Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms)

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  Adding coin to the growing heap in his bowl, was the fact that he’d recently returned from his Finding — a long and difficult maiden trading voyage whose jump off point had been Jeypur — that distant and most barbaric of ports. From all accounts it had been a great success.

  If any should doubt the ways of the gods are twisted, consider this: Porcemus was the laziest, most cowardly and unpleasant of all my father’s many children. As the oldest it was he who expected to take over the business from Paphos Karima Antero. But my father, that canny old devil, had seen a spark in me — a wastrel if there ever was one — that he nurtured with more care and understanding than I can ever claim to have done in my dealings with Cligus.

  My father had not only backed my expeditions to the Far Kingdoms but had skipped over all my kin — to Porcemus’ special displeasure — to name me head of the family. I had only been a year or so younger than Hermias. Now I was in my father’s position. Actually it was a little worse. He was forced to choose one son over another. I was contemplating picking a nephew — and a great-nephew at that — over my own son. Mind you I’d never hinted at my thinking, and at the time of this launching, despite speculation by others, it was only a vague possibility.

  Guilt and feelings of duty toward Cligus kept me closer to his path than Hermias’.

  I finished my cup and looked for the promised other. Hermias caught my glance at a passing tray of brimming wine cups and plucked one off.

  “There’s thirsty winds ahead, Uncle,” he said. “And it’s my professional observation that you’ve only got one sail raised flying.”

  “Then by all means,” I said. “Let’s hoist the other.” I reached out to trade my empty cup for its more bounteous sister.

  But just as I did, Cligus blurted, “Please, Hermias. Don’t encourage him!”

  Without thinking he thrust out a hand to block Hermias. Instead he knocked the cup from Hermias’ grasp and wine spilled down the front of my tunic.

  “Look what you’ve done, Cligus!” Hermias said, wiping at the stain with his own sleeve. “Since when did you become your father’s conscience? A man doesn’t need a son to judge his limits.”

  Again I marked Hermias’ distaste for my son. There was more boiling under the surface of his remarks than competition for my favor.

  “It wouldn’t have happened,” Cligus blustered, “if you hadn’t tried to interfere. It’s my place to serve my father. Not yours.”

  Then he looked quickly around seemed relieved when he saw no one had been close enough to witness the incident.

  “Gentlemen,” I chided, not wanting a stupid argument spoil the day after I’d gone to so much effort to rouse myself to enjoy. “There’s no harm in a little wine, be it inside.... “and I scrubbed at my tunic “... or out.”

  Hermias chortled, his good temper restored. But now Cligus was stricken with remorse. Whether from his actions or for being so revealing about his dislike for Hermias I couldn’t say.

  “Please forgive me, father,” he said. “Shall I send Quatervals back for a fresh tunic?”

  “Don’t worry yourself,” I said, although I noted it was Quatervals he volunteered, not himself. “It’s not the first time I’ve had wine spilled on me. Although when it happened last I was in a rather low tavern and the fellow didn’t spill it but hurled it into my eyes. Then he came at me with a knife.”

  “What happened?” Hermias asked, although he knew the answer, since the tale was a variation I’d told in many forms over the years.

  “He killed me,” I said.

  Hermias chuckled at his favorite uncle’s tired jest, and Cligus recovered poise enough to make perfunctory noises of appreciation.

  Another voice broke in. “Hells an’ green hells! Could that’ be me master, lads? Drunk ag’in with wine stains on ’is tunic?”

  The day brightened considerably as I turned to embrace Kele, my most trusted ship’s captain and a woman I was honored to call friend. Kele was short and sturdy like her father, L’ur — who’d captained for me since the days of my expeditions to the Far Kingdoms. He’d died some years before but although I missed him, his daughter did her able best to fill the void.

  Kele clapped me on the back. “Heard you was dead, or worse, M’Lord,” she said.

  “What could be worse than dead?” I asked.

  “Eatin’ cold porridge ’n wet bread,” she said. “Please to see for meself ’twas all tavern lies.”

