Gamelan gave a start 'See, I am too old,' he said. 'I'd almost forgotten the work I was at.' He hurried back to his apparatus, sniffing the odourless steam, turning little petcocks to let one liquid drip into another, talking as he went about his tasks. 'Thanks to you,' he said, 'I have the means to arm us against the Archon with a secret weapon of our own. It may not be enough to defeat him in the end, but it will certainly weaken him. And it will make our job to hunt him down easier.'
He put an ornate box on the table. It was ebony-black, with rich inlaid colours. There were no seams, no sign of a means for entry.
Gamelan passed his hands over it, whispered a few words and pressed the sides with the thumb and forefinger of each hand. It sprang open. I looked inside, and nearly retched at what I saw there. It was a large hunk of flesh with the brownish purple hue of an internal organ a few hours from rot.
'It's the heart of the Archon you slew,' Gamelan said. He lifted it out with the ease of a man comfortable with offal. He placed it under a large copper spigot that protruded from the machine. He turned the petcock. Thick, oily drops of liquid - a glowing green in colour -dripped onto the heart. The liquid flowed over the organ, coating it with a thin sheen of green. Gamelan chanted:
Heart of stone,
Brother to fear:
No love No tears
No pity!
Heart of stone,
Brother to hate:
No joy No warmth
No beauty!
Hate to hate,
Fear to Fear,
Stone to stone:
Brother find brother!
The heart began to shrink, and change form and colour. It got smaller and smaller, slowly at first, then I blinked and it had gone from the size of a fist to that of a bird's egg. Then it was as smooth and black as the ebony box. Gamelan lifted it gingerly with crystalline tongs and placed it in the box. Once again he pressed the sides, and whispered a chant. The box snapped shut.
Gamelan picked it up, holding it between flattened palms. He bowed his head, squinting in concentration. Then he nodded and looked up, those gnarly teeth gleaming through his beard.
'It works,' he said, quite pleased, as if he had been in some doubt.
He offered me the box. I drew back.
'I don't want to touch that thing,' I said, as skittish as a new blooming maid.
'I don't blame you,' Gamelan answered. 'After all, we do know where it's been. Still... To please me, if nothing else.'
I took the box and held it as he had. Instantly I felt a tingle. A vibration, like a stringed instrument that had recently been strummed.
'What's happening?' I asked.
Gamelan made that hunting-owl hoot of his. 'Why, it's telling us that its brother is still quite near. And now we only have to follow it, and—'
Then excitement at his victory caught the wizard. Gamelan threw back his head and gave a shout that rolled and echoed across that great Chamber of the Archons.
'I've got you, you bastard! I've got you!'
Five
Chase to the Ends of the World
WE SET SAIL on the First Candleday of the Harvest Month in the Year Of The Hart. Gamelan chose two soldiers convicted of raping several Lycanthian women for the Blessing. They were crushed between two millstones in the manner prescribed; but instead of sprinkling their blood across the fields, Gamelan anointed the ships' prows, then cast the remains into the sea, as an offering to its gods. Everyone agreed it was a lucky way to begin the voyage, and on a most auspicious day.
That's as may be. But at the risk of singeing your shell-likes with my blasphemies, Scribe, I think that old devil of an Evocator made cunning use of coincidence to ratde Admiral Cholla Yi and his pirates. The entire army was turned out to see us off with as much panoply as Gamelan, and several friendly senior officers, could squeeze out of Jinnah's jealous fists. It was so elaborate we missed the morning tide, but Gamelan whispered for me not to worry, for he had a trick or two to make it up.
Our fleet consisted of fifteen of Cholla Yi's galleys, long sea-wolves that looked deadly, even drawn up on their rollers on the sand, thus giving us more than even odds against the fleeing armed merchant ships of the Archon. I'd detailed a platoon of my Guardswomen to ten of the ships, plus the command group on my own ship. Four others would be manned only by Cholla Yi's armed sailors. I'd wanted to put a detail on each ship, since I had little trust in Cholla Yi's honesty, and less for that of his men, but even with the new recruits brought out by Officer-Aspirant Dica, the Guard was still woefully short, especially after the savage battle in the sea-castle.
