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

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  “A night attack,” one officer said, and scowled. “My men aren’t used to fighting in the dark.”

  “Do you think The Sarzana’s are?”

  The officer smiled a bit, and shook his head.

  “The advantage is always on the side of he who strikes first,” I said. “Isn’t that true? Isn’t the day carried by the boldest?”

  “What about magic?” another one said. “My ships held, until they saw those gods-blasted covered ships of theirs, and the ships behind them crewed by the dead.”

  I said neither the turtleships nor The Sarzana’s magics would be as effective, their surprise gone. There would be Orissan magic cast before our attack began, magic that would shatter their spells like thin ice on a pond.

  I gave them a flurry of other orders, to make sure the other ship’s officers understood the overall plan, to make sure their ships were repaired as best they could, and most importantly to feed the sailors and rest them in watches. At dawn, the division officers should attempt to reassemble those surviving ships belonging to their elements and stand by for orders.

  All this was important, of course, but I wanted the Konyans to be so busy no one would have time to let cowardice creep into his heart again. I further told them that our Orissan galleys had been given special orders — to sail guard around the assembled fleet, and ensure no one attempted to flee. “I won’t,” I said, “even bother putting up a gallows if I seize such a ship but will send all its crew down to the sea demons unburied so their ghosts will never rest.”

  I dismissed them and the others.

  The Konyans summoned their boats that lay just off Bhazana’s ship, and, one by one, disappeared into the night. There were many looks cast back at the dangling corpse of Admiral Bornu.

  I waited until the last was gone, then started down the boarding ladder to our longboat. Admiral Bhazana asked me for a private moment, and I stepped away.

  “They’ll obey now,” he said firmly. “And so will I.”

  I looked at him, very long, very hard. But I made no answer as I went down into my boat.

  * * * *

  Aboard our own ship, I knew there would be no rest for the remainder of the night for any of us, least of all me. This was the second night I’d go sleepless, so I’d have to force myself to get at least two hours or so of rest during the day, or I’d be as worthless as a toy dagger in battle.

  My first tasks weren’t those of a war leader, but of an Evocator. First I had to divert that storm that was building that’d most likely strike during the night. But that was where the surprises began.

  “We can’t cast a spell that directly,” he said.

  “Why? I know he’s got great powers, greater than ours, but it seems — ”

  “You don’t realize?” Gamelan said, his voice showing surprise.

  “Realize what?”

  “I thought you knew, and that was where your idea to strike back came from. The Archon believes you dead.”

  “What? How? Why?” I must’ve sounded as dumb as I did the first time my watch commander told me my unchecked sentry had taken the opportunity to let two winesellers into the compound after taking and drinking a full gallon as her share.

  “You still are a journeyman,” he sighed. “Remember back, aboard Trahern’s ship, when I smeared a bit of your blood on that shield or whatever the reflecting metal was? I said a few words when I did, hoping some of my powers had come back, since that spell’s something a veritable baby Evocator can cast, especially if the seer is looking from afar.”

  “Oh. The bronze was a mirror, intended to reflect . . . me?” I guessed.

  “Just so. When The Archon cast about, in the flurry and frenzy of battle, with wisps of spell and smoke and magic all about, he ‘saw’ you aboard Trahern’s ship. You don’t think he gave one tinker’s damn about that old bastard, do you? Why would he bother casting whatever spell he sent out to explode that ship like it was a melon dropped from a tower? You were his target and, as far as he knows, he succeeded.

  “I’d frankly suspect that was why the pursuit turned back, and why this storm has taken so long to build. This fleet’s destruction may be The Sarzana’s ultimate dream, but it’s hardly the Archon’s. He knows he can destroy Konya when and how he wants now that you’re gone.

  “I think we’ve also solved another puzzle as well. Remember when we wondered just why The Sarzana would allow word to slip out that we’d rescued him, rather than it appearing like some grand miracle all his very own.

