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

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  “If you can get enough sailors to man the boat, I’ll try to take it in,” I said.

  “Not a chance,” Stryker said. “Not in these seas.”

  “What about through there?” I pointed to beyond the awful curve of the rocks. The current swept around them on either side and on, and it looked to me as if there was smooth water, just as a gale splits around a wall, and there’s calm in its lee. “If we take the galley downwind, then back up, couldn’t we put a boat through the teeth and come up from the rear?”

  Duban was listening. “I’d sure not be the one to cox’n it! And damned if I’ll order any of my men out, either.”

  Stryker turned and looked at Duban. The ex-rowing master shifted his gaze. Maybe that was what made up Stryker’s mind, because he turned back to me and nodded.

  “You’re right. We gots to do somethin’. Else the sea gods sniff our fear, ’n mark their slates fer us to share th’ same fate. ’Sides,” he added, “there might be somebody aboard who’ll pay red gold to a lifesaver, or a family who’ll be grateful for a body recovered and given proper burial. Master Duban, we’ll do as she wants!”

  Of course there wasn’t any way the mercenary sailor would permit anyone to think he was capable of feeling another’s pain, or of doing good without gain. Even now, I remember that, and hope the gods give him a moment of respite from whatever horrors his sins have sent him to.

  Duban scowled, but shouted orders. Oars swept, and we inched our way past the reefs. Arms waved once more on the Konyan ship, but this time in rage. I fancied I could hear screams that we were abandoning them, but that would’ve been impossible over the wind’s roar.

  We sailed free of the rocks’ embrace and let the current take us past them, Then we rowed up by main force to their rear. I’d been right — there were still tremendous swells, but it was far calmer than before. Not that I had much time to look — I was busy sorcelling water into oil and pitching it overside again. Stryker shouted for me when we were in position.

  There was a knot of crewmen below the quarterdeck. Stryker called for volunteers for the boat. No one moved. I hadn’t really expected any. But then the second surprise came. That skeleton-looking villain with the dagger-chin who was Santh’s partner scowled, said “Shit!,” spat on the deck, rubbed it out with a bare heels and stepped out, saying nothing more.

  “You’ll have your rating back, Fyn,” Stryker said, which was when I learned his name.

  “Hell I will,” the skeleton growled. “I don’t need nothin’ from you, Cap’n.” He turned around, ran his eyes over the other seamen, and spat out six names, including Santh’s. “Least I can do is drown wi’ drinkin’ partners,” he said. “An’ least you cocks know how to pull an oar.” He looked over at a longboat. “We’ll need four, no eight empty water casks. Lash four of ’em under the thwarts, so as we don’t sink when you frogspawn go’n stove th’ plankin’ against th’ rocks. Tie th’ other four up in hammocks, an run a hunnerd yards a’ line out t’ use f’r floats. One cask fulla water, dry rations for two days, case we get swept out t’ sea an’ you dicks sit wi’ your thumbs up your arse before rescuin’ us, an’ a pair of spare oars.”

  He looked at me. “We gonna have any of the bitches along? I could use four, ones that got some heft to ’em an’ mebbe can swim, when we go over.”

  “You’ll have them,” I said, not taking offense — Fyn was a complete bastard, without question. I turned to the women on deck.

  “Volunteers?”

  Of course all of the Guard stepped forward. I didn’t bother looking to see if any of Stryker’s men had the grace to appear ashamed — no doubt they felt we’d proved the point that no woman should ever be allowed aboard ship, if for no other reason than they were total fools. I chose four — Cliges once more, then Locris the archer, and was about to name Dacis the slinger, who was even brawnier than Cliges, when I saw the look in Polillo’s eyes. Again, I weakened, knowing it was utterly foolish to allow two officers out onto those seas.

  All this takes longer to tell you about, Scribe, than it did to happen, and the boat was ready. We boarded, the boat was swung out and the falls manned. I sat in the sternsheets with Fyn. He calculated the swells, then snapped, “Awright!” and that was the inspirational cry we heard as the boat dropped into the storm-ripped seas.

