Up forward, above the knife-bow, was a raised deck, from which an attack would be launched in battle. In the stowage spaces under it were weapons, spare sails, ropes barrels of water and rations, and the like.
At the stern was another raised deck, the quarterdeck. From here the galley was commanded and steered with a long tiller, connected to the rudder along one side. Under this deck was the one bit of luxury the galley had — separate cabins for the ship’s officers. We had been offered cabins ourselves — Cholla Yi’s officers would double up. Evidently he had decided to begin the voyage in as friendly a manner as possible. But we declined — any soldiery where the officers mess or sleep better than the lowliest enlisted woman is inevitably doomed to be destroyed one day by an army more concerned with duty than privilege.
A long, narrow deck, about three feet wide ran just above the weather deck fore and aft and connected the two raised decks. This was called a storming bridge, and served not only as a passageway when seas broke over the main deck, but to strength the hull.
Each galley had two masts and a lateen sail on each, which was how the ship normally moved. In the face of a wind, or when speed was required, the sails would be lowered and the oars manned.
For cooking, there was a sanded built up area on the lower deck. One man cooked, in great kettles, whatever was to be eaten, then these roughly-cooked viands were handed out to "messes," for further distribution. Each mess was ten sailors, whose utensils and plates were kept in a chest, along with whatever condiments they’d chosen to purchase from their own pockets. A sailor was free to join — or quit — a mess, just as his messmates had equal freedom to accept or reject him.
For a jakes, there was a framework pushed out over the stern when someone had the need. For bathing — well, as the mate said, "a sharp bow means speed, but you’ll think you’re swimming half the time."
That was all. Each galley was exactly as it appeared — a machine dedicated for only two purposes — speed and war. Everything else had been discarded.
I spent time walking, and then drawing the ship, until I knew its every dimension without thinking. Then I began studying another aspect — how this ship was sailed and brought into battle. And that was a study that lasted until the end of the voyage.
* * * *
I assembled my officers, and we began discussing how battle should be joined from these galleys. Cholla Yi and one of his marine officers gave a speech, not that there was much to be learned. A sea battle was fought as if each ship was a wagon full of infantry, attacking other wagons or perhaps a better image would be a group of small enemy forts, each surrounded by a swamp. First we would wreak as much damage as possible while we closed with our enemy, using spears, catapults, magic if there were Evocators aboard, and other weapons. Then we would close with our opponent and, at a signal, our Guardswomen would leap onto his ship, and attempt to slay all his soldiers. One side or another would triumph, the winners would have the ship if it were undamaged enough to be afloat, and the losers would be dinner for the sharks that even now trailed in our wake.
There were subtleties, from ramming to the crow’s beak to boarding nets, all of which I’ll explain when necessary. But, basically, there was not much difference between storming a castle, and storming a ship. Infantry was infantry, whether on land or sea.
Corais and I quietly discussed what we had learned afterward. To both of us, it seemed there was something missing, something wrong. This style of battle had all the subtlety of two blindfolded drunkards with clubs in a small room. There must be something more, or another way. But neither of us had any ideas then.
We were right, but that, too, is part of my story to learn in the telling.
* * * *
If it weren’t for the piratical looks of the crew, and my soldiers at constant hard practice with their arms, our voyage would have appeared as a pleasure jaunt to any outside observer. The seas were sparkling, the air alternately bracing, and languid, the days all clear blue skies, and the nights as star-lit as the most romantic dream. Fast winds made the rowing easy and the days pleasantly long. We neither gained, nor lost ground to our foe, and it soon became apparent the fight was a duel of wills between the pursuer and the pursued. And whoever made the first mistake, would lose.
Gamelan and the Archon had lapsed into a kind of truce in their magical fight. It had proved pointless, with every spell cast being countered by the other — and at such distances no one even had the diversion of watching a magical show. Both wizards had apparently decided to save their energies for a close-up battle. Gamelan, however, stayed alert for a surprise attack — and he assured me the Archon was doing the same. We believed, however, we held the edge, because not only did we outnumber Symeon and the Archon in both ships and soldiers, we knew we were much better supplied; and that the day would soon come when they would be forced to stop for water, or food.