  “Again, it wasn’t his idea, but The Archon’s. The Archon must have sent some sort of whispering spell across Konya so that everyone knew the Orissans had freed The Sarzana, but none knew where they’d gotten the knowledge.

  “He must have your death in hand, and, unlike crude villains such as Nisou Symeon or arrogant men like Raveline of the Far Kingdoms, he’s quite content to let others kill his snakes for him.”

  “He’s behaving like I’m some great Evocator, like I was you, with all the powers of the Orissan Evocator’s Guild behind me. The man, if that’s what he still is, is no coward. Am I to believe he’s that great a fool?”

  “Don’t be absurd, Rali. Consider it from his perspective. If you and your brother were great wizards, once in league with even greater magicians to the east, and your plans were first stopped short by someone named Antero, and then your own brother killed by another, possibly even more powerful, Antero, what actions would you take? It’s quite clear that you do have great powers, even if they’re still developing.”

  I was silent, considering. Then I shook my thoughts away. “Be that as it may, Evocator, we have a spell to work out. Let’s come up with something that keeps me still dead. I like it a great deal better being out from under that bastard’s gimlet gaze.”

  And so we did, in about an hour. It was a powerful spell, yet a simple one, a spell of delay, not negation. The storm would continue, would still build, but would take at least two days to reach its full fury. Neither of us thought The Archon would sense any opposition, especially since, if Gamelan’s reasoning was correct, he had little immediate interest in our scattered warships.

  The second spell was more hazardous, and chanced exposing the fact I was still alive. But I thought the risk and worth taking. I drained a few drops of mercury from the binnacle our compass needle floated on. With that, and a bit of the “flying” unguent, I sat alone in Gamelan’s cabin. I lit a single candle, fed certain herbs, sprinkled an aromatic oil from Gamelan’s kit on it and breathed deeply of the fumes. Next I set a steel mirror beside the candle, and concentrated all my attention, my being, on the reflection of that candle. The distance, the remove, would keep “me” safe from being found out, or so I hoped. But I had no concern for The Archon, no thought for The Sarzana as I became the flame, no more than the flame, only the flame.

  Fire, fire

  Elemental fire

  There is no other

  There is no other

  You live alone

  You need no other

  You are the moment

  You are the fire

  The one who was Rali Antero was gone, was absent, and there was only a small flame, looking to illuminate the dark. The fire was fed a trifle of the unguent on a piece of wood, and flared, and became something else, and found new surprise and joy at flying, at flying over water, over land, over its two great enemies. The flame “saw” itself reflected in that tiny drop of mercury, and somehow the fire felt what a human would’ve known as words:

  Now there’s another

  Now you’ve a brother

  Fire seek

  Fire find

  Now I was for just a moment that drop of mercury and again for an instant I “felt” for my brother. In the same moment I found “him,” there was ice across my soul, and I could feel darkness gathering, coiling behind me, and in that same instant I was fire, I was alone I was the candle, I was safely back aboard ship, and knew, my drop of mercury having “found” that larger pool
of liquid metal that floated atop The Sarzana’s table, just where I could find and kill him.

  This time we wouldn’t be sailing blindly into battle. But it would be a deadly fight — The Sarzana’s refuge was the most secure place in Ticino. There’d be much bloodshed winkling him out.

  It was almost dawn. I spent the last hour before the sun rose drawing an exact map of Ticino and our objectives. Then I cut it into almost two hundred pieces, said a simple duplicating spell, and my table crashed to the deck under the weight of two hundred full-size maps of our target. I could find nothing more to do, so turned matters over to Corais, and collapsed into a dreamless sleep.

  * * * *

  When I awoke, I had a screen erected on the quarterdeck, and took a saltwater shower, dumping buckets of water over my head that one of my privates hauled up and passed to me. It wasn’t what I wanted — what I wanted was a long soak in a scented bathtub like the ones in my family’s villa; a tub about as large as the entire deck I stood on with water as hot as that cast by a geyser; as soft as a kiss and perfumed with the most expensive oils and salts. I allowed a moment to dream. A soak, followed by a long massage. The massager would be Xia, although a part of my mind wondered how she had gotten to Orissa, but that wasn’t important since we’d both be naked, and she would slowly rub the oil into my skin, her nipples hardening as they caressed my back, and then . . .