  The minute we splashed down oars came out, and the men pulled frantically away from the side of our ship. Our home was now a deathtrap, as dangerous to close on as any of the rocks we pulled toward. It was very different being in the boat — we couldn’t see very far, not much farther than the next wave, and our boat rose and fell alarmingly, or so it must’ve looked from our ship. But down here the sun glared and the tossing sent us from side to side, but it was almost pleasant.

  I found a grin on my face, and Fyn noted it. “Wanted you ’cause you got magic on your bones. Prolly you’ll end up dragged down by a demon f’r black wizardry, but not drowned, so you’ll be our luck,” he said, and spat overside, evidently the way he put a period to any sentence.

  We couldn’t see the Konyan galley at first, our view blocked by that rock-ring ahead. The seas crashed and rose around their bases, and my idea looked utterly foolish. Fyn appeared unperturbed. “Lift oars . . . awright, on my count . . . pull! Pull! Pull!” and we shot between two rocks as if we were in a canoe pulling past bridge pilings in a summer race on a river.

  We spun crazily on the other side, in a rip of currents. Now I saw the Konyan ship, and swore. It was actually bending, bowing in the middle as the rocks and the waves and the weight of that ram forward twisted the ship’s keel. Waves were washing over the decks, and those up-tilted roofs of the cabins were splintered and torn. The hulk moved on the rocks it was embedded on, and I heard the scream of timbers over the wind.

  But I could still see life crawling over the decks and clinging to spars and rails. There was wreckage in the waves around the ship, and I could see bodies thrown up as well. I heard a great ripping, and the galley split in two. Instantly the bows were torn off the reef they’d been impaled on, and swept spinning against one of the sheer stacks, splintering into fragments.

  Only the stern was left, hanging precariously to the reef, but still with sailors clinging to it.

  “We’ll take off what we can,” Fyn ordered, and we pulled closer. They saw us, and again people were waving, shouting, pleading, although we couldn’t hear anything. Somebody jumped on a railing, poised, and even as we signaled frantically, jumped into the surf. I saw his head appear, his arms flail, and then he sank and I never saw him again.

  “Gods-damned fool!” Fyn snarled. “We’ll go in close, an’ then they can jump, or mebbe slide down ropes. We’ll float the casks down to ’em . . . Pity there ain’t no ladders aboard,” he said, and his voice was as calm as if he were tale-telling in a wharfside bar. “Ladders ’bout th’ best thing t’ pass through breakers an’ all.”

  I wondered where the Konyan ships own boats were. I didn’t see any at first, and guessed either they’d been lowered when the ship first hit the rocks, or else had been swept away earlier in the typhoon. Then I saw one, dangling from far aft.

  Now we were very close, and I could make out faces. I don’t know how many were left aboard the ship. Ten, twenty, maybe thirty. But each time a wave smashed over the ship, I saw fewer. I managed to stand, braced against Polillo’s back, cupped my hands, and shouted, “Now! Now!” and swept my arms toward the boat.

  First one sailor, then another went overside. Some tossed wooden pallets into the water for rafts, others had what looked like small buoys, and others just jumped, hoping they could swim to the boat or else they’d find some floating flotsam to cling to until we pulled to them.

  Polillo hurled one of the empty casks far out, almost landing against the galley’s hull, and the rope between the cask and the boat would be a lifeline. The other three followed. I felt a savage wave of exultation — the damned sea might have taken the ship, and many lives with it. But by Maranonia, w
e weren’t standing by and watching it happened, and the gods were blessing us, helping us save at least a few. The hulk grated again on the rocks, and I knew it’d be washed off into deep water in seconds. We were very close — it loomed almost above us. I glanced up, and thought the last man had jumped, and the wreck was completely abandoned.

  Then I saw her. I don’t know how I knew it was a woman — it could’ve just as easily been a very long-haired man. But I knew. She was dressed completely in white, and her soaked garments draped her body. It was good that it was warm, or else she would’ve frozen in seconds. The woman had come from the ruins of the deckhouse, and now stood near the rail, holding onto it, looking about. She seemed not to see us. It looked as if she was in shock, or perhaps she’d been injured.

