The Warrior's Tale (The Far Kingdoms, Book 2)

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  "Yes, indeed," Jinnah continued. "This is a mission of such importance that only one woman is suitable for it. The Hero of Lycanth. Captain Rali Emilie Antero."

  I knew I was lost, but I tried one more sally. "I’d be glad to oblige, General," I said, as smoothly as I could." "And we all thank you for the singular honor, but the Maranon Guard’s duty is at home. As a matter of fact, I was going to come by in the morning and ask you for my orders."

  "You can have them now," Jinnah said. "But you won’t be going home. As I said, this is a task for a hero. And a hero it shall have. As, no doubt, the Magistrates shall agree when I toast you at the victory feast in Orissa a few weeks hence."

  Hux and the other aides sniggered.

  Jinnah’s next words came in a growl of command. "You and your women will join Admiral Yi at first light. Your orders are to pursue the Archon. You will find him and kill him. You will spare no effort, no cost, no life, until you find him and kill him. What’s more, I order you to not return until that goal has been accomplished. Do I make myself clear?"

  It was like a banishment, as if my women and I were being punished for our success — which we were.

  You seem as stunned as I was, Scribe. The histories that’ve been written of those events make no mention of Jinnah’s motives, do they? Welcome to the side of the world that women dwell in, my friend. It’s quite cramped, for men require — and command — a great deal more room than me and my sisters. It’s quite cold over here, as well, Scribe. The fuel for our fires have been rationed, you see. It has been deemed that we only need enough to warm childish pride in our looks, the ability to win a bed mate, and to keep hearth, children and kitchen clean. And it’s quite gloomy. You don’t need much light when you’re a mere reflection of men.

  I stared long and hard at Jinnah after he had spoken. I tried to will him to call back his words. But I wouldn’t, and perhaps from his view, couldn’t retreat. I wanted to shout that the Guard was a land force, and had been so since its inception. We had no experience with the sea. I wanted to curse him for trying to steal the glory that only an hour before I’d disdained. I wanted to plead with him — not for my life — but for my sisters’ lives. How many now had a hope of returning to Orissa’s blessed shores? But I couldn’t do any of those things. Orders had been clearly given, no matter how insane.

  But I didn’t give him the least satisfaction in seeing my turmoil, my fears. Nor did I click my bootheels and fire off my crispest salute. For he did not deserve this respect. And respect was all I could deny him.

  So, I merely nodded. And said: "Very well, sir. But if I am to do this, I must insist on one thing."

  "What is that, Captain Antero?" Jinnah sneered. He did not dare retort that I could insist on nothing. After all, the general himself had called me the Hero of Lycanth. How can one deny a hero?

  "I want complete command of this expedition, sir. Cholla Yi is to be told in no uncertain terms that my every whim is to be instantly obeyed. Obviously, I will not misuse this, sir. I will leave to him matters of the sea. But in the hunt, itself, and in any conflict, it is my word that must rule."

  Jinnah laughed unpleasantly. "The Admiral and I have already discussed these things, Captain," he said. "I made quite clear what role he is to play."

  More sniggering from Hux and the other aides.

  "Sir, I request that you repeat all that I have said in a formal conference with Admiral."

  "If you think it’s necessary," Captain," Jinnah replied, "I shall be glad to do so."

  He turned to take leave. "I’ll call a meeting within the hour."

  Then I heard Gamelan croak. "One moment, General."

  Jinnah stopped. He looked at the old wizard, a frown of worry creasing his too handsome features. Was Gamelan going to somehow interfere? I had such wild hopes myself, but Gamelan quickly dashed them.

  "An Evocator will need to be assigned to this expedition," he said.

  "Choose whom you please," the general replied.

  "Oh, I shall," Gamelan snapped, making certain Jinnah realized the Chief Evocator’s choices were his and his alone to make. "And I choose myself."

  Jinnah gaped. "But that’s . . . but you’re . . . "

  "Too old?" Gamelan snorted. "That’s the very reason why I shall go. The work that remains to be done here would best be dealt with by younger wizards. And, I dare say I am more of a match for my sorcerous cousin, the Archon, than any of my fellows. No, I believe this expedition will have a better chance if I am along."