  . . . and then Corais begged the captain’s pardon and said there was a signal from Nor’s galley. So I put aside the dreams of what would’ve come after, the carefully chosen meal, the slow twining of our bodies as we coupled on a silken bed, and then hour after hour of dreamless sleep, to wake once more to the scent of love, and no damned war, sorcerers or order-giving.

  I said to ignore whatever his signal was, but to order him to our galley at once. I dried myself off, feeling the itching start as the salt dried, and put on my battle gear.

  I had the quarterdeck cleared of all but the watch officer and helmsman, and had Nor brought to me by two fully-armed Guardswomen. I wasn’t sure what I’d say to him — he was a hard man — harder than Bhazana or his captains. He knew his officers had broken their oath when they went sailing off to blind destruction, and I saw no point in reminding him. Instead, I told him neither he nor the other two galleys would be needed in this battle, which was why they weren’t summoned to the conference on Bhazana’s ship. He visibly flinched, then gritted there was no way of stopping him.

  I said there was indeed, and I would have no compunctions about ordering three of Bhazana’s ships against each of his. The Broken Men were feared and hated by the others, because they reminded sailors of what could be their fate. Also the other men were eager to prove themselves still warriors, and would leap to my bidding.

  He said nothing, and there was nothing to say — he knew I was right. He sagged. “Is there no chance of changing your orders? I will not apologize for what Yanno and Nasby did, but they did break the oath we all swore. I can’t expect you to believe any promise I make, but it shall not happen again. All my men saw their brothers die, with no harm at all coming to The Sarzana.”

  Now I had him. I told him he had only one option, and told him what it was. This was the only way he could fight in the battle, and possibly make amends for his men’s broken promises. He started to protest, then stopped, realizing I meant what I said, and even though my orders would result in giving up everything they’d planned, and the way they’d dreamed of fighting; it was that or nothing.

  Reluctantly, he agreed. I told him he had two hours to ready his men for transshipment, and we would have boats standing by at that time.

  And so it was. Even as his men were taken off their galleys, their ships were taken in tow by the larger Konyan vessels. Heavy longboats busied themselves around those hulks too badly damaged to return to battle, lifting their stone ballast out of the bilges to provide fresh ammunition for others’ trebuchets. Then those ships were abandoned and scuttled.

  The fleet set sail for Ticino. We moved slowly, our speed held down by those damaged vessels that would’ve been abandoned and scuttled if I intended using normal tactics, but now, together with Nor’s Broken Men, they’d be the opening wedge in my attack.

  As we sailed boats were crossing back and forth from ship to ship, taking certain supplies to the damaged vessels, taking sailors from ship to ship, and other tasks.

  I myself was busy. I’d told Bhazana I needed five ships with only the bravest crew, for a special task. He didn’t need to think for more than a minute, but said I could take five from Captain Yezo’s squadron. They were crewed by men who’d escaped from islands that’d been ravaged by The Sarzana, and Yezo’s entire family had been slain by The Sarzana years ago when he held the throne.

  I’d heard too much talk of bravery from these people, and seen damned little, so told Bhazana I’d judge for myself. I had myself rowed to each of the ships whose crews had volunteered. Grudgingly, since at the moment I felt little warmth for these damned Konyans, it appeared they might be capable of what I wanted, although I knew, as always, battle is the only truth. I must take my chances. I wished I had a battalion of Guardswomen, or even enough to provide a stiffening squad on each ship, but of course I didn’t.

  I made very sure each sailor on each ship knew exactly what he would be required to do, and how unlikely he’d see the sunrise on the morrow. No one stepped back. If the hulks Nor’s men now crewed were my opening wedge, these five ships would be the levers to pry the door full open.

