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

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  * * * *

  Two hours later the lookouts shouted alarm — we were sailing directly toward a reef line. Stryker issued orders to change course and for signal pennants to be hoisted to the rest of the ships. Then he shouted other orders, countermanding the first.

  "It’s ain’t rocks," he said. "Or, least wise, not the sort that can sink yer."

  He gave no further explanation — and again the rails were crowded as we cut directly toward roiling seas. As we neared the "reef," I jolted as I saw the rocks seemed to be rising and falling with the waves.

  Stryker ordered a sailor to fetch a dip net, lowered it and brought up one of the rocks. It was near as big as his torso and Polillo was about to exclaim at the officer’s great strength, which he’d never before shown. Before she could speak, Stryker took the rock from the net, turned and pitched it, one-handed to her.

  Polillo gaped and ducked aside. The rock struck the deck with no more force than a cat jumping from its lady’s lap. She picked up the stone and brought it to me. It weighed no more than a pillow.

  Stryker explained: "Pumice, it’s called. Comes from one of them volcanoes. I’ve seen it before — sailed through whole beds of it." His expression turned wry. “’Course, that’d been just afore the volcano the stuff come from burst like a boil.

  He looked ahead. Now the volcanic islands were closer and I could make out half a dozen of them. I wondered what would happen if one of those volcanoes did erupt before we closed with the Archon’s ships. I decided that would be in the hands of the goddess and I made a brief prayer to Maranonia, hoping her reach extended to these burning seas.

  * * * *

  Later that day we sighted more debris: first trees drifting aimlessly, then clumps of brush that appeared to have been cast far from the land we still could see but the peaks of. It appeared that each peak belonged to a separate island. Then we saw signs of life — or what’d once been life. We sighted a small boat being carried toward us on the current. I ordered a squad into armor and to the forepaw, with their bows strung. As we drew closer I saw the boat appeared to be a fishing craft and determined to capture the men on board and quiz them as to these strange seas. There were four of them and all were seated. I found it odd that none of them stood and waved, or attempted to steer away from our fleet; nor did they change course toward us, so we altered our own.

  We were within a spear’s cast of the craft when I realized why these fisherman were so complacent — nothing on this earth would ever disturb them again. They half-sat, half-lay in the bottom of the boat, their heads turned to the heavens. They were dead, but I could see no mark of violence on them as we drew closer. The bodies appeared fresh, as if the men had died but recently — there was no sign of corruption or mummification.

  Just as their boat came under our bow, I did see one thing: their eyes were gone. Hollow, blood-caked sockets peered up, trying to pierce through the overcast to see the toward the sun.

  "Gulls," I heard a sailor say. "That’s the first thing the bastards go after. Sometimes . . . sometimes when a man’s not even dead, but just too weak to fight them away."

  I shuddered.

  * * * *

  The stench grew worse as we sailed on, still holding our course toward the volcanoes — as were the Archon’s ships. At twilight I estimated we’d close with them the next day. I allowed myself the luxury of hoping I would have the honor of slaying Nisou Symeon myself. That would be the end of the Symeons and my family would be revenged for many wrongs — not the least of which was the imprisonment and torture of Amalric and later his attempted murder.

  The seas continued rough, their interval closer, and the wind had risen to a near gale so Cholla Yi signaled the fleet to reef sail.

  "Heavy seas’r a boon to ships like the Archon’s," Stryker told me. "Galleys like ours can ride out most any storm. But they don’t make a damn bit a headway. With no keel and shallow draft, we’ll be sailin’ as far sideways as for’ard with the wind blowin’ like she is.” When he saw my concern, he added: “Never fear, Captain. Tempest or calm, when tomorrow comes we’ll have our chance at him for certain."

  I ordered the Guard to quarter-alert for the night and posted a ready squad with the lookouts in the bow. I didn’t think the Archon would turn and sail down on us for a night attack, but would’ve been foolish not to be ready just the same.

