“Still,” the wizard said, “there could be something to it. And I was only wondering because of the panther. You’ve said you’d imagined you’d seen her sometimes.”
“Just at the edge of my vision,” I said. “And always in the shadows. Probably my imagination.”
“Yes,” Gamelan said. “I suppose it is.”
That night I tried to force a dream. I thought of Xia — built her image until she seemed almost alive. Then, just as I drifted off, I tried to hold onto that image. It slipped away as soon as I closed my eyes. I roused myself and tried again, with the same result. I attempted fixing other images, both pleasant and the opposite, but no matter how hard I concentrated, they fled as soon as I began to drop off.
Then I couldn’t sleep at all, tossing and turning and growing hot and cold by turn.
And the whole time I thought I could hear the scrape of a large animal’s claws. I knew it was the panther — pacing, pacing, pacing.
Finally I went on deck. The night was quiet, the seas calm. I went to Gamelan’s cabin and pressed my ear against the door. I could hear the click of claws inside.
I tugged at the latch string. It was stuck. I pulled harder, and the bar lifted. I carefully opened the door. The wizard was sleeping peacefully.
I felt a hot rush of air and I stepped back as something pushed past me. It had no form, in fact, I couldn’t swear there was anything there at all. But I distinctly felt fur brush my skin and smelled the powerful odor of a big cat. I looked around and didn’t see anything. I checked Gamelan again, then shut the door and returned to my bed. Instantly, I fell asleep.
I dreamed that night. I dreamed of the black panther.
She was speeding through a great forest and I was riding on her back.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
THE DEMON SEAS
As the days passed, the wind held true from the west or west-southwest, carrying us steadily into what the maps said would be home waters and eventually to Orissa.
The weather continued balmy, and the tensions of our long chase began to ebb, and our ships could almost be described as happy. My women sat yarning, trying to figure out what they’d do with all their riches, even after the city of Orissa and the Evocators took their legal shares.
Two of them even sought me out, and wondered, oh so carefully, if someone as honey-tongued as I might consider appearing before the Council and asking for a boon — since so many of us had given our all for the city, the least Orissa could do was foreswear its unearned portion of our gold.
I gave them both the same answer — greed ill becomes a soldier.
One, Pamphylia, said impudently that fighting for gold didn’t seem to slow the sword-hand of Cholla Yi or his men. She’d obviously been around Gamelan too long, and he’d tolerated her flippery. I told her to report to Flag Sergeant Ismet and ask for a particularly smelly task of Ismet’s choice that suited insubordination. Secretly, though, I was a bit pleased my women still had spirit left, after the long deathlists and months of hardship.
The other, Gerasa, had the same request, but when I answered as I had to Pamphylia she looked at me intently and, after asking my permission to speak, wondered what made me think she had any intent of remaining in the Guard once we returned.
I made no response to that, but dismissed her after saying the law was the law, and it wasn’t for her, or me, to question what Orissa did with its gold.
She’d made me wonder, though. I’d never thought much about the future, I realized. I always assumed I’d soldier on with the Guard, eventually be given a medal, a wine-drenched banquet and promoted to a distinctly honorary, since I was a woman, generalship and retire to my family’s estates. Either that or, more likely, fall in some nameless border skirmish.
I’d never much thought of a life beyond the Guard. It’d been my mother, father, lover and home since I was a girl, as much or sometimes more than anyone named Antero, Otara, Xia, or even Tries, as much as I loved them all.
I tried to set those thoughts aside — it isn’t healthy for a soldier to think about the future, because while she’s walking his post, dreaming of warm taverns and supple bed partners to come, it’s most likely someone with eyes only on today is slipping up behind her with a bared dagger. But it didn’t work.
Besides, I knew very well what would come next. We still had the Archon to deal with. My first duty when I returned home would be to join Gamelan before the Magistrates and Evocators and tell them what we feared.
All this made me somewhat bleak, although I tried not to show it. My sleep was uneasy, and I woke often. I was hot, then cold. I know I dreamed, and the dreams were not pleasant, but I couldn’t remember them when I woke.
One of those nightmares saved my life.