  * * * *

  I sent for the most skilled whittler on our ship and gave him his orders. Surprisingly, the whittler turned out to be the murderous Santh, Fyn’s compatriot. I began to explain why I wanted what I wanted, but he already knew.

  “The son of a poxed whore sent sorcery agin’ us,” he said. “On’y fair if you c’n use it to turn it back agin him.” He tossed the chunk of soft wood in his hand measuringly, then, humming something utterly tuneless to my ears, set to work.

  * * * *

  Later, in Gamelan’s cabin, the old wizard had a chance to put his slowly renewed talent into practice. I remember how pleased I was as he held his hands over me, brow furrowed in concentration as he chanted:

  Turn away

  Turn away

  Your eyes are bothered

  There’s naught to see

  He completed the spell, touched my head and either shoulder with a larch twig and shrugged. “Well, if I’ve got any powers back, and if I remembered that baby incantation correctly, I’ve given you some protection from The Archon, at least for a spell.”

  He smiled a little at his feeble joke, and I laughed, not so much at his words but because it was heartening to see Gamelan’s spirits return to what they’d been before Konya. I hoped his powers continued returning apace, and sensed if they didn’t, he’d drop back into his former gloom.

  His smile faded and he looked anxious. “Can you tell, Rali?”

  His spell may have been simple in its execution, but I thought its intent quite clever. It was a subtle variation of the Archon’s spell that’d hidden the turtleships under a fogbank, though requiring far less energy and materials to cast. It was intended only for magical “vision,” so that further simplified it. If an Evocator happened to be “looking” at an area where I was, his “eyes” would sting slightly, as if water droplets had been flipped in them, as indeed Gamelan had Pamphylia do when he started. It would be simpler and more convenient to look elsewhere, at something else, although that thought should never pass across the conscious mind of the seer.

  “Now, how could I tell? I’m not very good yet at ‘seeing.’ Perhaps we might evoke an Archon or three and ask them?” I said, my own spirits brought up by Gamelan.

  “Well, if it works, it works,” Gamelan said. “If it doesn’t, well, can I have your grimoire?”

  We laughed and moved to the next piece of magic. Before we began I wondered aloud what it would be like to live in a world where magic never existed.


  “Impossible,” Gamelan snorted. “That would be like dreaming of a world without water to drink or air to breath.”

  My next thought was equally unimportant: “Since mostly battle magic doesn’t work, or doesn’t work very well in the confusion of spells and counterspells, what would happen if you’d go into combat without bothering to cast any?”

  “Did you ever heat an empty wine jug in a fire and then, before it could cool, stuff a cork tightly into its mouth?”

  “The one time I tried it as a child, the jug shattered across the kitchen and my father sent me to my room for the rest of the day without a meal. But Amalric had better luck, and told me the cork was sucked into the jug with a loud pop.”

  “Exactly what would happen if you fought a war without Evocators and their spells, even if they are mostly mummery or ineffective. The fire drove something out of that wine jug, and the emptiness was too great, pulling the cork in after it. Your enemy’s magic would be drawn over you, like a bait net, and you’d be swept up like a school of minnows.”

  “So it must be then, spell and counterspell and counter-counterspell and counter-counter — ”

  “Rali. We have work to do.”

  We did. But before we went back to alembic and wand, I did have a wistful thought about that world without magic. Gods, but war would be simpler if all you had to rely on was your brain, your muscles and your sword. In a world like that, there probably wouldn’t be any armies, since there would’ve been no need to develop them, and men and women would settle their differences as our primitive fathers did, in single combat.

  Once we had our magics ready, we summoned the surviving Konyan Evocators to our galley. There were only four — the rest had died when the Archon exploded Admiral Trahern’s galley. But that gave us four acolytes, since the Konyans were indeed somewhat behind Orissan skills. We’d gathered those few unopened bags of wind from the other ships, and, with those as a base, cast an incantation that would hopefully give the fleet not only a fair wind up the gut toward Ticino, but one we might control as to intensity and even direction.