  * * * *

  I was below-decks, going over my battle plans for a tenth or one hundredth time — a futile exercise every commander does until the first bow-shot — when a cabin boy said Gamelan wanted me on deck. As I came up the companionway, I saw two sailors in quiet conversation at the rail, their backs toward me. I paused a minute, listening:

  "I’m damned," the one was saying, "if I’m not thinkin’ I should’ve stayed in Jeypur and let the Watch take me. It would’ve been five years in the quarries . . . I’ve known men who lived through that! Instead . . . " He spat out to sea. "First we’re cheated of rights t’ loot Lycanth t’ go runnin’ off on some bootless errand with naught but these sluts who pleasure themselves with spear butts and each other. And we’re chasin’ a magician who’ll likely send us all screamin’ to the fires on the morrow . . . an’ even if we take him . . . even if we take him, I tell you, there’s a long voyage back and those bastard Orissans’ll still try to weasel out’ve our blood price."

  "Now don’t you think," his mate said, "Th’ Admiral’s not thought of that? Once th’ bitches kill the Archon, an’ we have hands on the gold his ships must be carryin’ . . . don’t you think there’ll be some changes in th’ plans? Also, don’t be forgettin’ there’s supposedly some magic he’s carryin’ that’ll surely be worth the sellin’ to somebody . . . hell, mebbe those wizards in th’ Far Kingdoms’d be interested, if f’r no other reason than to make sure nobody else’ll get ahold of it. Don’t start your deathsong now, shipmate. By t’morrow, we’ll all be fartin’ through silk."

  The first sailor grunted, but before he could respond, I clattered my sword sheath against the companionway rail, as if I were just coming on deck. Both men spun, saw me, and ducked aside. I said nothing, but thought there could well be two battles tomorrow, and vowed to have my soldiers ready for betrayal. Perhaps the sailors’ words were just the wishful thinking of rogues, but I didn’t doubt Cholla Yi indeed had alternate plans in his black heart if he could see a greater profit.

  It was easy to find Gamelan. He had a small tent set up on the deck, just ahead of the mainmast. Even above the sulfurous air I could smell incense from the four braziers, screened against the spray, set on either corner of the tent. He was in a dark mood when I entered. He sat cross-legged on a carpet spread on the bare deck. In front of him was his wand, some small vials and the five red-charactered knuckles that were his casting bones. Four perfumed tapers hung from silk ropes tied to the tent’s roof. But what held my eye was the now-open ebony case, and the black jewel that’d been the heart of an Archon.

  "I made a casting," he announced without preamble, "in an attempt to determine what the Archon plans for tomorrow. I can sense a spell using the same strange arts I felt before the final assault on Lycanth. But I have not the craft to determine just what it might be."

  "Obviously it’s directed against us," I said.

  "Oddly, it isn’t as yet. It is building, just as the storm is building. But it lacks focus. I do not know how to make an analogy to things of this world, but . . . perhaps it might be compared to a cyclone, gathering strength in the air, invisible, before it touches the earth. I wish I could look into the Archon’s mind as easily as a village witch claims to peep into a suitor’s heart."

  "You wondered yesterday,” I asked, “if perhaps the Archon had deliberately chosen this region for his last stand. Do you sense anything about that now?"

  "Yes . . . and no. I feel a black purpose, but I am not sure if this was his plan all along, or if he’s merely seizing an opportunity. In either event, I can feel no sense of menace from whatever lies ahead, which would be
the case if we were sailing into some sort of sorcerous ambush.” He shook his head in frustration. Then: “But the reason I sent for you is I have learned the Archon sees you as his greatest enemy. He fears you."

  I made no protestations of false modesty. He damned well should have!

  "I suspect he intends to destroy you at the battle’s onset,” Gamelan said. “You and the sergeant who actually cut his brother’s heart out. I have already summoned Sergeant Ismet and given her as much protection as possible. I think she will be under no greater jeopardy in the battle than any of us — which will be extreme, of course. You’ll need a bit more of a shield. Here. Sit across from me."

  I unslung my sword and slipped into a cross-legged stance as he’d ordered. Gamelan stretched out his bony hand and recited quietly:

  The hawk hunts high

  His prey is still

  The ferret moves not

  Her spoor is gone.