I’d lurched awake, sitting upright in my hammock, trying to come fully alert, my body wanting me to lie back, and I was resisting, knowing if I didn’t get up, pace about and collect my wits I’d return to that awful dream, whatever it’d been. I vaguely knew it wasn’t far from dawn. Over the creaking of the ship’s beams, and the rush of the sea beyond them, I heard a low rustling, as if someone was trying the slipstring of my door latch.
The door opened, and a shadow outlined itself and came forward, sliding across the deck toward me. From its dark bulk emerged an arm, holding a weapon, a long double-edged dagger, and the knife plunged down toward where I lay.
Except I wasn’t there.
Before my assassin could grunt surprise I came up from where I’d knelt in the sheltering darkness and was on him, casting my thrown-off blanket like a fisherman’s net, letting it wrap around his body, and then I spun in a full circle, snapping my leg up to waist-height as I did. Like a club it struck the man in the midsection, and sent him sprawling.
I dove after him, both of us blind in the darkness, but my muscles and my fists had eyes given them by endless hours of practice, and I hit with the heel of my hand once against his forehead, hammering his head back against the deck, my backhand struck his temple and then I caught myself before I launched the deathstroke into the softness of his throat. The man gargled pain, sagged and I was off him, and to the gimbaled lantern.
I flipped its cover open, blew on the punk that smoldered inside until a flame grew, twisted the valve and let oil feed the flame. I thought of shouting the Guard up, but decided to wait a moment. My attacker was forcing himself up on his hands, trying to shake off his befuddlement. I swept up his dagger, knelt and yanked his head back by the hair.
It was Stryker.
His eyes unglazed, and stared at the blade I held just beyond his chin.
“Your idea? Or Cholla Yi’s?” I demanded.
His lips clamped shut. I drew the blade’s edge across the side of his neck, and blood oozed.
“Cholla Yi,” I said, knowing if just been some piece of insane rage from Stryker he would’ve instantly pled for an appeal to his superior. “Why?”
Stryker clamped his lips stubbornly, and I started to cut him again.
“You’re leadin’ us t’ our doom,” he said hastily. “There’s somethin’ waitin’ out there. Cholla Yi said he c’d feel it, an’ I c’n feel somethin’ too. An’ I know what it is.”
“The Archon?”
“Now ain’t you th’ smart one,” he said.
“What’ll killing me get you?”
Stryker looked cunning, and once again I cut him.
“Talk, man,” I said. “Or I’ll hail Polillo in with her ax, and let her trim your fingers one by one until you do.”
“So what?” Stryker said. “You’ll be killin’ me anyways.”
“Now’s for certain,” I said. “A minute, or an hour . . . that’s maybe. What would my death bring?”
“C’n I sit up?”
“You’ll talk as you are. Or bleed as you lie.”
“Cholla Yi fin’y told me what was happenin’. Tol’ me he’s been havin’ visions. Like he was an Evoc’tor. Said th’ Archon come to him, e’en though he di’n’t see any fa
ce or form, but it hadda be him. Said th’ chase wa’n’t over, an’ there’d be no way we c’d come safe to Orissa wi’ his spells opposin’ us, an’ y’r damned Mag’strates’d ne’er pay what they owes us anyway. He said those who’re wi’ him now’ll be remembered long, an’ those who stand ’gainst him’ll be ripped by demons f’r all ’ternity.”
“And you . . . or Cholla Yi believed the Archon?”
“I know it don’t sound like there’s sense to it,” Stryker said. “But Cholla Yi says we ain’t got no choice when a wizard like him talks. ’Specially when he makes promises, an’ says he’ll be needin’ men, real live men, t’ help him get his throne back. Throne an’ more.
“Now he’s got th’ real power, Cholla Yi told me. That spell I heard you an’ that damn’ Gamelan whisperin’ ’bout some time ago, when you thought no one was about.
“Looks to me like th’ Archon ain’t far from bein’ a god,” Stryker went on. “Man don’t stand ’gainst gods. Best you c’n do is try to make accommodation with ’em. Maybe serve ’em well, an’ hope t’ get some of th’ loot they ain’t gonna be wantin’.”
