by Allan Cole
I asked him what were the actual dangers. I wanted the specifics, by the Gods. His gloomy list was impressive: he mentioned rocks that changed their locations from voyage to voyage; great whirlpools; sea monsters; pirates; lee cliffs with nary a landing safe to beach on; storms blowing up from a clear sky, no doubt brought on by some great and evil Evocator somewhere on the Pepper Coast; stars not consistent in their courses, so no navigator could be sure of his location. After piling up this fearful heap, he said: "My ship is fast. And I will hire the most skilled men possible, men able to work a sling or a ballista as well as furl a sail. And I hope some of your retinue know which end of an arrow is to be nocked."
That was how it began. Each day I would travel to the docks and we would bargain and lie, back and forth, to and fro. By the time we had struck a deal for ship and crew - about twice what I'd offered, half on departure day, half on arrival at Redond - I was willing and, I think, able, to strap all fourteen of my party on my back, plus our money chests, and swim to that damned-of-the-gods Valaroi. Nothing, I should add, has changed the way seamen do business, from that long ago day to this.
* * *
The day before I finally wore L'ur out, something most odd happened. Greif was waiting when I came back to the inn. He was carrying a closely-tied bag, which held some of the "preciouses" - his word - he'd secured for Janos. I offered to accept them, but he refused - Captain Greycloak had insisted that Greif would be paid by, and answer to, only him. I thought of snapping back that I was Janos employer, and certainly there should be no secrets from me, but realized I was tired from the endless haggling with L'ur. Out of common politeness I offered Greif wine. He accepted and we found a corner of the inn's common room.
"This is passin' strange," he said. "Me, comin' from a foundlin' shelter, drinkin' with a merchant prince. None that I grew with'd believe it." He laughed in pleasure, showing black teeth. Th' wine's e'en sweeter knowin' I'm doin' service f'r an Antero."
"How did you know my family name?"
"One a' th' soldiers said. To his mate. Not knowin' that m' ears might be trimmed, but pointed right, they hear as well as any. But don't worry. Any secret Greif knows, when it's a friend, he keeps. I learned about bein' mouthy." His hand caressed the ropeburns on his arm almost fondly. I wished Janos would come - this man's presence made my skin crawl as if I was lice-ridden.
"You've heard of my family?" I asked.
Greif nodded, then turned in his chair and lifted his tunic. My stomach curdled. I'd seen lash scars before, white and twisted on a man's back - but never this deep. The whip must have cut to the bone. "One time," Greif said, turning back and pulling his tunic down, "M' luck had turned, an' I agreed t' do a job for Nisou, Master Symeon. Yes. Yes. I saw th' look a startlement. The Symeons. Even a street scut like me's heard of the feud. Anyway, it wasn't he who paid, but me. A dozen's dozen. He used the whip his own self. He's got his own cells below th' buildin' th' Symeons have for their clan home. I don't know if I screamed or not. Prob'ly I did. Most do, when there's metal wove into th' whip leather."
He smiled, and licked his lips, as if recollecting a lover's embrace. "Then he had me thrown int' th' bay. I wasn't expected t' live. But I did. Swearin' there'd be another time. Another place. Knowin' I was jus' blatherin', to keep from passin' out. So maybe this, helpin' you, in whatever you're plannin' is a getback against th' Symeons. Jus' a bit. An' a bit here, a bit there...I've seen mice take an entire loaf like that."
He drained his wine and I signaled for more. Greif went for the jakes. I looked about the common room. The few people in it were more interested watching Greif's stumble than in me. I bent, and felt the bundle he had for Janos, like a child trying to determine what he would receive on his birthing day by fondling its wrappings. Some bottles... a box... some other things that rustled, like dried plants... some packages that held round seeds... and then I cut myself. There was a gleam from the blade - it'd punctured the linen the bundle was wrapped in. I quickly tore a bit away. The blade was curved. It was a tiny sickle, the miniature of what a peasant uses to cut wheat. But it was made of gold - and I knew without looking, there would be arcane lettering on the blade itself. This scythe was intended to cut herbs and other plants - but not for a cook or a chambermaid. These plants would be used for enchantments. By an Evocator.
