The Warrior Returns: Far Kingdoms #4 (The Far Kingdoms)

by Allan Cole

  Then I saw the enemy ship’s banner stiffen in the same wind. On it was the sign of the Ice Bear King.

  The cold and the sight of that flag seemed to sharpen my wits and I quickly sorted through a jumbled mass of thoughts and questions.

  How had the giants broken through Daciar’s magical shield? The lyre music was the answer to that. Which meant, as I’d feared, that there was more sorcery behind the pirate chief than the one little demon whom I’d so easily dispatched.

  Why hadn’t we slept on, then, blissful slaves to the sorcerous tunes? The answer was simple. Daciar’s spells diluted the power of the lyre’s assault. Which meant this was magic I could fight and hope to overcome.

  Next question. What was the giants’ purpose? Take the city? From what I’d seen that was unlikely. With twenty men ashore, a longboat held in readiness and a waiting ship, the goal must be something they hoped to achieve quickly and then withdraw. But what could that goal be? The answer came immediately.

  I heard screams just below us, then bellowed orders from the roadway. Great mailed figures trotted up the road and then onto the broad hilltop.

  The giants were attacking the temple.

  There were thirteen. One of the massive creatures dropped back to block the roadway with his steely bulk. He bestrode the breadth of the path, shield held chin-high, sword raised. He thundered insults at the Pisidian soldiers who’d followed the group up the hill.

  The others trooped up to the building we were in, fanning out as they came.

  There were only two Temple guards. After all, who would attack such a holy place? The guards were old men and I don’t know whether you might consider them heroes or fools for despite the odds they immediately trotted out to face the giants.

  They fought as well as they could. And they died as well as they could.

  I think of them sometimes. I recall that scene vividly. Two men decades past their prime wearing a few pieces of hastily pulled on armor moving forward briskly in the path of the enemy’s advance. Their duty commanded them to confront a force that was obviously overwhelming. But they did not hesitate.

  To this day, when all seems hopeless to me, when the odds seem insurmountable, I draw strength from the image of those gray warriors tossing Fate’s dice and knowing as they did so that those ivory cubes had been altered. In the myths of our childhood their bravery and honor would have been rewarded by the gods. Somehow the giants would be toppled, the warriors spared, the temple saved.

  That’s not how it turned out.

  The heroes died swiftly and messily with little effort on the part of the villains. The only reward the old soldiers won was an easier afterlife for their ghosts. Or so, the gods promise us.

  As the old men fell and bled the door to our room burst open and the frightened priestesses crowded in crying for Daciar to save them.

  She was barefooted, wearing only a yellow robe like she’d given me and her silver hair was tousled from sleep. But I never saw such a serene and regal figure as Daciar made when the pleading women pressed in all around her.

  Daciar drew herself up and thundered: “Silence!”

  And there was silence.

  She gestured to Liana - “Get me my tiara!”

  Liana rushed to obey, the women drawing back to make a path.

  Daciar held the jeweled tiara high, offering it to the heavens. I felt a rush of energy flow past as she summoned magical strength - commanding full powers as the Mother Oracle. Then she carefully placed the tiara on her head and the flow steadied, then enveloped her until she seemed a fortress.

  She flung up her hands to cast a spell. The motion in the ethers was like the passage of a great creature through the seas and I felt my sorcerous self rocked by the heavy, shifting currents.

  Just as she was about to hurl the spell a sudden fist of knowledge struck me.

  “Daciar, wait!” I cried.

  Daciar was a gentle wizard who’d served her people well for many years. An enthusiastic scholar, she was a font of knowledge on magical theory but her practice had been limited to goodly acts performed for the faithful. She was like a talented Healer who’d devoted her life to the care of families and common people with common ailments. That Healer might know a much about the killing plagues that sometimes sweep our lands. She might even have studied defenses and strategies of Healers who’d face those plagues in the past.

  But knowing a thing and actually encountering it is like the wide gulf of difference between a kitchen knife and a broadsword.

  Daciar had never experienced war. Never cast a spell in anger, or defended a counterattack or considered the duplicity of a canny enemy who’d come to kill. But I had. And I sensed the danger as she cast the spell.

  She hurled it with as much force as any I’d witnessed on the battlefields. It was a classic spell, so perfectly faceted that I was in awe of its clean edges and wondrous angles. No Master Wizard, not even Janos Greycloak, could have cast it better.

  But my admiration was shattered when I saw what the classic counter would be.

  My warning shout came too late.

  The Giants bellowed in pain as Daciar’s spell buffeted them. But then her spell blasted back with such fury - the force doubled - that my senses shriveled from the heat.

  Daciar screamed and collapsed to the floor.