After much spell-casting and speechmaking - Jinnah even managed a little languid praise of me and my women - we paraded through the ranks of cheering soldiers. They shouted good wishes and prayers for our safe return, and as I passed by our comrades of the long siege I saw men whose emotions were so overflowing, they openly wept. Drums pounded and horns brayed as we drew up before our ships. Cholla Yi was there to greet me. He was wearing his best -meaning his most gaudy - uniform, with enough medals nearly to cover even his broad chest. As I returned his salute, I made the reflexive soldier's survey of his honours. I recognized a few of his self-awarded gold and silver medallions. They were from fleets Cholla Yi never could have commanded for valour I doubted any amount of coin could have purchased from the mercenary. But it made a good show - especially since it was a show meant to impress me. His rogue's grin was nearly as dazzling as his medals, and about as honestly meant.
But I ignored that and let the moment of new experience wash over me. After days of little sleep I felt faint-headed and everything came to me in a dazzling confusion of sights and sounds.
'Guard!' I shouted, and Polillo and Corais echoed my call to attention. 'In files ... board ship!' Weapons clattered as my women doubled up the gangplanks to their new duties.
I heard shouted orders from the master of my own ship, another rogue named Stryker, echoed by other captains' voices. There was an eerie shrill of pipes as we mounted the gangway of my own galley. The officers and crew shambled to a seaman's crooked attention. Stale sweat mingled with the sharp salt tang of the harbour air. The rowers, who all seemed to have massive arms and chests and spindly legs, stood by their benches and racked oars. The sailors among them -and there was a marked difference, I was later told in no uncertain terms - stood in motley groups. Other than the officers, the men were mostly barefooted; but were turned out in their best, a bizarre mixture of rags and looted finery. Women's scarves and colourful tunics were mixed with canvas breeches, or even loincloths. Jewellery of every variety glinted from around their necks, or dangled from ears, noses, and lips. I even saw several bare-chested fellows with rings that hung through pierced nipples.
As I viewed this savage lot all the usual doubts and half-formed ideas leaped into my already buzzing brain, but then my colour guard unfurled our standard. They clipped it to a halyard, then waited as Gamelan chanted traditional blessings and prayers to Maranonia. Before he gave the signal for the banner to be hauled aloft, he plucked a small gourd from his sleeve and dashed it to the deck. Sweet-smelling smoke boiled up, foggy tendrils of red and green and blue waving this way and that. As the colour guard raised the banner the smoke climbed with it, ascending higher and higher until the banner reached the very top. It hung limp for a moment, then I heard Gamelan shout and a wind swooped up from the shore. The colourful cloud of smoke scudded westward and the banner snapped taut -revealing our goddess in her glory. She was every inch a warrior woman, from her golden boots to her outstretched spear and torch. Light mail draped her pure-white tunic, and black tresses flowed out from under her peaked helmet.
I was never so proud as at that moment, with the flag of our goddess hoisted over a ship for the first time in anyone's memory. I heard Polillo stifle a sob, and saw Corais knuckle wetness from the corner of her eye. I had to cough, as something suddenly appeared to be caught in my throat.
The launching parties put their shoulders i
nto it, and our galleys slid over the rollers until they floated free, rolling in the gentle beach swell.
Stryker whispered, in that strange penetrating tone that carried for many yards: 'Shall I give th' orders t' put t' sea, Cap'n Antero?'
I could only nod agreement. Another shrill of pipes and shouts from the shore and the crew scrambled about in the mad farewell ballet of every ship about to depart the land which has held it captive too long. There was a blur of orders, bewildering sounds and the clatter and drum of oars as the other galleys went through identical motions.
Gamelan gestured to me and I stumbled forward. He handed me a golden spear, identical to the one carried by our goddess. He pointed at the distant horizon and bade me to cast the spear. I was so numb from the weariness that had descended on me I was afraid I'd end up playing the fool, but Gamelan squeezed the muscles of my right arm and I was suddenly very strong. My right side was like a steel spring ready to be unleashed. I set my feet and reached back for the cast. Gamelan chanted:
Spear fly swift
And far As Te-Date
Commands
Our spirits to follow
I loosed with all my power. I felt the sweetness of perfect motion. The cast was with such force that I came off my feet, but I landed back on the deck as agilely as any acrobat, or dancer. I saw the golden spear pierce the air, hurtling towards the distant west. Its arc carried it higher and farther than any mortal could have cast it. The spear flew like a hunting eagle, until it disappeared from sight.