I wondered what Janos Greycloak wanted with the forbidden tools of sorcery. I wondered what the other items in that bundle were, and thought I might know. I remembered the question that Gamelan, eldest of the Evocators, had asked Janos back in Orissa, and how Janos had turned the question aside with a jest, not answering. But I did not tell Janos what I'd seen when he arrived near-simultaneous with Greif's return from the privy. The question would have to be posed much later, in private, because the penalty for a non-Evocator possessing or using spellbinders' implements could be anything from imprisonment to banishment to death.
* * *
That night, for the first time in months, I dreamt my nightmare once more. I could not remember what it had been before, but from that time on, the face of my keeper, leading me out of the boat to my doom, was Greif's. But in my dream one of his eyes was gone, and something like a worm or a light squirmed out the socket at me.
The night after that another horror came upon us, but this one was very real. I'd noticed the moon was full as I went upstairs toward my chamber. I was readying myself for sleep when the baying started. I grabbed my rapier and went out onto the balcony. Two guttering torches at the gates showed me the creature crouched in the courtyard's center. It had come from no womb on this earth, but only from an Evocator’s incantations. Imagine a hyena, a hairless hyena starved nearly to death, and with the face of a man.
The creature spoke - in the voice of a man who might have come straight from the Archons' dungeons. "You are summoned," the being screeched. "You are summoned to the Castle. All men, all women, who are not Lycanthian. You are summoned. In one hour. The oracle has named this for the time. You are ordered to appear. All of you. It is the order of the Archons. You must obey. You are summoned. Let those who disobey find the death, the death of burning, the death of water, the death of crushing, the death of falling. This is the voice of the Archons. One hour."
The being loped out of the courtyard, down the cobbled street toward another inn. I turned, and saw Janos, his face stone. "This means a death," he said. "I was afraid they would sniff us out." He nodded to me. "You must order everyone dressed. No one is to carry a weapon, not even a eating knife. We must be in the Square before the sands run out of a glass... Or else we shall all die."
* * *
The streets of Lycanth were eerie: here and there were torches, carried by bewildered foreigners; silent patrols of Lycanthian soldiery stalked through the streets, refusing to answer all questions except to repeat the Archons must be obeyed. The high buildings were dark, as if no one was behind the windows, but now and then I caught the flash of a white face as it chanced a look out, then ducked back behind curtains.
Janos had returned hastily to his chamber, while I gave the orders. I heard the crashing of something being smashed, then nothing. I had to shout three times before he came out. Now, as we walked through the streets, I heard him stop by Maeen. Then he moved up to Eanes and I heard him ask, in a whisper, if he could read. Eanes may have been frightened, but had enough self to snap that of course he could, not being a barbarian from Lycanth.
Then he moved up to me. "Here," he whispered, handing me a bit of metal. "Learn this. Recite it at the proper time. You will know when. I have given one to Maeen and to Eanes as well."
"What about Cassini?" I whispered back. Our Evocator was walking a few yards in front of us.
"He has nothing to worry about," Janos said. "The cloak of equals will extend over him." He handed me a cap, used by the servitors to keep dust from their hair. "Pull it on. We need to light no watch fire for them."
Ahead of us was the Castle. Over its main entrance - the gate lowered and the portculli
s raised - was a great flare, roaring flame, without fuel or support. I heard part of a whisper from one of the soldiers: "Stink... sorcery..."
"On your life," Janos hissed. "Say nothing, and think nothing bad about what is happening."
It was now light enough for me to look at what I held. It was a shard of highly-polished brass. Now I understood the crash I'd heard - the brass was part of the reflector for one of the room lamps in our quarters. Scratched on it by a knife point were words:
I am mirror
I am not seen
I think as you
My mind is a wall
Feel nothing
Think nothing
What you see..
is what you are
What you see…
is what we are
I am mirror
As frightened as I was, I still wondered: first the bundle of thaumaturgical objects; and now this incantation. Did Janos Greycloak fancy himself an Evocator? But there was no time for further thought; soldiers closed around us as we went through the gates, and into the huge open courtyard.