  I saw Quatervals watching from a distance. I flushed, even though he was too far away to hear. But it didn’t keep me from repeating the tale I’d tossed into Cligus’ lap.

  “Lies is right,” I said. “Why, I’ve never felt better in my life.”

  Kele was friend enough to know it was a falsehood — and, more importantly, to ignore it. As she chatted on, giving me a quick update on the fortunes of mutual friends and enemies, I thought what a godsend she’d been. She was a bit over forty summers — near Cligus’ age — and had wide experience from her voyages.

  Many a pirate had felt the keenness of her blade and many a cheating trader had knuckled under the hammer of her business sense. When Hermias had made his Finding it was Kele I chose to captain his ship. If his greenness had gotten him into danger I knew Kele would pull him out.

  As she talked, however, I sensed tension. I saw her glancing between Hermias and Cligus. Worry bit her brow. I’d woven my way through too many fog-shrouded passages with her not to suspect something unpleasant lurked ahead. Were those waves I heard beating on rocky shoals?

  The crowd stirred and the black, symbol-studded carriage of the Chief Evocator entered the yard. All was a hush as his footmen ran to set up the golden steps and open the ornate door. The man who exited was tall and skeletal. His face was long, fierce — made longer and fiercer still by his jutting dark beard. His robes were blue-black, edged with gold, and as he stepped down everyone inched away in dread.

  Palmeras’ head rose and his glowing eyes flew over the crowd like a hawk. When they struck me they stopped, glowing brighter still.

  “Antero, you old dog!” he thundered. “Who does a wizard have to curse around here to get a drink?”

  It was time for the blessing to begin.

  * * * *

  Palmeras was one of the new breed of Orissan Evocators, as much politician as sorcerer. He was middle-aged — young for a man in his position — and his influence stretched beyond the wizards’ palace on the hill. If it weren’t for the instinctive uneasiness Evocators create in most of us he would have been one of the most popular men in the city.

  As his assistants made ready for the ceremony and with me at his side to bolster his image as a man of the people, Palmeras strolled through the crowd spreading his charm. Worker or high-born, he treated everyone as if they were important. He had an affinity for remembering personal detail — congratulating a grizzled carpenter for just becoming a grandfather or praising a noble lady for the good taste she displayed in the new garden she’d created at her country home.

  Moments before all was ready he grabbed us both another drink and drew me aside. He glanced over at Cligus and Hermias, who were jammed together at the edge of the crowd, each ostentatiously ignoring the other.

  “Such a remarkable display of kinsmanship,” he said, dryly. “Warms the heart to its very core.”

  I sighed. “I expect you have more on your mind than a ship launching,” I said. “Other than his deep regard for an old and dear friend, why else would the Chief Evocator attend such an ordinary occasion?”

  Palmeras laughed. “Such cynical suspicion is unworthy of you, Amalric.”

  “But accurate,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said. “But unworthy just the same.”

  “The subject, I presume,” I said, “is when am I going to let loose the reins of the family business and name my son to replace me.”

  “You overshot your presumption, my friend,” Palmeras said. “Most of us think you’re wavering between your son and your nephew. A
nd that is the reason for delay.”

  “Not so,” I said. “If I had to make an announcement tomorrow I’d be proclaiming Cligus as my sole heir.”

  Palmeras gave me a mocking grin. He said: “We’ll really hear this tomorrow? Good! May I alert my aides for news? Or is this just between old friends?”

  I laughed. “Speaking of overshooting a presumption. I distinctly said if I were going to make an announcement tomorrow.”

  Palmeras turned serious. “Then it really is true,” he said. “Hermias is a candidate.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t need to,” Palmeras said. “The whole city is abuzz with it, my friend. Whether you like it or not your very delay has people believing Cligus has lost your favor and Hermias will be your successor.”

  I remained stubborn. My hair may have turned from deep red to white but I hadn’t lost my contrary nature. “They can believe what they like,” I said. “It won’t affect my thinking.”

