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

by Allan Cole

  “Maybe it was another fellow she hit on the head,” I said. “There were so many they all run together sometimes.”

  She smiled, but faintly. Her thoughts were moving onward. I could read her clear features as easily as if they were my old friend’s. And those features were troubled.

  “I’m not one to sing a gloomy song, Rali,” she said. “But we’re in a fix. And it’s as plain as a rock, by the gods.”

  Derlina gripped two mighty fists together as if throttling an invisible enemy.

  “You’re going to have to grab us by the neck, dammit.” Then she shook that invisible enemy like a rat.

  “And you’re going to have to shake us up. Get some sense in us. Attach some ovaries to our wombs, by the gods. Or balls for those poor things that need them.”

  “I take it, Derlina,” I said, “that you think your comrades in arms have a little less spirit than you’d care to see.”

  “Not by a quarter,” she said, missing my dry tone. “Not by a half.”

  She smote her forehead with such force that I feared for her safety. Then she smote it again just as hard and I knew she’d survived.

  “Take last night, for example,” Derlina said.

  “I saw last night,” I said.

  She stopped in her tracks. Put her hands on her bell-shaped hips. “Good!” she snapped. “I’m glad you did! Now you know what I mean.”

  Another clout on the brow. “By all those in the heavens who squat like decent folks, did you ever see such a sight?

  “Sure that Novari bitch blasted us with some sorcery! So what? She was killing her own soldiers too. We could have had ‘em, dammit! All we had to do was pick us ourselves up and fight! We’d have made a lot of poxed whores weep if we had. Mourning all those black-hearted sons we sent to the hells where they belong.”

  She started walking again, at a quicker angrier pace. I had to hurry to keep up.

  “If I’d have been there,” Derlina growled, “things would’ve been different. But Palmeras and Quatervals ganged up and voted me down. They said it was because it was foolish to risk the Guard commander on such a thing. It was just a probe, they said. To test the enemy’s strength. Well, I didn’t need any ridiculous probe. Let’s just do it, dammit! Let’s just go out and clear those hills!”

  I didn’t answer. The path she was on was clearly wrong. And during the brief silence I could see her rethinking her words and coming to the same conclusion. We were so vastly outnumbered that such tactics, although brave, would be swift and certain disaster.

  She heaved a sigh. “Don’t pay any attention,” she said. “I was just... you know...”

  “Lifting the lid off the pot,” I suggested. “And letting go the steam.”

  Derlina grimaced. “Yeah. Like that.”

  Then she shook her head. “Still,” she said. “Still. We have to do something. And my guts tell me it’ll all come down to do or die. One big toss of the dice. And shit on the gods that made us!”

  Again I didn’t answer.

  Although this time I thought she was right.

  She led me into a vaulted room, so large it had to be natural for it would’ve taken years for a mortal hand to carve out. It was lit by a bright blue light that filled every hollow, erasing all shadows. Half the room was filled with all kinds of strange and marvelous machines, all crackling with sorcery.

  Some were towering and bulky with moving belts and whirring gears and glowing windows that looked into magical furnaces. Some were small and delicately formed. Glass webs with fiery droplets running up and down the strands. A crystal tube that emitted purple puffs of smoky incense.

  Strolling among them were a few sleepy-eyed Evocators, much-patched robes swishing as they moved about making small adjustments: whispering spells, pinching out herbs or twisting knobs and wheels. And the machines whirred or hissed, depending on their natures, without stop. Casting so many enchantments that it made me dizzy watching the mad whirl with my ethereye.

  Beyond the machines was a broad floor with a railed pit in its center. The pit glowed eerily. And I could see three familiar figures moving along the rail on the far side.

  We headed for the pit, weaving our way through the aisles of wondrous machines. I vaguely recognized the principles involved. Some were even patterned after the Archon’s machine which that old devil had used to nearly destroy Orissa.

  I’d brought back its design and from the looks at the marvels around me our Evocators had since taken the knowledge so far that I could only see dim outlines of the original.

  A few I didn’t understand at all and guessed - accurately, as it turned out - that they were based on the new Unity Principles discovered by my brother and the Greycloaks.

  As we neared the pit lightning flashed within. A moment later I heard thunder, but the sound didn’t come from the pit. It resounded behind me. Back from where’d we come. The thunder was from outside the cavern. Yet the lightning had struck within the pit.

  I hurried to the rail and looked inside the pit.

  Below was a simulacrum of the Galana battlefield and the surrounding region. It was like looking into a tidepool. The surface of that pool was the night sky with a big knot of storm clouds on one side. Wavering beneath it was a perfect duplicate, in miniature, of Galana and beyond. From the glowing cave mouths that led into the heart of our encampment to the winking campfires of our enemy on distant hills. I could even see the small shadowy figures of guards move about.