There was a jolt as fifty great oars bit deeply into the sea and our galley shot after the spear. We moved with amazing speed, as did the other ships as they cut through the water after us.
The huzzas from the shore drowned all else out and I turned to watch first my shore-bound comrades, and then the land itself grow small before my eyes.
I swayed, but felt Polillo take my elbow. I mumbled protests there were things to be done, orders to be issued, but she shushed me like a child and led me below to tuck me into a hammock. My eyes grew heavier than my will to hold them open. And I slept.
I dreamed I was in Tries's arms again. It was the eve of my departure for Lycanth and we'd forgiven one another and had made wild, almost violent love. Now the dawn was near breaking and my head was pillowed on her soft breasts. I knew it was a dream, and that dream lied about the real events - we did not meet, much less embrace those long months ago. But it was a delicious lie and I let it take me where it chose. I kissed her rosebud nipples and caressed those slender thighs until they opened to my hands and lips. I thought I heard Omyere's music playing very faintly in the distance, telling me this was right. This was where I belonged. This was real life, a place of love and music and scented sighs.
I heard the crack of a whip, the thunder of hooves and the rumble of an iron-wheeled chariot. The wall of our chamber crashed away and I leaped naked from the bed as the Archon rode a black chariot into the room. The chariot was edged with sharp steel spikes and blades and it was drawn by a matched pair of black horses with the broad wings of giant eagles. The shattered room became the deck of our ship and the Archon mocked me from his chariot. Cholla Yi and the crew laughed with him, pointing at my bare flesh and scorning me for being a woman who loved another woman. Somehow Tries was the Archon's captive, and he shook the reins, shouted to the horses and gripped my Tries tight by the manacles that bound her hands. I leaped for them, but it was too late as the horses took flight, carrying the Archon and his chariot high into the sky. I heard Tries scream and a final boom of laughter from the Archon. Then nothing. I was awake. Eyes closed. Muscles trembling with the ghost traces of my violent dream. The sound of sea and oars and wind outside. The rough hammock swaying under me. I felt a presence. Danger? Slowly, I opened my eyes.
Tries stood over me. She was draped in a filmy, billowing white gown. She smiled at me, then her eyes glowed with hatred and I saw she held a slender silver dagger. She plunged it down at me. I rolled to the side, clumsy in the hammock, and felt the sting of the blade in my arm. Somehow I freed myself from the hammock and plunged to the wooden deck. I heard Tries scrabbling after me. I tried to get up, but I was weary, so weary, I could not move a limb. Then—
Nothing. Eyes closed. Muscles trembling. Sounds of sea and wind. Hammock swaying under me. I felt a presence. Danger?
Once again I opened my eyes. Corais grinned. She said: 'Sweet dreams, Captain?'
I groaned up, swinging my legs over the edge of the hammock. 'It was more like a dog's dream of a bad hunt,' I said.
I felt a stinging sensation on my arm. I saw a single drop of blood oozing from a small wound. Dazed, I wiped it away.
'Some sailor must have lost his sewing needle,' Corais said. She ran a hand along the edge of the hammock, searching for it.
'Yes,' I said, with visible relief. 'That must be it.'
Corais stared at me, concerned. 'What else could it be?' she asked.
Exactly. It could be nothing else. Otherwise, the dream was no dream at all. And that wasn't possible - was it?
I rose to greet the new day, and within the hour was so consumed by my strange surroundings that I forgot the dream and the wound.