Among my women, morale was better than I could have hoped. Those who longed for home, and lovers and family, were caught up by all the new things they saw, and the new skills they learned. Friends became faster friends, new lovers were found for those who were seeking it, and beds remained chaste and untroubled for those who could make love’s memory suffice. Among the most trusted members of my staff, Ismet continued to keep her own company, which she preferred; Corais played the field in the smooth way she had of keeping dalliances to nothing more than a lovely tickle, no harm done, no promises expected, or made; while Polillo fell in huge sighing love with a little blonde legate, Neustria, who stirred her to white heat by playing coy, then satisfying her in a memorable two-day tryst filled with much mooning, and thrashing about wherever they could find privacy, and finally a glorious fight where each swore they had never been such a fool as to fall for the other.
Polillo was as happy as I’d seen her since she cut two Lycanthian throats in the space of five minutes. As for me, I do not dally where I command. And even if I did, Tries would have come between me and any woman of my fascination.
So the seas remained friendly for many a day, each morning brought an empty horizon that beckoned us onward, and each night fell to a gloriously red sun the sailor’s claimed was the gods’ promise of an equally pleasant tomorrow.
CHAPTER SIX
THE WIZARD’S TALE
As the days drew on, I found myself more and more in the company of Gamelan. At first I was quite uncomfortable, for I still harbored bitterness against the Evocators for their part in the murder of my brother, Halab. True, Amalric made peace with the wizards of Orissa, and freed us all from the tyranny of magic with the gift of knowledge he brought back from the Far Kingdoms. But I had not, and doubt I ever would have if it hadn’t been for Gamelan. I am not one who easily forgives, especially when blood has been shed.
But that began to change the day we sighted the floating field of ice. It’s rare to see such things in the western ocean, but sometimes, travelers say, currents pull them from their home in the frozen south, and turn them into these seas. It was an enormous thing, perhaps the size of a farm village. It was peaked and jagged, with a great pink cavern bored in one side by the warm waters. We all marveled, and a party ventured to it in a small boat and returned with a big chunk of pink ice. I put some of it in a cup of wine and it fizzled and bubbled most pleasantly.
As our ship passed, I strolled along the deck, to study the ice field. I was so absorbed I almost bowled over Gamelan, who was busy doing something at the rail. After we’d made apologies for mutual clumsiness, I saw two large buckets of sea water with several fat fish inside. In his hand, Gamelan had a strong line with several nasty hooks attached. The wizard ducked his head when I saw them, but continued baiting the hooks.
I laughed. "You, a fisherman? And a fair one at that! I’d have thought that when wizards fished — and it never occurred to me they might — they’d cast a spell on the sea. Or dump some evil potion in the water to kill the fish."
"As an acolyte," Gamelan replied, "I was taught the first rule of
magic is to never use it unnecessarily."
"Eating is necessary," I pointed out.
Gamelan actually blushed. Even with his long white beard and gnarly features, he looked definitely boyish. And if I had any inclination of mothering — which I definitely do not, to Tries’ great anger — I’d have clutched him to my bosom. Then he shrugged. "I wouldn’t want this generally known," he said, "but I enjoy fishing. If truth be known, I was once a fisherman. My family always said that when I grew, I would be the finest fisherman in all Orissa."
I was as astounded as if he’d plucked a demon from his sleeve and called it sister, dear. "A fisherman? You?"
He smiled and cast his line. "Is it really so strange?" he asked. "I come from a place, like anyone else — complete with both sets of parents and a family."
"But how does a fisherman become a wizard? Much less Chief Evocator of all Orissa?"
He was silent for a long time. I watched him let his line play near the ice field. Then he said: "My watery friends have taken refuge under there," he said. "As soon as I saw it, I knew the fishing would be good."