  I saw delight in Jinnah’s eyes: two enemies with one blow. He could not have hoped for more. "May the blessings of Te Date be upon you," he intoned.

  Gamelan didn’t answer. He was fussing with his apparatus again — acting as if he’d already forgotten the general’s presence. After a long, somewhat embarrassing moment, Jinnah shook his head, and departed, his aides crowding around his heels like rock lizards just out of the egg scurry after their mother in case father comes home to make an early dinner.

  I remained behind. I was beginning to get an inkling of the old man’s ways.

  "Thank you," I said.

  "For what, my dear Rali? For burdening you with someone with years as long as his beard?" He stroked the unkempt mass at his chin. Gamelan’s eyes were a warm yellow, like a cheery hearth. Crooked teeth laughed through the gray thicket.

  "Just the same," I said, "until you spoke up, I thought this whole thing hopeless."

  "You doubt your ability to carry it off?"

  "Not really," I said. "If the odds were even. But I do not think my commander intends for me to return. I believe he’s more worried about his own reputation — and fortunes — than the safety of Orissa."

  The yellow hearth of his eyes burned hotter. "That was my opinion as well, Rali," he said.

  For the first time I took note at how familiarly the wizard had begun to address me. As if he saw friendship in his future. At that instant, I welcomed that offer. Although, as an Antero, I was nervous about it. My family has not had good fortune with wizards. But we did not speak of such things then.

  "My distrust," Gamelan continued, "was the reason why I insisted I go along. We can give the Archon no peace, or he will complete that weapon. It will take him longer than if he were allowed to remain untroubled in his chambers. Also, he does not have his brother to assist him. But we dare not let him rest in one place, or the victory here will be hollow indeed."

  As I pondered that danger, Gamelan laughed. It is an odd thing to hear a wizard laugh. I have met many in my travels, and that human thing we all do so naturally does not come easy to them. Some shriek like a witch. Some croak like a mating frog. Some howl like direwolves greeting the moon. When he was happy, which I later learned was a rare thing in Gamelan’s life, Gamelan hooted — like a great hunting owl. For the first time since we had met, I rather enjoyed that sound.

  "I have another reason," Gamelan said. "I must confess that it is quite selfish."

  "And what is that?" I asked.

  "I remember the day when I gave permission for your brother and that rogue Greycloak to seek the Far Kingdoms. I sat on my throne of office, feeling like a little boy, instead of a wise old Evocator of much responsibility and power. I tell you, I would have traded that throne and every speck of knowledge and authority, if only I could have gone along."

  Now, it was my turn to laugh. "Adventure? Is that your poison, wizard?"

  Another hoot from Gamelan. "I was born to it, Rali," he said. "But fate intervened. I was unlucky enough to be cursed with sorcerous talent. But that is another story, which I shall be delighted to bore you with on our voyage."

  He shook his head and twisted his beard in great delight. "Imagine. To speak of such things . . . storytelling, and voyages, and adventures. Why even now I feel quite like a youth again."

  Indeed, he seemed to have dropped years in the few minutes that’d passed since our conversation had begun. His cheeks above his beard had a rosy hue. His eyes were brighter. His f
orm straighter. Why, he almost looked handsome. If my women were of a different bent, I dare say several of them would have been ready to come to blows for a chance to trip that old man up on a hearth rug. I swore to myself that sometime during our journey, if the moment presented itself, along with a comely woman who liked the company of men, that I would guide her to the wizard’s cot.

  Gamelan gave a start. "See, I am too old," he said. "I’d almost forgotten the work I was at." He hurried back to his apparatus, sniffing the odorless steam, turning little petcocks to let one liquid drip into another, talking as he went about his tasks. "Thanks to you," he said, "I have the means to arm ourselves against the Archon with a secret weapon of our own. It may not be enough to defeat him in the end, but it will certainly weaken him. And it will make our job easier to hunt him down."