Stryker grimaced. “Guess I should’a known, when I cast death’s eyes, back gamin’ aboard Cholla Yi’s ship, all ’cause you was in th’ offin’. Since I first signed on wi’ Cholla Yi, weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t a had none at all.
“E’en back th’ first time we come on th’ Archon, I should’a knowed I was cursed, when I tried to end matters like I was s’posed to. Back ’fore th’ volcanoes went an’ spat us out int’ these waters.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you. Might’s well give you all, an’ hope that weighs th’ scales. When you an’ that black bitch went ’cross t’ th’ Archon’s ship, an’ up th’ foremast?”
It came to me most clear, and I gasped, and without realizing it slid back, away from Stryker, until I was kneeling about a yard away. I remembered when Ismet and I had clambered to the foretop of the Archon’s ship, and an arrow had plunged between us and sliced Ismet’s arm, a shaft from an archer neither of us could spot. Of course we couldn’t have seen him below, for that arrow could only have come from our own galley.
“I remember,” I said. Stryker pushed himself up into a sitting position. His fingers touched the blood on either side of his neck, and he winced. “You shot that arrow?”
“I did. An’ missed. Damn near took out th’ black bitch, tho’, which wouldn’t of been all bad.”
“Cholla Yi ordered it?”
“Nobody ordered nothin’,” Stryker said. “Cholla Yi jus’ told me that Gen’ral Jinnah made it clear that you was his worst enemy, an’ when we come back, he’d be sittin’ high in th’ Magistrate’s Council, an’ if he didn’t have th’ bother of dealin’ with you, our accounts’d be settled faster an’ better and we was more’n capable of dealin’ wi’ th’ Archon ourselves back then, afore he got all his powers.”
“Fools and gods-cursed fools! Why’d you not try again until now,” I asked.
“’Cause I ain’t a pure idjiot. A’ter we come over those reefs, int’ unknown waters, I figgered, as did Cholla Yi, we’d need all th’ swords we c’d muster. He said it’d be time t’ worry about Orissa an’ Jinnah an’ shit like that when, an’ if, we closed on their shores agin.”
“You’re both a pair of stupid bastards,” I said. “You believed the Archon would find a place for you? Look at The Sarzana. He thought he could cast the dice with him, too. I’ve never seen . . .” I broke off, realizing I was about to sound like a fool myself. Of course The Archon’s spirit, or demon, or whatever it was, wouldn’t have tried to work his wooings without casting a spell of persuasion and belief like some golden cloud around these two scoundrels.
“All right,” I began. “We’ll deal with matters as they occur. First you, then Cholla Yi.”
I did not know what I intended doing with Stryker just then, and had only turned my mind to considering it. But the ship’s captain mistook my words, and thought his fate was determined. I hadn’t noticed he’d slid his legs back under him, and now he sprang straight for me, one hand grabbing for my knifehand, the other for my eyes.
But again my muscles spoke for me, and I went down, flat on my back, the sharp fang of the dagger sticking up, free hand bracing it, and Stryker impaled himself on his own blade. Blood poured over me, and he moaned shrilly, stiffened and died.
I rolled from under his bulk, and was on my feet, dropping my tunic over my shoulders and grabbing for my weapons belt. I burst out the door into the lower deck, shouting for the Guard to turn out, turn out, and as my women floundered into wakefulness I raced up the companionway, onto the maindeck and the beginnings of dawn, my blade whipping out of its sheath.
Seventy feet away, Cholla Yi’s flagship bore down on us, armed men in its forepeak, gangplanks rigged for boarding. In the forepeak was Cholla Yi himself, in full armor. He saw me, yet alive, and screeched rage. Behind him came two other ships — one was Kidai’s, I didn’t remember the captain of the other. Evidently he thought he only needed those three to kill us, or else hadn’t been able to convince the officers of the other ships to mutiny.
My women poured on deck, pulling on their helmets and buckling their armor. Among them were Stryker’s seamen, bewildered by these events. Evidently Cholla Yi, experienced at treachery, had known enough to conspire with as few as necessary. If I’d been murdered below, there would’ve been time enough for Stryker to rouse his men against my women. But now . . .
“Kill them!” Cholla Yi was shouting. “Kill the bitches! Kill them all! They’re in league with the Archon!”
