The Warrior's Tale

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  Somewhere a horn trumpeted and by the time I'd reached my feet again, our enemies were scuttling away. But as they ran, many were carrying grisly burdens - arms and legs and huge pieces of flesh hacked from the bodies of our fallen comrades. And it was no rout -they were retreating in an orderly fashion, with flying squads to protect those burdened with meat.

  I rallied my women and we charged into those remaining on the deck, but we'd only managed to kill a few before the rest scampered off jeering as they scuttled along kelp vines thicker than a large man's trunk. I heard sounds of fighting on the other ships, but that too faded to be replaced by the shrill ridicule of our attackers. I could see lines of naked bodies moving along like ants. They converged into a single column and headed off. I sheathed my sword and swarmed up the foremast to see where they were going.

  I found Santh's tall skinny friend cowering on the foretop. He was blubbering something, but I paid no attention as I peered this way and that until I spied the line of men. In the distance I saw an enormous mound shaped like a ship. I looked closer and saw it was a ship - like no other that I'd ever seen. It was so huge it could have housed our whole fleet. The top consisted of a crazy scrap-wood edifice that formed three turret-like structures - the one in the centre towering twice as high over the others. Smoke curled out of its peaked roof. The line of men snaked towards the strange ship and in a few minutes I saw them disappear into a huge maw of a hole that pierced the side.

  I shinned down, ordering my officers to set guards and see to the needs of my troops, and sent for Cholla Yi. As I waited, I learned that I'd only suffered a few wounded, and those were minor. Poor Stryker, however, had lost ten men - and all of their corpses had been carried away.

  'But we gave better'n' we took,' he said with grim satisfaction.

  Our attackers had left thirty-six bodies behind, but I saw no cause for celebration. They were hardly in mourning when they'd fled with their booty of limbs and flesh hacked from our comrades. That they were cannibals was no great revelation. What puzzled me more was why they all looked like such starvelings, with arms and legs like twigs and swollen bellies. Water was a problem in these plant-choked seas, but not food. There was much edible life among the kelp vines, and a plenitude of fish to be got out of the channels. But all of the corpses sported the orange-tinted hair and swollen bellies of malnutrition and the running sores pocking their skin would've never healed if they'd lived.

  Admiral Cholla Yi arrived shaken by the encounter, but spoiling for a fight.

  'They're nothing but bags of bones,' he scoffed. 'They caught us by surprise, is all. Who'd expect anything human to be living in this perdition? They're probably nothing more than survivors off those wrecks. And they aren't trained fighters. Most of those hulks look like merchantmen.'

  I agreed. 'It's not likely they've ever encountered a war fleet before. If we try to work our way back out, they'll pick us off a few at a time. But if we put the fear of the gods in them now, they'll cower in their bolt-holes until we're well gone.'

  'One thing to take note of,' Gamelan broke in, Ms they seem to act in concert, and with purpose. Which means they have leaders - perhaps even a master.'

  I nodded. 'Probably makes his headquarters in that big ship I saw them parading into. Maybe that's where we strike.' 'It would seem so,' Gamelan said. 'But that's not what I was getting at. What occurs to me is this might be the opportunity we've been hoping for. There's no doubt in my mind there's some kind of magical force at work in this place - the permanent lack of wind, this maze of vegetation. It was created, not formed by nature.' 'A wizard?' I asked.

  'Perhaps,' Gamelan replied. 'It could be other things, of course, but I'd really prefer it to be someone we can bargain with to find a means to escape this place.'

  'Far as I can see,' Stryker said, 'we got nothin' they want, but th' skin we're walkin' around in. So there's nothin' to bargain. I'm with th' admiral. I say we fight.'

  But I had glimmer of what Gamelan was getting at. A plan began to form in my mind. 'I'm in complete agreement, gentlemen,' I said. 'But perhaps there's also something in what Lord Gamelan says. I propose we try to accomplish both. Cow our enemy, and find passage out at the same time.'

  I laid out my plan. There was some grumbling, but gradually agreement was reached - we would attack that night.