I let him shift the subject. It was apparent he had become uncomfortable. I said: "I’d have thought think the cold would have driven them away."
"I’ve no experience with ice," Gamelan answered. "But when I saw the ice field, it came to me that a fish would be happy under there. Not only for hiding, but for eating. Don’t ask me how I knew this. I just did."
"Magic?" I pressed.
"Oh, no. It’s just that I . . . suddenly thought like a fish. And I knew I liked it under there."
His line jerked, once, twice. In less time than it takes to draw a breath, he was fighting to pull it in. I almost reached in to help him, but he looked so capable, his hands sure and strong as he played the line that I held back. A few minutes later there was an enormous fish gasping its last on the deck.
"You see?" Gamelan said.
"I never argue with dinner," I answered.
"In that case," he said, "why don’t you join me this evening. I promise you will dine well."
I accepted, knowing there was more to the invitation than eating. Later that night I crowded into the little space the ship’s carpenter had abandoned to make way for the Evocator’s necessities. The cabin was full of all kinds of strange devices, illuminated books, vials, jars and pouches of mysterious things. But the smell of the fish cooking over a small brazier overpowered my curiosity. I was ravenous. We tucked into the food with no preamble.
When we were done, I loosened my belt, and sighed. "If you were to tell me in a previous life you were the head cook for the richest family in Orissa, I’d not doubt it for a minute." I picked a final bit of meat from the backbone. "I’m learning you are a man of many talents, wizard."
Gamelan laughed. "The cooking was by magic," he confessed. "I have a little demon I lured from some magician’s kitchen. A copper pincher, apparently. My bargain with the demon is to provide him with as much as he can hold, and he cooks in return."
"I thought magic was supposed to be used only for important things," I teased.
Gamelan grinned through his beard. "Eating is important," he said.
I hoisted a bottle of brandy I’d brought along. "If you fetch me two cups," I said, "we’ll partake of another kind of spirits. After a drink or two, perhaps you won’t be so shy about your fishermen’s beginnings."
"I wasn’t being shy," he said, but he got the cups just the same and I filled them up. We drank. "Actually," Gamelan said after the first jolt had settled and he’d mated it with another sip, "I thought my tale would best be told in a quieter moment. For I believe it has some bearing on your own circumstances."
I was surprised. "Me? In what way?"
"You have the Gift," he said, flatly.
"That’s nonsense," I said, a bit angry. I didn’t have to ask what he meant. "My gifts are physical, and hard won at that."
"Deny it all you like, Rali," Gamelan answered. "I know it to be true. Remember casting the bones in Jinnah’s tent? Also, it was more than fighting skills and good fortune that allowed you to kill one Archon and put another to flight. I tell you, no ordinary person could have accomplished it."
"I don’t even like wizards," I said, still hot. "Present company included, if the talk keeps shifting this way."
Gamelan took no offense. "Your brother, Halab, had the Gift. Do you deny that?"
I couldn’t. According to Amalric, who if Halab had been allowed to live, he might have been one of the greatest Evocators in our people’s history. But the Evocators, before Amalric tamed them, were jealous of his power and made certain he failed a deadly test of his skills.
"He was the only one in my family," I said.
"Really?" Gamelan pressed. "I sensed a small talent in Amalric, himself. So there’s another."
I gave a violent shake of my head. "I don’t believe it. Besides, if it’s so common in the Antero family, why haven’t there been others in the past? Others as strong as Halab?"
"Are you certain there haven’t?"
"Of course, I am. No one in my father’s — "
Gamelan broke in. "I know that. But what of your mother and her family?"
I was silent. There had always been something about my mother. Sometimes she seemed as if she lived slightly apart from us all. Almost if she were on a . . . higher level? As for her family, she rarely spoke of the folk she came from in that small village where she’d been wooed by my father.
"I don’t know," I finally admitted. But my voice was so low, I could hardly hear it myself.