At the far end was a stand, a stand like a great podium. On it stood two men; their bodies shimmered, and they appeared to be taller than men should be. Each of them wore the diadem of Archon. I shuddered... this was an evil. Common men, let alone outsiders, were never supposed to lay eyes on Lycanth's Archons, their Master Evocators. I heard a soldier whisper a prayer and the thud of the blow as Maeen struck him. We were formed into lines by Lycanthian soldiers. There were perhaps three or four hundred of us in the square. Dressed or half-dressed, none of us wore the garb of Lycanth. Men and women, nobles and slaves, children and ancients. Some of us were crying, some of us were drunk and trying to appear brave.
Then another creature appeared between the two Archons. I heard a voice, from nowhere, from everywhere: "There is evil, there is evil, there is evil abroad this night/Evil for me, Evil for Lycanth, Evil that must be Ended/The vision is clear, the vision is clear/This is the hour/This is the hour/Seek, our messenger, our inquisitor, our lover."
The third creature - I now saw it was the ghastly messenger that had summoned us here, a being created by the blackest of spells - leapt down from the stand. It bounded toward us, and somehow I knew what its new role would be: A finder. I could hear sniffing as it came. I knew this was the time.
I am mirror/I am unseen...
The creature moved down our ranks, slowly. As it approached me, one of our soldiers fainted. I heard his body thud against the flagstones.
...Feel nothing/Think nothing...
The demon was in front of me. I dared not look down. I felt its loathsome muzzle touch my bare leg, and barely kept from writhing.
What you see is what you are...
I did not fall. The hound was gone. I heard a puzzled whine from down the row, but did not chance a look. The beast sounded exactly like one of my own dogs, knowing that what he sought was close, but still somehow hidden. There came the scratch of claws... coming back toward me.
What you see is what we are...
Again, the beast passed on. This time it broke from our ranks and trotted to an open space between us and the Archons. It sat on its haunches and then howled at the setting moon. Once. Twice. A third time. Someone came out from the crowd toward the seeker, summoned by the baying.
It was a young woman. Even now I can remember how comely she was. She was very young - perhaps she was even a virgin. She wore only nightclothes. At another time, someone might have felt the stirrings of lust. But not now. Not here. Lycanth had chosen its victim. She walked to the beast. It was if her feet wanted to run, to flee. But the spell would not let her. Her lovely face was contorted in horror. There came a shimmer in the air in front of her, a shimmer like that hanging around the Archons. The shimmer became a dagger - not large, and with a slightly curving blade. The maiden herself might have used one like it in her kitchen if she were a commoner, or one of her slaves would have sliced her morning fruit with it if she were noble.
Very slowly the woman took the blade. She turned the blade toward her. Then she made the first cut. The spell she was under allowed her to scream. None of us could run, could even turn our eyes. She cut again. And again. To this day, her screams still hang in my mind. It was near dawn before she could not scream any more, and they let her die. The demon vanished; and there was no one standing on the Archons' podium.
We turned and stumbled out. There was nothing in the square, lit by the dying torches, except the sprawled body of something that had once been very beautiful.
* * *
"That is the custom in Lycanth," Janos told me later, when I was able to talk about it. "When the Archons or their diviners descry a doom or an evil descending on the city, sacrifice is made."
"No doubt it is always an outsider."
"Not always," he said. "I have seen natives of the city, even a young Evocator once, choose themselves. Those who offer themselves to save Lycanth are mostly young. Mostly handsome. Sometimes those who make the choice have spoken out against Lycanth. Or are hereditary enemies of the city. Or merely stand out. That was why I asked you to wear the cap. Perhaps those reasons are why the... the creature who must not be named... stopped by our party. But perhaps not. Perhaps the woman harbored greater secrets and greater feelings than any of us. And that... that was not the worst death I have seen the Chosen One find."
I hesitated, about to ask him how he knew to write the counter-spell, but decided against it. It was not a question to be asked aloud in Lycanth.
* * *
It was time to go; our ship and crew were provisioned and ready. We would leave in two or three days, on a neap tide. Evidently Janos had found all he needed from the blackmarket, since I did no longer saw Greif about.