  I took nine of my best soldiers, including Polillo, Ismet, and Jacara, a swift, sure-footed runner. I left Corais in charge of the others and had her post archers to watch for our return, making sure Gerasa was among them.

  We wore only what was needed for modesty, darkened our skin -except for Ismet, who had no need - and blackened our weapons. Gamelan helped me conjure up a tarry substance that we painted on our bare feet and when we went over the side onto the immense ropes of kelp, our footing was as secure as it could be on the pitching, slippery terrain. We had a full moon to contend with, but the mist rising up from the cooling vegetation nearly obscured it. Jacara took the lead. I followed, with Ismet close behind, and Polillo - her big axe strapped to her back - protected the rear.

  I knew if we were successful, our return trip would be at a dead run. To help, Gamelan had me mix special oil, which Polillo carried in a leather flask. She sprinkled drops on the vines as she went. They were nearly invisible and Polillo groused about what seemed to be a pointless task, but I assured her at the right time the purpose would be quite clear. I'd also ordered scores of fire beads hung from the mast of our ship so it would be easy to find our way. As for our target - that monstrous ship - getting to it would not be difficult. At dusk the high centre tower had ht like a huge beacon. Strange raucous music trumpeted out, interspersed with wild, blood-chilling howls. Some kind of victory feast, we surmised. Or perhaps our skinny friends were working themselves up for another attack on the morrow. In either case, I fully intended to spoil their celebration.

  It took time to get used to clambering across the odd terrain. The whole mass was in constant motion, rolling with the seas. In places where the growth was thinner the water would geyser up without warning and it was all we could do to keep our balance. To make things more difficult, a foot might go through a space between the vines, threatening to pitch us on our faces, or smaller tendrils might tangle in our harness. There were also weak places where you could plunge down into the depths below. I had to be hauled out once, and Polillo, with her greater weight, went in three times. It was not a pleasant experience. The water was warm and viscous and filled with scuttling little things that nipped at me with sharp claws and teeth. Instead of a pool, the hole was more like a watery nest, choked with barnacled vines that rasped on the flesh. As I fell through and the water rose above my head, I was overcome by fear something was watching. As my head emerged I sensed it was slithering for me. It was all I could do to force myself to remain calm so my companions could haul me out. As I lay panting by the side of the break, bubbles rose on the surface and when they burst there was a smell of rotting things. I shivered and nearly retched as my imagination supplied several unpleasant sources of the bubbles and the smell. The loathsome sensation of being in that nest troubles my sleep to this day. The whole time I had the disgusting notion that not only was I about to become something's dinner, but that I'd first be humiliated in the foulest ways possible before I was fit for it to eat. Each time Polillo went in I knew what she suffered and nearly lost my rations as I worked frantically with the others to get her out.

  Eventually we discovered the easiest method to make our way was to trust to instinct and go full force. With the agile Jacara at the lead, we ran along the vines, hesitating only when we'd reach the top of a rolling mass of kelp, then leaping forward to the next and running until another wave caught up to us. It took us over an hour to learn this method of locomotion and in that time made only a short distance. But once we abandoned clumsy caution it took us less than fifteen minutes to reach the hulk.

  We dropped to our bellies and crept cautiously towards the gaping entrance. Corais hand-signa
lled an absence of guards, but that didn't ease my worry. I was heeding Gamelan's warning before we left that traps can take many more forms than nature and the ugly side of human ingenuity can create. I motioned a halt and slipped up to where Janela waited. I made signs for her to stay and crept onward, moving only a foot or so at a time, then stopped, pushing out with all my senses.

  I felt dusty threads touch my cheek and adhere like a spider web. I nearly brushed them away, then froze. I backed up slightly, then slowly reached a hand forward - closing my eyes and concentrating. It was difficult because the strange music had grown even louder, hurting my ears and scratching at my bones. Finally my fingers touched the sorcerous web. I stopped. My fingers began to tingle. Very slowly I drew them back, feeling the magical threads cling, then fall gently away.