  We shouted, we screamed, but for the longest time she took no notice. Then she looked down, and spotted our boat. I swear I saw her smile. Moving very slowly, very deliberately, she climbed to the top of the railing, poised as if she were making an exhibition dive into a favorite swimming place, and then the wind caught her clothing and sent her tumbling out, spinning crazily before she struck the water and sank.

  Without thought, without decision, I flat-dove into the roiling current. I came up, swimming strongly to where I’d seen her go under, feeling the current try to take me and smash me against the rocks so close, so deadly.

  Salt stung my eyes, but I could still see most clearly, see the brown and black and gray of the rocks so close, see the looming overhang of the galley’s barnacle-dotted bottom, and then I spotted a swirl of white.

  It was on the surface but a moment, then disappeared as the woman went under again, and I vee’d my body down at the waist and kicked under, stroking down, down, hands reaching, and I felt cloth, silk, in my fingers, and I clutched it and pulled it to me, and I could feel arms flailing weakly, and then I was kicking for the surface.

  We broke water, and I gasped air even as I was pushing her arms away, arms that were trying to drag me back down, and I had a tight grip around her neck and under her arm, forcing her onto her back, and I was swimming hard, lungs pounding.

  And then I felt strong arms, arms that could only be Polillo’s, grab me and lift me and the one I’d saved from the deadly seas.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  PRINCESS XIA

  The next thing I remember is staring up at Corais’ dark, sardonic face. She was trying to hold up my head with one hand, while juggling a tumbler with the other. The cabin smelled like a dirty tavern floor.

  “Quit fighting me, Captain,” she said. “You’re spilling good brandy.”

  I realized I was struggling and stopped. I opened my lips and obediently gulped the contents of the tumbler. The brandy flared in my gut and the fumes swirled up to clear my head.

  “Thanks,” I gasped. “I’m feeling like a new woman already . . . I think.”

  I plucked at the front of my sleeping tunic, which was sopping with the brandy I’d spilled. My breasts were sticky with the stuff. “Looks like I’m leaking spirits instead of milk,” I laughed. “If so, I’m certain to cause a fuss with the wet nurse’s guild. ”

  Corais chortled. “First time I’ve had to force drink on you, Captain. Have you given the stuff up, perchance? Now that you’re on a higher plane than the rest of us, cavorting with wizards and all?”

  “Watch your manners,” I mock snarled. “Gamelan’s half way through a lesson on turning sharp-tongued Legates into the afterbirth of a shrew.”

  “As long as it’s Legate Afterbirth, that’s fine with me,” Corais replied, filling the tumbler again.

  Outside, calmness reigned. A peaceful sun peeped through the cabin door; the smell of balmy seas wafted in after it. Memory flooded back and I shot up.

  “What happened to the —” I was cutoff in mid panic as Corais pressed the tumbler against my lips.

  “Everything’s been taken care of,” she soothed. “Now, drink. Those are Lord Gamelan’s orders. Two brandies, sweetened with some sort of wit restorer he had Ismet grind up.”

  I drank. While I sipped the elixir she filled me in. She said the orders I’d spewed when I’d been hauled back to our ship had been carried out. I didn’t remember issuing any orders — I recalled nothing beyond Polillo’s cold, wet embrace — but I didn’t mention this to Corais; she’d only use it as fuel for her sarcasms. She told me we’d ridden out the storm without further incident and it appeared our losses were minimal. We’d rescued thirteen Konyans in all, several of whom had suffered minor injuries. They and the others were being well cared for.

  “Once again,” she said, “you’ve proven you may not be the best commander the Maranon Guard has ever had, but you certainly are the luckiest!”

  “I’ll discuss my leadership merits with you later,” I growled, barely suppressing a laugh. Corais’ sharp humor was a refreshing reminder that we’d all come up together. We’d taken the same drubbing on the practice field; suffered under the same foul-mouthed drill instructors; and performed the same senseless duties ordered by less than enlightened superiors. In short, we were sisters of a time, as well as the sword.

  “So that’s how it’s going to be,” Corais fired back. “The bad news later, the good news, now. Very well, O Great Captain Antero, beautiful as she is wise, wise as she is — ”

  “Stuff a dirty loin cloth in it, Legate,” I said. “Tell me about the good luck.”

  “Why, you’ve rescued a princess, Captain,” she said. “A Konyan princess to boot.”