The first order of business was to pick up the spoor of the Archon. I called a meeting aboard Cholla Yi's flagship. I set it there for two reasons: (i) It had been put to him in plain terms that I was in command. I'd been certain this had been ground into him, almost to the point of humiliation. So, this was a dab of honey to make the aftertaste less bitter. (2) He had a large cabin. If words became heated enough to go to arms, I wanted room to swing my sword. Not that I thought anything like that would happen, but if I needed to put fear into him with a gesture - like gripping the handle of the blade - he'd know there was nothing to impede me, or trip me up.
As soon as I entered the stateroom, it was plain Cholla Yi made his living as a pirate as well as a mercenary. It was as gaudy and bawdy as a courtesan's chamber; actually, more like a street whore's who'd found a rich benefactor. There were wall hangings and rugs so colourful they hurt the eye. It was crammed with all sorts of jewel-encrusted objects whose purpose ranged from pots to squat on to what I swore appeared to be some sort of feathered sex machine, with a handle inlaid with rare stones. Everywhere veils and lace of the highest quality material, and lowest in obscene decoration, draped shelves, bulkheads, and figurines - many depicting rather gross sexual acts. There were enormous pillows thrown about, also lewdly decorated. There was one particular good one, with two women in an embrace. One looked remarkably like Tries. In the centre of the cabin was a broad table of dark polished oak. There were leather chairs around the table, with an exceptionally high one at the head of the table. Obviously, it was the admiral's. I made my way to it and sat down. There was no sense in making that honey too sweet. Cholla Yi frowned, but I turned this way and that, examining his possessions with complete boredom and superiority. I am my father's daughter, and although I took up the soldier's trade, there are enough of a merchant's wiles in me to turn any ground into my own. The admiral veered to the seat to my right. The ornately carved gallery window of his cabin was behind it, and he'd be favourably framed by the late afternoon sunlight. Gamelan, however, gave a little hop like a boy, and slid into the seat first. He winked at me, then with much gravity, peered at Cholla Yi's more lurid figurines, shook his head, then turned his attention to Phocas, the sailing master of Cholla Yi's flagship, who was unrolling a large map. Rank, as with everything else afloat, was damnably different from what I was used to. For instance, Cholla Yi was an admiral and in charge of all ships. But technically he was the honoured guest of Phocas, who held command of the ship itself. Similarly, on our own ship, Stryker was the captain, and under him was Klisura, our own sailing master, and Duban, in charge of the rowers. What Stryker's duties consisted of beyond posturing nobly on his quarterdeck and making my life difficult, I wasn't sure.
When I saw Phocas's chart, I immediately forgot the little battle of wills. The quest
we were upon seemed unreal when you noted the map's scale. From Orissa and the Lycanthian peninsula, the map sprawled west more miles than I could have imagined. At the moment it seemed like the kind of distance star-seekers must attempt to fathom when they ponder our fates. I'd seen maps like this before in my father's and Amalric's studies. But I'd never had to actually place myself on one of them, if you understand my meaning. I saw the familiar ports and cities where my family and others traded. But those ports and cities became smaller marks, until they disappeared into cartographer's speculation - little pictures of fiends to warn of savages, or demons to mark places of supposed ill luck and black magic. But it was the sea itself that took my breath away. It was so enormous that it seemed as if it were ready to swallow the slim slices of land that dared mar its majesty, or the islands that perched so precariously on its brow. The sea stretched west to the edge of the map. There was no land to show the end of it. This was merely as far as anyone - even in handed-down traveller tales - had sailed. The distance was frightening.
Phocas scratched a mark on the linen - only a finger or so west of Lycanth. No one had to tell me, this is where we were - near the easternmost edge of the map.
'They've had nearly two days' start on us,' Cholla Yi said, 'and favourable seas and wind. But still, they can't have gone much more than this ...'
He laid two fingers against our position. Phocas marked it, then the admiral stepped aside as he inscribed a circle. Somewhere inside that circle was our enemy. But we didn't know if we were sailing in exactly the right direction. If we weren't, the Archon could have changed course and be pulling away from us with every minute that passed.
'I believe we are safe to say that he's still fleeing westward, for the moment,' Gamelan said. 'All the spells I've cast to increase our speed, or slow his, have been countered by spells that can only come from our old friend. And it is from that direction that the ethers are troubled.'
The Warrior's Tale Page 10
