impersonal; this feels like riding a live animal.’

  ‘We’ll try some fun things,’ Basil said. ‘Follow me and do what I do.’ He pulled the nose of his staff up and shot into the sky. Saul was less than a second slower, and for the next twenty minutes they played tag in the air, dodging in and out of the clouds, startling innocent birds and collecting a crowd of onlookers on the city walls.

  Finally, Basil hung motionless in the air, and beckoned his brother to come closer.

  ‘Got the feel now?’ he shouted.

  Saul grinned and gave the thumbs-up.

  ‘Let’s go then!’ Off they went; flying north, high above what Saul had said was the cruising height of a carpet flyer.

  For a long time, nothing happened on the ground. Settlements were few and far between, and the ones they saw seemed peaceful enough. Basil pulled out his timepiece. Almost three o’clock, he thought. Time to turn back.

  He glanced at Saul and saw his brother point. Then, Basil noticed the low, reddish glow that told him all was not well. He lifted his staff and gained some extra height, before he ordered more speed. Skirting the clouds close enough that he felt the cold seep through his cloak, he saw the glow came from several fires, ravaging a town. Not as large as Seatome, but a sizable settlement. Several buildings were on fire, and a mass of ant-like figures ran through the streets. Then, to the right, he saw the army, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of the main column, an endless column of soldiers, six abreast, their armor and guns catching the afternoon sun. Colored banners flew over their heads, with symbols Basil didn’t recognize. From somewhere, the sound of drums played a doleful melody that stopped your breathing and disrupted the beating of your heart.

  Thousands of them, he thought, and cold fear clutched at his throat.

  Then he saw the mass of carpets, carrying stores, food and everything a marching army needs. One after another, they landed, and soldiers ran to unload them. Tents rose up in the nearby fields, and it was clear the army wasn’t going anywhere that day.

  He gestured to Saul, and motioned they were going back. He saw his brother’s relief clear on his face. Not strange; the sight of the massive army was frightening.

  Away they sped, back to warn the town. Warn them! thought Basil. Then what? Where can we go? The Strapan had been right. The Unwaari answer wasn’t to talk, but to come and destroy them. Why? Hadn’t they believed him?

  It was near dusk when they saw the walls of Seatome, with the harbor and ... Basil groaned.

  Gods! No! A forest of masts filled the harbor entrance, making it impossible to enter or leave. So much for the Magonaut being their only big ship. They had a fleet...

  He was about to sheer off, when he saw the foremost ship. Mermion? Wallanck’s ship! Behind her were the Willowdrake, and a vast mass of other vessels. He looked aside at Saul. ‘They’re ours!’ he cried, and saw his brother understood, for he relaxed.

  Down they went, and raced through the gates, waving at the guards. Skimming the heads of the crowds, they landed on the Magonaut’s quarterdeck.

  ‘Gods!’ cried he, as he ran and embraced Yarwan. ‘They’re our ships!’ Then he stepped back. ‘When did they arrive?’

  ‘Just after noon,’ the captain said. ‘I’m still waiting for a summons.’

  ‘A summons!’ Basil said, stepping back. ‘You mean they’re here for half a day and you haven’t spoken with them?’

  Yarwan nodded unhappily.

  ‘You should have gone to them, love,’ Basil said sternly. ‘You are the acting governor here!’

  ‘But they are the rulers,’ Yarwan said.

  ‘Not here, silly. This is Vanhaar, not Malgarth. Only my father counts for anything. And I don’t think he knows that yet. Come on, where are they holed up?’

  ‘In the castle. I saw them pass. Wallanck, the queen, your father, Volaut, looking awful, and Uncle Naching. They walked right past my ship.’

  ‘They’re mad!’ Basil felt his face glow in anger. ‘You, Maud, Jurgis; Saul ... No, you stay here, brother. I don’t want it known you joined us. Cover your head, and always wear that cloak outside your cabin. Don’t ask; I won’t tell you. Just be a sweet and do it. Come on!’

  He rushed to the gangway and saw the crowds of sailors and soldiers unloading the ships.

  ‘We’ll fly,’ he decided. ‘Yarwan, sit with me, dear.’ Off they went, disregarding the shocked faces of the newcomers. Basil saw the doors of the balcony standing open and he flew in, scaring some Chorwaynie marines witless.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Basil sa
id coolly, ‘I’m the Spellwarden. My father and the other rulers?’

  ‘Phew, you got us, sir,’ a marine said. ‘We’ve been hearing tales about wyrms and such flying monsters.’

  ‘They exist. That’s why you should post on that balcony instead of here in the hall,’ Basil said with a scowl. ‘The enemy can fly, too, and they shoot first and talk later.’ Then he strode to the commander’s office.

  ‘Let me pass,’ he said, as the two tigresses barred the door with their spears.

  ‘The queen’s orders are not to disturb them,’ the eldest said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘He is the Spellwarden,’ Maud snapped. ‘He is to be admitted at all times.’

  The tigress saluted. ‘Your pardon, Lioness; I didn’t know. It’s all a bit chaotic, you see.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Maud said. ‘This is what you have been training for. Preparations for war.’

  The woman stiffened. ‘Yes, Lioness.’

  Basil opened the door and entered. The three rulers stood at a table with an ancient map spread out. With them were the veteran tigress, Captain Naching, and Councilor Volaut. The blond warlock looked haggard and a hundred years old. Seeing who entered, he staggered to his feet.

  ‘You!’ he said, his voice hoarse.

  ‘Good day, Councilor Volaut,’ Basil said. ‘You look a bit out of sorts; perhaps you should seek some fresh air. I just returned from the north; I found the air in the Temperiol Ridges very wholesome.’

  Volaut’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes? The air in Vanhaar is about to turn unhealthy for warlocks, I fear.’

  ‘Not warlocks, Councilor,’ Basil said cheerfully. ‘Singers. All of Vanhaar will become unhealthy for Unwaari intruders. We’ll kick them out, you know. Or kill them.’

  Volaut shook, his face an unhealthy gray. ‘I ... pray ... you will succeed, Spellwarden.’ He turned to the prince-warlock, who had been following the conversation with a grim face. ‘I’ll go and lie down for a bit, Argyr. I hope you will be sensible.’

  When the doors closed behind the councilor, Basil turned to the three rulers. ‘Welcome to my town,’ he said. ‘You all know Captain Yarwan, who is the acting governor of Seatome. The Lioness Maud is responsible for the town’s defense and Master Jurgis of Winsproke is our collective aide-de-camp.’