  When he was done, he said: "I suspect the Archon might have divined that ferret spell I gave you before the last battle to make you my hunting beast, so I have lifted it."

  I nodded thanks although, in my heart, I felt loss — Gamelan still didn’t understand my family’s affinity for those small determined hunters and how their spirits have aided us. Once this was over, I thought I’d ask him to cast another spell, one giving me blood kinship to the breed, perhaps.

  "One other thing might be of help," he said. He took up a tiny golden sickle and laid it against the relict that had been the Archon’s heart. "Hold out your hands, palm up. " He touched the sickle to each wrist, just where my pulse beat blue. "I have already prepared the herbs and cast the spells on this device.” Then he chanted:

  There are no songs to be sung,

  There are no words to be given.

  Blood to blood,

  Blood to blood.

  Let the blood of the man now slain

  Be a red mist,

  So the eyes of the man who yet lives

  Are clouded.

  Let his eye see,

  But pass on,

  Without seeing.

  Then he said, in a normal tone: "That is all, my friend. I’m afraid that most of the protection you’ll have tomorrow will be provided by your sword and your sisters."

  "More than that," I said, "no warrior could wish, except the blessing of Maranonia and Te-Date." I began to rise, and then an idea struck and I reseated myself. "Gamelan . . . I am hardly an Evocator. But . . . you said a few minutes ago the Archon most likely wasn’t headed for these seas when he fled, but now hopes to take advantage of something. Would that . . . could that . . . be these volcanoes we’re closing on?"

  I could see Gamelan’s face pale, even in the flickering light from the tapers. "Earth magic," he whispered, more to himself than me. "Here, where it reaches up from the heart of the world?" He thought long, then shook his head, regaining his calm. "No, Rali. Even with the arts gained from the Far Kingdoms and from Janos Greycloak I do not think the Archon capable of that. To touch that power would require not merely a great Evocator, working at the height of his powers, but some sort of sacrifice, a great sacrifice I cannot even imagine . . . But for a moment, I was worried. Thank you, Rali. You’ve given me something tonight. Not only the reminder that my brain is getting as old as my bones, but that I spent too much time delving into my own thoughts and not enough asking others theirs.

  “Please, Rali, bring any other such notions to me, no matter how far-fetched you may think them. The Archon may be almost brought to bay, but there is a considerable ways between tracking the bear to his den and lying on his skin in front of a roaring winter fire."

  "You’re telling me?" I laughed, remembering my first time with a spear against a great brown bear and how it’d ended with me up a tree fortunately thick enough to bear a young girl’s weight but not enough to support that of the animal who’d suddenly become the hunter. "And I will need all the rest I can snatch." I stood. "Good luck on the morrow, Gamelan. Good luck to us all."

  I went out into the reeking night, knowing there would be no sleep for me or anyone else until the Archon was dead.

  * * * *

  Deep in the night we altered course. Just ahead was the first of the great volcanic cones, rising sheer from the ocean bottom. In the red light from its peak we’d seen breakers crashing against the base of the mountain. There appeared to be no more land other than the volcano, as the man sent forward to sound the depths found no bottom to his castings.

  The night sky was light enough to easily track the nine ships of the Archon. They, too, had changed course, sailing close along the mountain’s base. By the time that cone lay to our stern, it was just dawn, and we could see clearly.

  Beyond, spaced evenly in the ocean, were three more volcanoes, these not as high nor as threatening as the one we’d just sailed past. These were not isolated peaks, but were connected by low shoals and bars that ran across the horizon as far as we could see. Finally the Archon was well and truly trapped.

  * * * *

  By full light, the Archon and Symeon had their ships into a line of battle and lowered their sails — either waiting for a signal to attack, or for us to come to them. Full light is hardly a fitting description — the air was as murky and thick as that in the midst of a burning forest. I thought I heard a rumble from the volcano to our rear, but it was most likely the seas on the reefs ahead.

  The seas were gray, tossing, nearly a full storm. The wind had changed once more, no longer coming from abeam, but blowing in our teeth. We’d lowered the masts on our ships, a standard practice when galleys went into combat. It was done both not only to keep the oarsmen from being injured if a mast toppled during the fray, but also ensure we had full advantage from our oars.