  I gawked. “You mean that woman . . . ”

  Corais nodded. “That’s right. That sweet young thing you fished out of the brine is as royal as a tavern keep’s behind the day before pay day. She is none other than the Princess Xia, daughter of one of the members of Konya’s ruling council! Why, when we sail into their waters, we’ll be heroes! They’ll give us anything we want!”

  I looked into the empty tumbler. Whatever Gamelan’d laced the brandy with was doing a better job of wit sharpening than I liked just now. Where Corais saw luck, I saw glimmerings of trouble. Exactly what the trouble might be, I wasn’t certain. I hid my doubts from Corais. No sense spoiling someone else’s good mood with my cynical second-guessing.

  “May the gods be smitten with your every word, Corais,” I said. I swung out onto my feet. “I’d better see to our royal catch before the day grows much longer.”

  I stripped off the brandy-soaked tunic and began to wash up, mentally upgrading my intended dress to something more fitting to greet a princess.

  “One other thing, Captain,” Corais said. “Cholla Yi’s flagman has been flapping away like a constipated gull all morning. The Admiral wants a meeting. Urgently.”

  “And he shall have it,” I said. “Send him my compliments, and say I’d be pleased if he would attend me within the hour.”

  Corais hurried off. I paused in my washing to examine myself in the mirror. It had been a long time since I had consulted it. Our adventures thus far might have been hard on my nerves, but they’d done nothing to injure my looks. My skin glowed with dark health, my hair was bleached nearly white by the sun, but was softer and more manageable than any time in my life, and my figure was as tight as hard exercise could make it. My cheekbones seemed set higher, the cheeks themselves pinched deeper into shadow, and the whole effect was one that made my lips appear fuller than before. My eyes were clear blue, with small tight lines of authority fanning out that I had to admit were not unattractive, and only added seasoning.

  If you think it was vanity that made me take stock, Scribe, you’re mistaken. Ever since I’d accepted Gamelan’s tutelage, I’d remembered with some dread my brother’s description of the effect the intense practice of magic had on Janos Greycloak. Amalric said Janos’ body had been ravaged by it and he’d visibly aged many years. To be certain, Amalric had been speaking of Greycloak’s obsession with black magic, but that’d done little to allay my fears. So it was with more relief than satisfaction that I took inventory.

&nb
sp; Very well, I’ll admit one bit of vanity — my skin, which I’ve always thought my best feature. As I said, it positively glowed with health which pleased me to no end. And I thought: “Nothing like a little power to put a blush in a woman’s cheeks.”

  I daubed myself with my favorite orange blossom perfume and donned my best dress uniform. I strapped on my sword, pinned on a gold brooch of rank and hooked my spear and torch earrings into my lobes. I gave the mirror one last look, feeling a bit like a child playing dressup.

  “They’ll never know, Rali,” I assured myself, and went off to meet the princess.

  The ship’s carpenter — a miracle worker in his own right — had conjured enough space next to Gamelan’s cabin to create comfortable, if minuscule, quarters for her. At the door I raised my hand to knock, but paused when I heard voices.

  The first crackled like an old, scolding hen: “Come, come, My Lady. I know you despise the taste of spirits, but you really must drink this. That old wizard may be blind, bless his soul, but he knows how to brew a nice restorer. My dear departed granny couldn’t have done better herself, and she was a favorite of all the great ladies in her time when they felt frail.”

  The answering voice was young, and remarkably sweet: “Oh, very well, Aztarte. Not that I need it. I’m only a little tired. But you’ll nag me without mercy if I don’t.”

  There was a rustling, sounds of dainty gulping, and then a gasp. “Oh, dear. That’s strong enough to take one’s breath away. But not so awful as I feared.” More rustling and gulping as she drank more. “Mmmm. That’s almost quite good. The taste improves the more you take. And I must say, the day looks cheerier already. I believe I’ll change my view of spirited drink. It’s obvious I’ve only been offered brandy of lesser quality before.”

  “You see, Princess Xia,” the crone admonished, “you should listen to your poor Aztarte. I only want what’s best for you. And hasn’t that always been the case since the day your dear mother, bless her bones, had me brought from the village to nurse you?”