  “As a favor to your fellow Orissans,” Palmeras said, “do something soon. Our friends on the Council of Magistrates are worried. It is unsettling to commerce and politics to have such uncertainty from the city’s leading family.”

  “Oh?” I said. “If that’s how they feel, why didn’t they come to me themselves? You are their emissary, are you not?”

  “If the Chief of Magistrates approached you,” he said, “it would only heighten the rumors.” He studied my face a moment to see if I was in pace with him. I was. He continued. “No one has the temerity to tell Amalric Antero what he should decide, much less the timing of it. However, I’m sure you can appreciate how unsettling the delay has become. Much power sways before the winds of your house, my dear friend. There is scrambling going on as we speak. Even here! Look at the faces around us — studying your son and nephew, wondering which will wear the crown.”

  I glanced about. There was no mistaking the looks Cligus and Hermias were getting. In a few places I saw enough naked ambition to turn my stomach.

  Seeing my reaction, Palmeras said. “I’ll tell the Magistrates you won’t delay much longer,” he said. I nodded and Palmeras went on. “They’ll be relieved. These are anxious times. No one trusts their leaders the way they once did. I can’t say I blame them. Spells gone wrong or too weak. Public facilities deteriorating. Why, you should see the state of the Grand Amphitheater. Shocking! Simply shocking. And of late, it seems even our trade abroad is suffering.”

  Palmeras was touching on a recent concern of mine. There hadn’t been a successful expedition opening new trading opportunities for two or three years. Not only had most been turned back by hostile conditions in the unexplored lands, but a few had failed to return at all. And it seemed to me when I looked at a map of the known world that in places things had even been pinched back slightly and once-known territories had been lost.

  This only heightened my concern about Cligus. If new discoveries were to be made and lost territory regained, was he the Antero to do it? He only had his diplomatic success not long ago at Jeypur to show he might.

  Despite his youth or perhaps because of it, Hermias impressed me as someone who would set a firm course and not turn back if adversity threatened.

  “Out of curiosity,” I said. “And with the understanding that nothing I say indicates my thinking...”

  “Understood,” Palmeras said.

  “Who is most favored by the public? Cligus? Or Hermias?”

  Palmeras mused, then said: “Of the two, Hermias has the largest and warmest following. His house and the neighborhood around it fairly swarms with his supporters. Each morning people seeking his favor line the street to his door. But don’t think your son doesn’t have his constituency. Although it’s mostly among the military — and even then his most fervent backing comes from his own officers and men.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “Although this is hardly a popularity contest... if it’s a contest at all.”

  Palmeras laughed. “The businessman as complete autocrat,” he said. “I like that description of your profession, although I imagine your fellow merchants would cringe.”

  “It’s easier to rid yourself of a merchant than a king,” I said. “If the quality of my goods is poor, my prices unfair, you have only to turn to my competitors.”

  “How true,” he said. “But what that also means is... if Cligus fails... that is the end of the Anteros.”

  He looked at me, attempting an unassuming face. But there is no blunting a wizard’s sharp gaze and I felt suitably chastened. He’d steered a course identical to my own thinking and fears.

  A young Evocator sounded the gong that all was in readiness, saving me from a response. We hastened to our positions for the ceremony.

  The speech I gave was not one of my better efforts so I won’t repeat it, except to say it ran along the usual road of such addresses. I thanked everyone for coming and talked at length about the symbolism heavy in such an occasion... new ship, new ventures, rebirth and other such inspirational blatherings. Experienced as I am at public functions, and despite my reputation as a phrase-maker, I fear I was mired by an awareness that each word was being examined in a glaring light. Those who supported Cligus and those who favored Hermias and those who were merely curious looked for deeper meaning in my every word. So I obfuscated wherever I could and the result made not much sense at all.

  Then horns sounded, gongs rang and Evocators passed through the crowd swinging smoking pots of thrice-blessed incense. Eight white-robed Evocators carried an idol of Te-Date up the steps of the platform and set it down center stage. Over in the cattle pen two white oxen bellowed as they were led out for the sacrifice. Before their fear could sour our luck an Evocator blew magical herbs in their faces, calming them. They were bled, killed and the best cuts were taken from their carcasses.