  Gamelan had instructed me what to do before we left the ship. 'Since I have no powers,' he'd said, 'I cannot tell you what kind of sorcery awaits. You will need to adapt yourself to what you encounter. To elude our enemies, you will have to wear their skin.'

  I signalled the others to join me. Making motions, I alerted them to the trap, then had them huddle around me in a tight knot. I pulled a small balloon of spun glass from my belt pouch and shattered it in my palm with my knife haft. A speckled powder spilled out. It smelled of fish bone and insect parts. The bone, Gamelan said, was actually the ground beaks of cuttlefish, mixed with a bit of their dried ink. The insects were the similarly treated husks of a beetle that lives in great colonies on flowering plants. To feed and live in safety, they'd learned to form themselves into green twigs and leaves and the multicoloured flowers of their host. I stretched my palm flat and blew the dust into my companions' faces. Then I sprinkled the residue - glass and all - on my head, and whispered the spell:

  Form and Shadow,

  Shadow and Form

  Paired wings that

  Carry the night-bird

  In my mind I became small and weak and without pride. Hunger

  burned in my gut. A voice wept inside:

  I am dying!

  Poor me. Poor

  dying me.

  The weeping turned into a wailing plea:

  Help me, Great Master.

  Oh, please, Master,

  if only I could... eat.

  I heard low groans from the others as they sank into misery. Instinctively, I fought the weakness, but knew that until the right moment I must give way. I let myself go, struggling only to keep a kernel of reason alive. I became pitifully fragile again, and hungry -so hungry. I babbled to my Master, my good, kind Master for food. Something dark and ugly stirred and said I must obey Him in all things. My thoughts shrilled agreement and abasement and the ugliness chortled acceptance. I became glad as hatred flooded in, numbing the hunger. The hatred gave me strength and it was directed at - my fleet! They must die, all of them must die. Then and only then could I feed! I almost broke under that hot outpouring of anger. It was time to act, but I didn't have the will. I searched frantically for that seed of self I'd planted. Just as I was about to give up hope, abandoning myself to my Master, I found it. I gripped it hard in my mind. Tighter and tighter still, until I could feel my hands reflexing into fists and my nails biting deep into my palms. Sweat burst from my pores, and then I felt a coolness. Strength returned and I rose and one by one took my weeping companions by the hand and led them through the magical web. It parted, accepting us - sensing no danger. We rested on the other side, quite whole again, with only a ravening thirst to mark the ordeal. I made no protest as each of my women emptied the flasks of watered wine we carried. This would be the last chance we had to drink.

  There was no one to stop us or give the alarm as we went through the cavernous entrance into what appeared to have once been an enormous ship's hold. We almost bolted as soon as we entered. It was filled with men. But they seemed asleep, or spellbound, as they twisted and groaned on the deck. I suspected the latter because the sound of the celebration echoed even louder than before, but did not seem to disturb them - at least not as much as their dreams. We crept through the men, stepping over, or dodging as they thrashed about in some nightmare's grip. I stopped at a massive wooden pillar in the centre, pulled out a long piece of red thread and wrapped it about the post. We went on, stopping now and again for me to tie other bits of thread around likely timbers and supports.

  We climbed ladders to a higher deck; went along passages and climbed again. The only people we saw were asleep, and all of them were men. Everywhere we went I found dry timbers for my thread. At last we came out into the open on the main-deck. Towering above us was the central turret. Stairs spiralled up. At the top, circular windows spilled light and sound. The light was so intense our shadows were cast huge across the empty deck. I left Ismet and five others behind to guard our retreat, and sprinted to the tower - Jacara and Polillo. at my heels. Once there, the two of them split off in opposite directions to scout the circumference of the turret, while I got out my last spool of thread. There was just enough to complete the job. We tied it around the turret - circling it twice. I made the final knot. Now it was time to spring the trap. But before I did, I wanted to see who we faced.