  As the priestesses cried out I saw a thin trickle of blood at the corner of Daciar’s lips. She did not move as the women covered her with their bodies and wept.

  A giant’s voice thundered through the window. “All of you! In the temple! We mean you no harm. We come for the Mother Oracle. Send her out to us at once.

  “Send her out and you will be spared!”

  The giant’s command brought a hush to the room. The priestesses looked at one another, eyes shifting from face to face. I could feel their fury grow, their common resolve becoming as strong as the roots of a mighty tree. These women would not betray their Oracle. They would not give her up even if she were only a corpse.

  I had to act fast.

  I pushed my way to Daciar’s side. No one said anything as I knelt by her body. The women seemed to understand what I was up to and made no protest when I removed her tiara.

  Before I put it on I leaned down and kissed her lips. They were warm and I hoped and prayed that it was a faint breath I felt when our lips touched.

  The giant shouted again. “Send her out, I said. Send us Mother Daciar. Or you’ll all die.”

  I went to the window and leaned out.

  The brutes had come closer and we were nearly at eye level. I found myself staring into the huge eyes of their captain.

  “I am Mother Daciar,” I said. “I am the Mother Oracle.”

  I felt like a lamb being led to market as the giants trotted me down the hill in the robes and tiara of the Mother Oracle of Pisidia.

  I was alone with them.

  In Daciar’s name I’d ordered the Pisidian soldiers to withdraw, warning that I’d be killed if they made one move to assist me. The roadway was empty but I could hear shutters being drawn and feel people look out to catch a glimpse of the sad parade.

  It made me feel lonelier and smaller still.

  I felt helpless walking in those massive shadows. You can’t image how huge they seemed. It wasn’t only their length and breadth and weight that was overwhelming. Their smells were strong. Fouler even then the stench of Pisidia. Their stomachs rumbled with digestive gasses and I could hear the semi-liquid contents bumping about like carcass soup in an iron kettle.

  When they scratched their greasy waist-length beards I imagined I saw gray scuttling things of frightening size flee their probing.

  The captain caught one between his meaty fingers. There was an audible snap as he cracked it with his filthy nails and I thought I saw blood gush out. He poked his fingers through his drooping mustaches and sucked them clean of the creatures’ remains.

  He belched loudly, then said, “I likes how you walks, little mother. Betcha got somethin�
�� under them robes that’d make a good meal.”

  The others cackled. The sound was like ice floes grating together.

  “Whyn’t we take a look see?” said another. “Got a gold piece she’s gotta gash that’d do a regiment of pikemen.”

  “I got two says she’s blonde all over,” said a third.

  “She’ll strip nice, that’s for sure,” said the captain. “Too bad she’s so small. Won’t last through maybe four or five of us.”

  I reacted to none of this, concentrating on nothing more than setting one foot before the other. Their crude remarks grew fouler, more explicit, more violent. I couldn’t let it bother me. They wanted to humiliate me. Shame me. Bring me more under their power.

  I wished I were Polillo. She was strong. She could hate. She’d have shriveled their pricks with her replies. She’d have dared them to drop their breeches. And swear she’d rip off their balls and make them supper.

  And I thought, Polillo. Ah my friend, how I miss you. How I wish you were with me now.

  And I chanted, low:

  “Ghost. Sweet Ghost.

  Live in me now.

  Leave your spectral home

  And abide with your friend

  Who loves you.

  Come fill me up,

  My Polillo.”

  The ghost of my friend came into me. I felt Polillo’s presence swell my veins, thicken my bones, make steel bands of my muscles. I laughed and it was Polillo’s laugh. Bawdy and deep. I rolled my shoulders and felt the rippling of Polillo’s strength. I stomped my foot with berserkers glee. And the ground quaked with Polillo’s weight.

  “Here now, what’re you up to?” the Giant captain said.

  His massive paw engulfed my neck and turned me about.

  I made myself demure. “Why, nothing, sir,” I sobbed. I made myself tremble and shed a tear or two. “I only stumbled, that’s all.”

  “We just got her all excited, Cap’n,” one of his companions said. “Got her knees tremblin’ thinkin’ of all of us between ‘em.”

  The captain guffawed and let me go. “You won’t have to wait long, little mother,” he said. He pointed at the crumbled stone seawall where the longboat and its Giant guards waited. It was only a hundred steps away. “Not long at all. You got my promise on that.”

  Polillo’s ghost growled but I kept her rage in check. I cast a professional eye on the battered seawall. It curved along the shore, sometimes sweeping out so far that parts of the beach were hidden from the longboat’s view. If I’d had time I could have hidden some soldiers in one of those loops. I studied the varied height of the wall, saw the places where it presented an easy climbing surface.