Janos, Cassini and myself were in one of the city's weapons shops, choosing suitable instruments for the journey; weapons that would not shriek of our origin. I eyed a beautiful rapier of watered steel that had a jeweled and gold guard and pommel, and a gold-threaded grip. Next to it laid a matched dagger. The smith murmured an Evocator had cast a spell of invincibility on both weapons. I asked the smith if I might handle them. Both seemed to float in my grasp. But not being an experienced warrior, I turned to Janos to see what he wanted me to carry. He himself already had his weapons - the same he'd carried the day I met him on the drill field in Orissa.
"Carry what you wish," he said. No man should have his individual weapons dictated before he goes into battle, unless the commander has specific reasons. But those two, handsome as they are, would not be my personal choices. First, is that it is not advisable, particularly in a small party, for officers to be easily recognizable. Hence you do not wear a long crest, gold workings on your armor... nor jewel-like curlicues on your blade. There is nothing that makes a soldier lose heart so fast as seeing his commander fall. I also have known waterfront toughs to assassinate a man solely because they lusted for his sword. As for those enchantments... can you imagine any man heading for battle, whether he's a peasant armed with nothing but a brass-bound club or a great lord, whose weapons have not been blessed by someone? An Evocator, a witch, a local sorcerer or...or an Archon?
Plus the field of battle itself swirls with spell and counterspell, even more thickly than the dust raised in the struggle. I have always felt that battle spells and weapon talismans tend to counteract and hence negate each other. But that's just my feeling, or maybe cynicism. Lastly, the rapier may be well built, but consider this broadsword, instead."
He indicated - and the smith was quick to hand it to him - another sword. It was built like a claymore, but shorter and its grip intended for but one hand. "Sturdy. Double-edged. Also of ondanique construction. You could probably do what I'm about to show you with either blade - but the more slender one could take a cast." He took the blade tip in one hand, the grip in the other, and bent the blade into an arc, his muscles bulging. I knew the steel must snap - but instead, it curved into a near-semicircle. Janos let it eas
e back, and nodded to the smith. "No magicking here, Master Kanadis. Just the finest of metallurgy."
"You have found me out," the smith grinned. "I share your skepticism about sorcery's place on the battleground, although I would be the last to deny an Evocator’s blessing before the fight. I have, however, hired an Evocator to place a charm against rusting on this - and all my other watered steel blades - so they may be used aboard ship, for instance, without the owner having to spend all his waking hours cursing and scrubbing with an oil-soaked rag."
"A sturdy sword," Janos continued. "Better than the rapier for travel, since you will find yourself using that sword for everything from a tent stake to a brushcutter to a spit, although I will speak most harshly to you in the event I see you thus distempering the metal. And these simple, straight quillons will serve to stop an enemy's slash, yet not bind as... as some other weapons I can think of might do." I reddened a bit. I thought Janos had forgotten my performance as less than a master of the duello down at the river front in Orissa.
"Here is a knife to match." Janos said, passing me a rather modestly-worked scramasax - a single-edged knife with a fairly long and broad blade grooved on both sides. "This will be your copse-, carcass- or thief-cutter, which you will keep always beside you. The sword you will find uncomfortable, and tend to leave by a campfire, or tied to your saddle, especially just before you need it. And this dagger can be your salvation. All else you'll need is a small knife for cutting your meat, which you may pick out over at the cutlery section.
"Do you agree, Master Kanadis?"
"I do."
"Two men who know far better than I have spoken," I said. "Although sometimes I feel less the master of this expedition than its sponsor, as if I were an old dodderer infatuated with a vapid simperer."
"And all of us whores appreciate you," Janos said, with a laugh.
"One more thing," he said. "While we're on the subject of, er, ostentation. Your hair. I've known great chieftains who are proud of their locks, and dare an enemy to shear them. I have admired them. From afar. Especially during a battle. We will be traveling through regions whose peoples think it blessed by the gods to hunt down a flame-headed man and pitch him off the nearest cliff to ensure a beneficial harvest or perhaps just better weather the next day."