A few sailors looked at us . . . and then at the ready-racks of swords.
“Any man who moves against us will die!” I shouted in return. “Cholla Yi’s the traitor!” I swore at myself — all I was doing was adding to the confusion, and changed my tactics: “All sailors, fall below! Now! Or you’ll die! Stay out of this!”
Some started moving toward the companionways, others were motionless, still amazed. Duban must’ve been told something, because he snatched a dagger from his belt. Before he could find a target Ismet cut him down, and sailors shouted anger.
But I hadn’t time for them — Cholla Yi’s ships were very close.
“Repel boarders,” I shouted. “Gerasa! Target the helmsmen and Cholla Yi!”
My best bowwoman, who I’d promoted sergeant in spite of her protests, gaped, then shouted her own orders as her section formed up along the rails and opened fire. But it was too late.
I saw a shaft take the man standing next to Cholla Yi, grimaced that the archer’s aim hadn’t been better, and then Cholla Yi’s galley crashed into ours, the spiked crows-feet gangplanks thudded down and we were tied, ship to ship.
Another ship bore alongside to port, but slings hummed and stones spat across the heaving waters between us, and the three men on the quarterdeck fell, chests or skulls splintered and the helmless ship drifted clear.
The third ship was coming up on our stern, but I had other matters to worry about as Cholla Yi’s sailors poured over the gangplanks, and the sea was a milling mass of shouting, fighting, men and women.
“Spearhead,” Polillo shouted, and four women formed behind her, and charged.
Sailors screamed fear and tried to get away from that swinging ax. Two sailors ran at me, thinking the odds were theirs, and I jumped to the side, and they were in each other’s way.
I parried a clumsy stroke from the first, slashed across his upper arm, cutting tendons, and his sword dropped, giving me time to spit his companion, pull free and finish off the wounded man before another was on me.
“Get the bitches,” I heard Cholla Yi bellow. “Kill them! Get their cursed captain first!”
A man rose up in front of me, holding a bloody halberd at half-staff, parried my cut, lunged as I slid aside, and came back to guard. He was a skilled fighter.
I bobbed side-to-side, trying to confuse him, about to lunge, an
d his eyes widened, and I dropped to my right, and rolled, turning as I did, and Santh’s sword came down and sent splinters flying from the deck.
He shrieked fear and pulled at the stuck blade as I came up from my crouch, slashing. My sword took off most of his face, and he stumbled back, against the rail, and then fell over the side, but that sailor’s halberd darted at me like a snake striking, and its back-point seared across my unarmored ribs.
Pain flashed, but I paid no heed as my free hand had the staff of the halberd, and I pulled him into me, into me and my sword. His eyes saw no more, and he toppled, and I booted his corpse off my blade.
The brawl was roiling across the decks, and I couldn’t tell in whose favor the battle was going. The way to end this was obvious, and I spotted Cholla Yi, above the crowd, his sword rising and falling, oiled spiked hair gleaming in the first sunlight, and cut my way toward him.
But Polillo was there first. I saw Cholla Yi aim a cut at her, and Polillo lean back as the sword whispered past, and then smash out with her ax-head, like it was the butt of a club.
It hit Cholla Yi in the chest and sent him stumbling back. But there was no blood, and his face showed no agony — he was wearing armor beneath his tunic.
Now he and Polillo danced back and forth, and somehow all knew this would be the battle’s decision, and no one cast spear or stone from the rear, nor sent a shaft thudding home.
I don’t know why such an absurdity as a duel came to be, on the deck of this heaving pirate ship between my legate and a renegade turncoat, but it did, for just a moment.
Cholla Yi’s blade was huge, double-handed, but perfectly balanced, and he used it both as intended and one-handed, weaving a mesh of steel between him and Polillo’s dancing ax as she closed, ever forcing him back and back toward the railing.
Polillo saw a chance, and swung hard. Someone . . . it might’ve been me . . . groaned as she missed and was open for a killing blow from Cholla Yi. He struck, but impossibly Polillo stopped her great ax in mid-stroke and brought it back, parrying his blade away, sending Cholla Yi stumbling, off-balance.
The Warrior's Tale (The Far Kingdoms, Book 2) Page 54