  I caught the flash of a spear of lightning in the corner of my eye. It crashed out of the angry cloudknot. The bolt struck near the front gate of our fortress. Once again there was no sound of thunder within the pit. And once again, after a breath’s delay, I could hear the thunder boom outside the cavern. Which was evidence enough that the storm I saw gathering in the simulacrum was in reality gathering above my own head.

  Scaffolding ran up the sides of the pit so that Evocators could walk along wherever they wished. In normal times, I guessed, they’d cast spells to sweeten the weather, enhance the growth of crops and perhaps even control the wilder ragings of our river. My brother had seen such simulacrums in Irayas and Tyrenia.

  I’d seen something similar the Archon had made. It was part of his doom machine. He’d used it to create a false Orissa to trap me. But his imperfect knowledge of our city made an imperfect duplicate, which in the end was his undoing.

  After I’d gotten over my amazement I started studying the details of that magical globe turned inside out. There was no one attending the simulacrum and it spun slowly and without interruption on its invisible axis.

  I saw that the view shifted automatically, sometimes showing our fortress in closer detail, sometimes the terrain beyond the barricade. Once it turned so it favored the hill where Pip and I had crouched the night before watching the battle. Past the hill was the dark snaky outline of the roadway leading back to the ruined port.

  The image tugged at me and I felt my sorcerous muscles stir, then flex, cracking awakening joints.

  As an experiment I directed my ethereye at the roadway. Instantly the simulacrum image froze. Then it slowly tilted, bringing the image I sought into easier view. I pointed down the roadway with my etherhand, willing the port to come to me. The image rushed up so fast I nearly ducked to avoid the impact. Then it steadied and I could make out quite clearly the harbor ruins where Kele had fought her final ship battle.

  I heard voices behind me. I’d become so absorbed with my experiment I hadn’t noticed Derlina depart my side. And now she’d returned with the others, who’d probably been standing there for long minutes wondering if the great Rali Antero had gone saggy in the topsails after all these years.

  I turned to apologize. Instead I found four people goggling at me like I was an odd genius. Pip was scratching his head, Derlina was staring wide-eyed, while Quatervals and Palmeras were exchanging astonished looks.

  The Chief Evocator spoke first. “How did you do that, Rali?”

  “Do what?�
� I asked.

  Quatervals broke in. “Make the simulacrum move about?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Isn’t it allowed? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Allowed?” Palmeras rumbled, yellow wizard’s eyes boiling with what I hoped was amusement. “My dear Antero,” he said. “What you accomplished was previously impossible. So how could we think to disallow it?”

  “It usually takes Palmeras and half a dozen Evocators all working together to do the same,” Quatervals said. “And they’re most of the day doing it.”

  “And then you come along, my friend,” the Evocator said, “and make the simulacrum dance to your merry tune, commanding this view and that without apparent effort.”

  “I don’t know how I did it,” I said. “It just came to me that I could. It seemed harmless enough so I gave it a try. And it worked. But I don’t think it’ll work in every case.”

  I pointed into pit with my etherhand. The simulacrum had returned to its previous view of Galana and the enemy campfires on the distant hills. It was those campfires that I was indicating.

  “I know without even trying,” I said, “that I can’t bring up a closer view of the enemy so we could spy on their activities. Novari has that area well blocked.”

  I concentrated, then a spark arced off the tip of my etherhand. It raced toward the enemy’s encampment. But just before it struck there was a small flash and the spark was gone.

  “There’s her shield in place,” I said. “And it’s strong. Very strong. I can’t get past it so easily.”

  Palmeras sighed and stroked his jutting beard. “For a moment I had hope,” he said, “that you could accomplish alone what we all couldn’t do together.”

  I instinctively bristled at this. Then calmed myself.

  “Excuse me, my friend,” I said. “I’m your guest and don’t wish to be rude. But I have to set your comments straight.

  “This hero business is vastly overrated. No man or woman who was unfortunate enough to bear that mantle would disagree. Their deeds were not theirs alone, but of many acting in concert. It’s a jest of the gods that one person’s efforts should be singled out and those of braver people ignored.”

  I swept my hand around the cavern. Taking in the wondrous machines and pit.

  “As incredible as this sorcery seems,” I said. “I know without asking that it’s nothing compared to what Novari must have arrayed against you. She’s got hundreds more machines and Evocators to man them hour after hour. And she’s got her man toy, Director Kato, with armies far greater than ours poised outside these gates.

  “Yet you have stayed the Lyre Bird’s hand for many long months. No matter how hard she’s struck you’ve managed not only to recover but to deal death blows of your own in return.

  “And that, my wise friend,” I said, “is a credit to every woman, man and yes, even child who fights within the gates of Galana.

  “All I can offer is a fresh mind and fresh strength to the problem. But in the end, whatever it is that must be done, we’ll have to act together.