  Eight strong young acolytes mounted the platform bearing an idol of Te-Date — the protector of ships and travelers. One hand was stretched out, iron palm up for the offering, while the other held a large chalice. With drums pounding and chanters singing the furnace in the idol’s belly was fired and smoke and flame boiled from his lips.

  Palmeras and I stepped to the idol, flanked by four other wizards who carried big trenchers of sacrificial meat and a cask of blood from the slain oxen.

  The Chief Evocator was an excellent showman and he put his best dramatic efforts into the business at hand. He threw back his robes so they billowed in the breeze off the river and his arms shot up above his head as he addressed the heavens.

  “O great Te-Date,” he intoned, his magically amplified voice thundering over all of us, “once again we gather before you to seek thy blessing. Your kindness to travelers and seekers everywhere is legend. For long centuries you have especially blessed the people of Orissa, who live by the river and trade peacefully and honorably with the world. Our caravans and ships have carried your exalted name into the wilderness where it lights the savage darkness and shows us the way. Today a new daughter of Orissa is born. She bears our dreams and our fortunes.

  “We beseech thee, O Lord Te-Date, to raise thy splendid shield to protect her from any misfortune.”

  Palmeras whipped his wand from his sleeve and flourished it high. The other Evocators bowed their heads low to help concentrate and guide his power.

  Lightning cracked from the wand’s tip.

  The wizards stepped forward with their offers.

  The crowd gasped as the idol stirred into life. The god’s iron hands reached out and the wizards quickly tumbled flesh into one palm, then filled the chalice from the cask of blood. Te-Date’s mouth opened, fire bursting out, and the hand bearing the meat tilted it through metal lips. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air. The other hand jerked upward, spilling the blood into Te-Date’s fiery maw. The godform became still and the crowd groaned in satisfaction. Te-Date had accepted our offerings.

  More flourishes from Palmeras and black smoke spewed from the idol, billowing thicker and thicker until i
t became a dense cloud hanging over the godform’s head. Sparkling lights danced in the smoke, which swirled and columned upward into a funnel.

  “Behold, O Great Te-Date,” Palmeras roared. “Gaze upon thy daughter. We pray you find her fair.”

  The smoke shot toward the huge cloth pavilion that hid the ship. It hovered over it for an instant, then a hole opened and the smoke hissed through. Palmeras thrust upward with his hands and the tent quivered from the magical force of the smoke inside. Then stakes burst, lines ripped free and the giant tent lifted up and up until we could glimpse the bright painted timbers of the new ship.

  Palmeras shouted: “Away!” And the pavilion filled like a sail and was swept off to the side, completely baring the vessel.

  I’ve seen many such a thing before — although I must admit Palmeras’ unveiling was easily the most spectacular — and I knew what to expect. Still, I caught my breath. There are few things as moving as a newly born ship.

  Palmeras whispered to me. “Quick, what’s to be her name? I forgot to ask.”

  The naming of a new ship is always important and those of us who can claim parentage — and even those who can’t — spend long hours considering and discussing the options. Like a human child, the ship’s birth-name seems to affect its future. Ask at any dockside tavern and you’ll hear many a tale of ships with awkward names or unlucky names that came to misfortune. Some are even true. A large list had been presented to me, all, as I’d requested, of water-dwelling birds. I’d reduced the list to my favorites: Shearwater, Petrel, Tern and... Ibis. I’d seen whole flocks of that graceful, heron-like creature fishing a marvelous lake in a distant land I’d once visited. The Ibis, with the subtle beauty of its black and white plumage, is worshipped in that land and once you’ve seen one with its spear-like beak stalking the shallows on its long, slender legs, or soaring on the midday breeze, you understand why. So that is the name I chose and that name is the name I whispered -

  “Ibis.”

  “Quite fitting,” he said and turned back — his position as Chief Evocator forgotten for the moment — to gawk like the rest of us.