"But I do," Gamelan said. "That’s why my brother wizards were so wary of your family. I cast spells once, and learned your grandmother was a famous witch, well-known in the villages around her, as was her mother before her."
I accepted his statement as truth. Why would he lie? But I didn’t like it.
"Still," I said. "That doesn’t mean I was so cursed."
"It will be a curse," Gamelan answered. "If you continue to fight it. Only tragedy can come from your present course. And I do not mean only for yourself. But for others around you."
I did not answer. My temper was a blade’s breadth from snapping, and I was full of confusion and dread. I drained my cup and filled it with brandy again.
"Now, you should hear my story," Gamelan said. "For you should know the man you see is not the man I desired with all my heart to be."
I drank . . . and listened.
"I was born on a fishing boat," he began. “All my family were fisherfolk. They’d fished our blessed river from the time when Orissa was only a village."
I knew the kind of people he meant. They spent all their lives on the river, only coming in to repair their boats, sell their fish, and take on supplies. At night, they tied their boats close so they were like small towns, going from one to another as easy as from house to house. Sometimes, late, I’d heard them laughing, and the strains of the music they favored. They always seemed so free of care, that on certain evenings I longed to join them, to abandon the city for the river.
"The river is in our blood," Gamelan continued. "No. It is our blood. The river bears us up, and carries us away from out troubles. It is our food, our drink. Our . . . everything. And a river is always so full of mysteries . . . dangerous mysteries at times . . . that one can never be bored. What is in its depths can never be completely known. It was that life I was born to. It was that life I desired above all else. And do so to this day."
He drank, reflecting. "But I had the Talent," he said. "No one really noticed at first. But from the time when I was very small, if I touched the most hideously fouled net, the tangles would fall away, and the net would be as good as if it were newly made. There were other signs, small at first. My family and friends learned if they lost an object, they only had to ask, and I could instantly go to it. Sometimes, when I had a childish tantrum, the fire in the hearth would rise most frighteningly. Objects would be hurled about, with no visible hand to throw them. Gla
ss would shatter for no reason. And there might be pounding . . . knocking . . . on the bottom of the hull as if there were a man there, signaling."
"There, you see!" I blurted. "Nothing like that has ever happened to me! So, I’m an ordinary mortal after all."
Gamelan paid no mind, but went on. At first his family was proud — especially when they found he could heal small wounds with a touch. His odd gift, plus his budding skills as a fisherman who always returned with a catch, and could lead others to rich grounds during difficult times, made them the envy of their friends and relations. At eighteen summers his future was assured. His father was about to give him his first boat, and everyone agreed Gamelan would someday be their leader. Then he fell in love.
"I remember Riana as the most beautiful young woman who had ever graced a man’s dreams. We believed there never could have been such lovers as us, and swore to all who would listen that the gods, when they made us, had decreed neither of us would be whole unless we were joined forever."
I refilled our cups as he reflected. Then he said: "I suppose most people would say we were only suffering the symptoms of our fevered age. But I do not think so. I do not think so. However, it soon became plain the gods lied. They had other plans."
I thought of my long dead Otara, and almost wept when I remembered what it was like to love and be loved so completely.
"One day we witnessed an accident. A young city woman, pleasure boating with her family, let her arm dangle in the water while the fool who steered their craft ran too close to a merchant ship. Her arm was ripped away. My boat was the first to answer her screams. I recall the horror and pain in her face, as the blood gushed. She cried out to me: ‘But I’m only sixteen.’ I saw the severed arm lying next to her and I snatched it up and pressed it against the stump. Then I prayed, oh, how I prayed. I don’t know to whom, but all I could think was of that poor girl whose life was ebbing away. I heard a shout, then a cry from her, and I opened my eyes and saw she was whole again. The arm had been reattached and was as good as it’d been moments before. Her family and companions praised me and tried to get my name. I was so shaken by the miracle I became frightened and leaped into my boat and fled as fast as the sail would take me."
The Warrior's Tale (The Far Kingdoms, Book 2) Page 12