  “And not one individual but all who fight with us will be heroes.”

  Palmeras had been listening intently. I was glad to see he took no offense, but was nodding at my remarks. Quatervals and Pip were grinning. As certified men of courage they knew very well what I meant about “the hero business.”

  And once again I saw Derlina knuckle away a tear. “There’s nothing like a little arse kicking,” she said later, “to make my heart glad.”

  Then I said, “Why don’t I look things over tomorrow? And then we’ll all sit down and see if we can come up with some eggs to hatch.”

  I’d soon have cause to regret that simile.

  For as it turned out, the egg I came up with required my own warm behind for hatching.

  No other would do.

  A furious rainstorm descended on us the following day. The deluge was so heavy that it brought a welcome respite from the fighting. Troops and equipment would founder in the mud or lose their way because of poor visibility. So the enemy remained on the hilltops while the defenders of Galana tended their weapons and wounds.

  I toured the encampment, Derlina at my side, trying to get a feel for the strengths and weaknesses of Galana.

  On the surface it was a depressing sight. There were less than two thousand souls dwelling in that place, arrayed against what Derlina said was an enemy force nearly five times that number.

  Two hundred and fifty of our soldiers were Maranon Guardswomen, many gray-haired and past their prime, such as those steely-eyed women who kept Emilie safe. There’d been fifteen hundred - the Guard’s normal force - to begin with, not counting the pensioners.

  Once more in its remarkable history the Maranon Guard was poised on the edge of being wiped out. Down to the last crone with strength enough to grip a knife.

  The rest were a mixed but highly skilled lot of former Guardsmen, frontier scouts and hill and desert fighters. When they’d made the great retreat to Galana there’d been three thousand of them. Now there were less than seventeen hundred.

  Derlina assured me Novari’s forces had suffered much higher casualties. Easily three to one, she said.

  “But Novari can order Kato to bring up more whenever she likes,” I said. Remembering my encounter with Natt, I added, “They’re paying a bonus of a gold piece for every lad who joins up.

  “And that means not only does she have an inexhaustible supply of young blood to shed but that it’s our own we’re killing. Wrong-headed though they may be, those soldiers are our fellow Orissans.

  “Novari is like a demon with many heads. Each time you chop one off it grows back, except with the face of your friend upon it.”

  Derlina growled, “You just give me a chance to take a whack at her. When I take an ax to a head it stays chopped off.”

  Her spirited reply was evidence of the bright side of Galana. Reduced in numbers though the defenders might be, I saw no sign there’d been a decline in their will to fight, if need be, until the last drop of blood was shed.

  No hand was idle during that day of respite. The kitchens were bustling with cooks getting as many meals prepared in advance as they could. The armories rang with the sound of hammers on mail. The stables were all cleaned, the horses shod. Blades were sharpened, fresh arrows made, wagons and war machines made ready. Even the wounded repaired the clothing and harness of others.

  In the magic shops Palmeras and his Evocators tended their machines, grabbed spare moments to create new spells while maintaining the magical war against Novari’s wizards. For that never ceased. It was a see-saw Otherworld battle of attacks and counters and counter-counters. With neither side ever giving an inch away.

  There was also more human activity on that day of relative peace.

  There were the usual skirmishes to test the other’s defenses and resolve. And the storm proved to be a blessing for the smugglers who supplied us. It turned out there were great caches of needed things in the outlying regions. And the storm was a chance to dig them up and carry them the last few leagues without fear of being spotted by enemy patrols. Pip went out early with one such group and returned quite worried.

  He found me by the simulacrum watching Palmeras and his Evocators at work.

  “Somethin’s up, Cap’n,” he said. “The squints what just come in said all th’ roads are crawlin’ with wagons and workmen and soldiers to guard ‘em. Had t’ go a day outter their way t’ get by all th’ patrols, they did.”

  I looked down at the simulacrum, puzzling at the distant hills where the enemy was camped. They were partly obscured by the heavy rain but I could see the glow of many lights winking through. And the lights were moving.

  “Th’ squints said all’a Orissa’s full of scared talk about Novari. She’s holed up at the villa and won’t come out. Got all th’ Evocators there workin’ on somethin’. Buildin’ somethin’. A big somethin’. They put it together, piece by piece. Then take it apart ‘n start all over again.r />
  “Word is they’re almost done. The squints I talked t’ called it a ‘Vicious Thingie.’ Gotter be vicious, right, if Novari’s makin’ it? Anyways, they said they thought some of that contraption was not only completed, but’d been loaded on wagons. Which was th’ wagons they saw. Goin’ up into yon hills.”

  He pointed at the winking lights on the simulacrum.

  “Somewhere’s up there,” he said, “is where she’ll be puttin’ whatever it is she’s buildin’. That’s old Pip’s guess.”

  I mused over his comments. Then said, “Seems like a little scouting is order.”