  The benches were fully manned and the war drums were booming, the heavy thunder sounding from ship to ship above the wind’s keening. The rhythm not only set the stroke for the rowers, but also was meant to stir the blood for the coming battle. It might well stiffen the sinews of Cholla Yi’s seamen and marines on their ships, but my women hardly needed encouragement — the long pursuit had indeed proven a stern chase is a drear one, on land or sea.

  Now, at last the long struggle between Lycanth and Orissa would be ended within the day, no matter how mighty our foe.

  It was hard to make out the other fourteen ships in our squadron, now with their masts sent down, the only protrusion above the fighting decks the small jackstaff on the stern used to send battle signals from ship to ship. Not that there were any signals being sent now — our tactics had been worked out long before hand. Each galley was to take a target as it presented itself, close with that ship and seize it by boarding. Yi’s captains and my own sergeants and warrants in charge of the Guard detachments on the eleven ships so honored, were to keep close watch for any Orissan in danger and sail to their assistance when possible. If they saw an opportunity to strike at a distressed Lycanthian trying to flee, they were to attack and show no mercy.

  The Lycanthian ships were considerably bigger and different than our own. They were sailing ships rather than sailing galleys and each vessel bulked two or three decks above the waterline, and had three masts and a sail-equipped bowsprit. They were, I’d been told, the pride of Symeon’s fleet — fast armed merchantmen, little different than warships except in the luxury of their quarters. Now, with the wind at their backs, they held the weather gauge.

  I saw a great flag dip once, then again, on the tiny pulpit atop one ship’s bowsprit, and, in a ragged display, the Lycanthian ships hoisted their sails. I heard a cheer roll across the waters from our fleet.

  "Now," Stryker said, "the bastards’ll try to ram us, and good luck to them. ’Cause we’re too good at bein’ Cholla Yi’s sharks than to hang in the waters waitin’ to be struck by a dolphin."

  I saw oars dip and our galleys gathered headway. I also saw, but did not say anything, those ships containing my Guardswomen moved to the fore, eager to close with the enemy; but some others
, the ones with Cholla Yi’s marines, appeared willing to hang back and let others win the glory — and shed the blood — of first encounter.

  "Captain Stryker," I shouted. "That ship that was signaling. That will be the Archon’s. Strike for it!"

  Stryker barked orders and our galley sped across the waters toward our target. We weren’t the only ones to have seen the signals and other Orissan ships joined in the attack. First in the fray was Cholla Yi’s own galley. Knowing what I do now, and what Cholla Yi became, I’m tempted to ascribe his mettle to what he’d said to me before we made the attack on Lycanth, about how a mercenary chief must lead from the front, or he’ll pulled down by the rest of the pack.

  But though I hope Cholla Yi’s soul is being slowly ripped apart by demons now, I won’t diminish his courage. Bravery, I must never forget, is not the exclusive property of heroes.

  I saw two Lycanthian ships cut in front of the Archon’s ship, attempting to protect their wizard-king. The ships seemed able to sail at an unnatural rate of speed. Even though the wind was fierce, blowing directly from their sterns, I knew wind-magic was their real benefactor.

  I was struck by a wave of fear. I knew at that moment I would die — and not nobly, but as a failure, my guts cut out to leave me writhing, while the Archon made good his escape. I heard other women and men cry aloud as the same spell struck them. I struggled to fight it down, looking for reassuring words, but found none as the Archon’s second war spell hit — and confusion sent my mind reeling. I no longer knew what orders to give, nor what I should do once we closed with the enemy.

  Then, from our bows, boiled a great green cloud, and both the panic and the mind-tangle vanished and I saw Gamelan, his hands moving in an arabesque as he cast the counterspell. Normally magic does not work well in battle, since both sides spend a vast amount of time spinning spells from personal protection to invincible armor to tactical ones such as the Archon had cast — but it’s very seldom Evocators as truly powerful as Gamelan or the Archon are physically present on a battlefield. Without a doubt, this was an historic magical duel.