  He put an ornate box on the table. It was ebony black, with rich inlayed colors. There were no seams, no sign of a means for entry. Gamelan passed his hands over it, whispered a few words and pressed the sides with the thumb and forefinger of each hand. It sprang open. I looked inside, and nearly retched at what I saw there. It was a large hunk of flesh with the brownish purple hue of an internal organ a few hours from rot.

  "It’s the heart of the Archon you slew," Gamelan said. He lifted it out with the ease of a man comfortable with offal. He placed under a large copper spigot that protruded from the machine. He turned the petcock. Thick, oily drops of liquid — a glowing green in color — dripped onto the heart. The liquid flowed over the organ, coating it with a thin sheen of green. Gamelan chanted:

  Heart of stone,

  Brother to fear:

  No love

  No tears

  No pity!

  Heart of stone,

  Brother to hate:

  No joy

  No warmth

  No beauty!

  Hate to hate,

  Fear to Fear,

  Stone to stone:

  Brother find brother!

  The heart began to shrink, and change form and color. It got smaller and smaller, slowly at first, then I blinked and it had gone from the size of a fist to that of a bird’s egg. Then it was as smooth and black as the ebony box. Gamelan lifted it gingerly with crystalline tongs and placed it in the box. Once again he pressed the sides, and whispered a chant. The box snapped shut.

  Gamelan picked it up, holding it between flattened palms. He bowed his head, squinting in concentration. Then he nodded and looked up, those gnarly teeth gleaming thorough his beard.

  "It works," he said, quite pleased, as if he had been in some doubt.

  He offered me the box. I drew back.

  "I don’t want to touch that thing," I said, as skittish as a new blooming maid.

  "I don’t blame you," Gamelan answered. "After all, we do know where it’s been. Still . . . To please me, if nothing else."

  I took the box and held it as he had. Instantly I felt a tingle. A vibration, like a stringed instrument that had recently been strummed.

  "What’s happening?" I asked.

  Gamelan made that hunting-owl hoot of his. "Why, it’s telling us that its brother is still quite near. And now we only have to follow it, and — "

  Then excitement at his victory caught the wizard. Gamelan threw back his head and gave a shout that rolled and echoed across that great Chamber of the Archons:

  "I’ve got you, you bastard! I’ve got you!"

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHASE TO THE ENDS OF THE WORLD

  We set sail on the First Candleday of the Harvest Month in the Year Of The Hart. Gamelan chose two soldiers convicted of raping several Lycanthian women for the Blessing. They were crushed between two millstones in the manner prescribed; but instead of sprinkling their blood across the fields, Gamelan anointed the ships’ prows, then cast the remains into the sea, as an offering to its gods. Everyone agreed it was a lucky way to begin the voyage, and on a most auspicious day.

  That’s as may be. But at the risk of singeing your shell-likes with my blasphemies, Scribe, I think that old devil of an Evocator made cunning use of coincidence to rattle Admiral Cholla Yi and his pirates. The entire army was turned out to see us off with as much panoply as Gamelan, and several friendly senior officers could squeeze out of Jinnah’s jealous fists. It was so elaborate we missed the morning tide, but Gamelan whispered for me not worry, for he had a trick or two to make it up.

  Our fleet consisted of fifteen of Cholla Yi’s galleys, long sea-wolves that looked deadly, even drawn up on their rollers on the sand, thus giving us more than even odds against the fleeing armed merchant ships of the Archon. I’d detailed a platoon of my Guardswomen to ten of the ships, plus the command group on my own ship. Five others would be manned only by Cholla Yi’s armed sailors. I’d wanted to put a detail on each ship, since I had little trust in Cholla Yi’s honesty, and less for that of his men, but even with the new recruits been brought out by Officer-Aspirant Dica, the Guard was still woefully short, especially after the savage battle in the sea castle.

  After much spell-casting and speechmaking — Jinnah even managed a little languid praise of me and my women — we paraded through the ranks of cheering soldiers. They shouted good wishes and prayers for our safe return, and as I passed by our comrades of the long siege I saw men whose emotions were so overflowing, they openly wept. Drums pounded and horns brayed as we drew up before our ships. Cholla Yi was there to greet me. He was wearing his best — meaning his most gaudy — uniform, with enough medals to nearly cover even his broad chest. As I returned his salute, I made the reflexive soldier’s survey of his honors. I recognized a few of his self-awarded gold and silver medallions. They were from fleets Cholla Yi never could have commanded for valor I doubted any amount of coin could have purchased from the mercenary. But it made a good show — especially since it was a show meant to impress me. His rogue’s grin was nearly as dazzling as his medals, and about as honestly meant.