  I motioned for Ismet to wait and Polillo and I went up the staircase. At the top it joined a circular deck. There was an open door to one side. I could see figures prancing about. On the other side was one of the windows. Polillo and I moved toit, crouching low. Then we came cautiously up to look. Polillo sucked in her breath in shock. I don't know what either of us expected, but what we witnessed in that turret chamber is not a tale to tell to children, or even hardened companions over a jug of wine and a tavern roast.

  It was an immense room, containing all the goods looted from the ships that had been caught in the sargasso net. There were great piles of finery and trunks of gems and golden plate. Stacked all around were sacks of what appeared to be grain and rare spices. The walls were cluttered with all manner of tapestries, draped brocades and silk. Old weapons and shields and armour also hung from the walls, as well as odd, rusted machines whose original purpose I could not decipher. In the centre of the room a pot large enough to feed an army bubbled and smoked over leaping flames. The fire shot out so many different hot colours that I knew it must be magical. Hunks of flesh roiled about inside the pot. It gave off a smell I do not care to dwell on. The music the men, danced to blared out from everywhere and nowhere. At intervals a man would dart from the pack, jam his bare hand in the boiling liquid, screaming in pain as he fished about until he caught a hunk of meat and pulled it out. Then he'd gobble at it madly, sobbing all the while. But no sooner would he choke down a few bites than several others would claw and fight to grab a morsel away.

  I was so shaken it was a moment before I saw who presided over the insanity. But there was no mistaking who the master was. The demon was sprawled across a raised platform, carpeted with thick tapestries. From his yellow-taloned feet to the single barbed horn that curled from his forehead, he was at least two javelin-lengths long. The horn was mottled white and shot with red, like fat from a butchered pig. His arms were long, like an ape's, and his hands were taloned, as were his feet. He had death-white scales for skin and a long, barbed tail that lashed about in pleasure each time a man made the painful trip to the boiling pot. Although he was long in length, his body carried no extra weight. He was all heavy bone, big knotted joints, ribs like ship's staves, and long cabled muscles. His horned head was flat and shovel-shaped, with two red-rimmed holes for a nose and sharp ribbed bone for lips. As we watched, another fight erupted. In the struggle for food one of them mistakenly ripped the flesh away from another man's arm with his teeth, but gobbled it down without hesitation. The beast I knew to be the Master howled in delight. It was the same unearthly sound we'd heard shrieking over the music since we began our journey. His teeth were pointed and as long as a finger, his tongue a quick-flickering ribbon of greyish pink.

  It is unfair of me to brand the demon 'him', for I cannot say with certainty he was n
ot actually a she. I have been fortunate to know more good men than evil and have always been well treated by those men most important to me. Sol must apologize for this description, but it's how I think of that demon to this day. Although he was naked, I could not tell what manner of sexual organ was between the demon's legs. I saw only a bulbous white lump, ringed with red. I did not care to let my gaze linger to see if a penis emerged when he became most amused at the painful antics of his slaves.

  Polillo nudged me and pointed. On a broad, carpeted step just below the platform I saw the source of the music. It was a woman - the only woman we'd seen among the demon's slaves. She was also the only person we'd seen who was fat. Naked as the others, she had immense breasts that drooped over a bulging middle, legs and arms so obese they looked nearly useless and she sat on huge hams wreathed with roll after roll of fat. She was short - even seated you could see she wouldn't stand much higher than a normal person's belt buckle. Her hair hung in greasy strings from a head so small in all that obesity that it looked like a doll's. Her eyes were mere dots and she had a little bow of a mouth that she kept pursed as she played on an odd lyre-like instrument. It had a deep black frame and was strung with strands of a grey, fleshy-looking material that gleamed with moisture that oozed down along the strings as she played. Her hands moved smoothly over the lyre, stroking rather than plucking the strings. All sorts of sounds screeched out to the rhythm of the whirling men. Beside her was a wooden trencher the size of a small table and on it were heaped masses of food - mounds of grain mush, lumps of boiled meat clotted with fat, and heaps of crabs and other shellfish.