  I did all this quite coolly - more of a military woman’s intellectual study than anything. For I no longer feared these creatures. They wouldn’t harm me. Not yet. They were under orders to take me somewhere, to someone.

  No, not me. Not Rali Antero.

  But Daciar. The Mother Oracle.

  But why? By whose orders?

  And how long could I maintain this mask?

  Polillo’s ghost said, “Don’t go, Rali.”

  She was right.

  So I let her loose.

  The captain pushed me toward the boat and I pretended to stumble again. But as I fell forward I pivoted, recovered, then ran for the highest point of the seawall. I heard the giants bellow alarm and rumble after me, their mail making an ungodly clatter.

  Polillo’s strength powered my limbs and I bounded up the wall effortlessly. When I reached the top I dug in my toes to stop.

  I caught a glimpse of a startled face staring at me. It was only a quick snatch but the image froze for a moment. It was an ugly face. A skinny face. Bald of pate and chin. A long pink tongue flickered out in surprise.

  It was Lizard.

  Then I saw the shadows of the rest of my men swarming up to me.

  But I was already fully committed into my next action. As my toes jammed against the stone, momentum carried the rest of my body forward. I swung my arms in the same direction to heighten and control that motion.

  Polillo’s ghost grunted with effort and my legs were powerful springs that absorbed all weight and all speed.

  Then I was somersaulting backwards. Turning in the air then stiffening my legs until they were like driving dock poles.

  I hit the captain square and we both went over, his armor sounding like a huge collapsing machine of many parts.

  He roared in pain and fury. Polillo’s ghost wanted me to stop and choke off that sound and break his damned neck.

  But I sensed an oncoming presence and kept rolling.

  I sprang to my feet just in front of an attacking giant. He threw himself back in surprise like a rooting boar that snuffs out a mouse and now fears it’ll burrow into his nose.

  Polillo’s ghost laughed and made me slam down my foot and crush his toes. As he screamed I leaped up, grabbed his beard and booted myself away like a sailor kicking off a mast.

  I clung to his beard - swinging back just as far as I could - then slammed in - hard.

  My feet skidded off an armored thigh and clubbed into the softness it found just to the side.

  By the Gods, I made it a good kick. A kick for Polillo.

  And, O my sisters, his howl made a lovely sound.

  It started low in that grumbling and grunting place where the beasts strut about and fart between thick, bowed legs. And it ended falsetto high in a tone so piercing that if the heavens were glass they would’ve shattered.

  The memory still cheers me.

  But there wasn’t time to savor it then. The others were nearly upon me. And their captain had recovered, thundering for them to step aside as he charged forward to cleave me in two with his massive blade.

  I should have died then. I should have gone the way of those two old temple warriors. I cursed for not being able to complete my too-hastily drawn plan. And braced for that final blow.

  Dark shapes whistled past and a small cloud of arrows struck the captain full in the face.

  He screamed and clawed at his face, then screamed again and jerked his hands away. Several arrows protruded from each eye.

  As he crumpled my men burst into the melee. I couldn’t help but feel pride. My men shouted wild, blood-curdling war cries. But there was nothing wild or unruly in their attack.

  There were seven of them. The twins and Lizard engaged one giant, dodging and slashing and covering one another whenever a man saw an opening. Donarius and two others took on a second of the armored creatures, while Captain Carale dispatched the giant I’d kicked and ran over to stand beside me and fight.

  I heard sounds of combat from the shore and knew the rest of my men were taking on the longboat guards.

  As proud as I felt I knew the giants would soon recover from this surprise, regroup and then easily overwhelm us.

  I shouted to Carale, “Help the others.”

  He whirled and sprinted to the melee at the longboat.

  I needed time... just a little time.

  I knelt and placed Daciar’s tiara on the ground. Then I drew her clockwork toy from my sleeve and set it within the jeweled ring.

  The little farmhouse with its closed door seemed puny and childish against the sounds of the battle raging about me.

  But it was all I’d had time to prepare.

  I fetched the coin out of my sleeve. It was a good copper Antero coin. I kissed the image of the ship, breathed a prayer to Maranonia, then placed the coin in the slot.

  My thoughts skittered about, searching for the proper spell. But my mind went maddeningly blank. I had to slip past the enemies’ sorcerous shield, otherwise whatever spell I made would be flung back at me and I’d suffer the same fate as Daciar.

  The chant I formed would have to use such innocent words that they’d never be noticed by my opponent. Then a child’s rhyme leaped into my mind.

  I didn’t examine it, worry over it, but quickly whispered the words as they formed in my head...
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  “Piggy, piggy, what did you do?

  Piggy, piggy, shame on you.

  Ate the cream, ate the butter, then

  You ate the cat.