  I ignored that and let the moment of new experience wash over me. After days of little sleep I felt faint-headed and everything came to me in a dazzling confusion of sights and sounds.

  “Guard!” I shouted, and Polillo and Corais echoed my call to attention. “In files . . . board ship!” Weapons clattered as my women doubled up the gangplanks to their new duties.

  I heard shouted orders from the master of my own ship, another rogue named Stryker, echoed by other captains’ voices. There was an eerie shrill of pipes as we mounted the gangway of my own galley. The officers and crew shambled to a seaman’s crooked attention. Stale sweat mingled with the sharp salt tang of the harbor air. The rowers, who all seemed to have massive arms and chest and spindly legs, stood by their benches and racked oars. The sailors among them — and there was a marked difference, I was later told in no uncertain terms — stood in motley groups.

  Other than the officers, the men were mostly barefooted; but were turned out in their best, a bizarre mixture of rags and looted finery. Women’s scarves and colorful tunics were mixed with canvas breeches, or even loincloths. Jewelry of every variety glinted from around their necks, or dangled from ears, noses, and lips. I even saw several bare-chested fellows with rings that hung through pierced nipples.

  As I viewed this savage lot all the usual doubts and half-formed ideas leaped into my already buzzing brain, but then my color guard unfurled our standard. They clipped it to a halyard, then waited as Gamelan chanted traditional blessings and prayers to Maranonia. Before he gave the signal for the banner to be hauled aloft, he plucked a small gourd from his sleeve and dashed it to the deck. Sweet-smelling smoke boiled up, foggy tendrils of red and green and blue waving this way and that. As the color guard raised the banner the smoke climbed with it, ascending higher and higher until the banner reached the very top. It hung limp for a moment, then I heard Gamelan shout and a wind swooped up from the shore. The colorful cloud of smoke scudded westward and the banner snapped taut — revealing our Goddess in her glory. She was every inch a warrior woman, from her golden b
oots to outstretched spear and torch. Light mail draped her pure-white tunic, and black tresses flowed out from under her peaked helmet.

  I was never so proud as that moment, with the flag of our goddess hoisted over a ship for the first time in anyone’s memory. I heard Polillo stifle a sob, and saw Corais knuckle wetness from the corner of her eye. I had to cough, as something suddenly appeared to be caught in my throat.

  The launching parties put their shoulders into it, and our galleys slid over the rollers until they floated free, rolling in the gentle beach swell.

  Stryker whispered, in that strange penetrating tone that carried for many yards: "Shall I give th’ orders t’ put t’ sea, Cap’n Antero?"

  I could only nod agreement. Another shrill of pipes and shouts from the shore and the crew scrambled about in the mad farewell ballet of every ship about to depart the land which has held it too long captive. There was a blur of orders, bewildering sounds and the clatter and drum of oars as the other galleys went through identical motions.

  Gamelan motioned to me and I stumbled forward. He handed me a golden spear, identical to the one carried by our goddess. He pointed at the distant horizon and bade me to cast the spear. I was so numb from the weariness that had descended on me I was afraid I’d end up playing the fool, but Gamelan squeezed the muscles of my right arm and I was suddenly very strong. My right side was like a steel spring ready to be unleashed. I set my feet and reached back for the cast. Gamelan chanted:

  Spear fly swift

  And far

  As Te Date

  Commands

  Our spirits to follow

  I loosed with all my power. I felt the sweetness of perfect motion. The cast was with such force that I came off my feet, but I landed back on the deck as agilely as any acrobat, or dancer. I saw the golden spear pierce the air, hurtling toward the distant west. Its arc carried it higher and farther than any mortal could have cast it. The spear flew like a hunting eagle, until it disappeared from sight.