Janela muttered a curse. “I, too, have felt such an odd sensation,” she admitted. “But for several months now. I’d never felt it before and so never had anything to compare it to and identify. I thought it might’ve been no more than the currents that accompany anyone who uses sorcery.”
“So both of us are being watched.”
“Are we? Do you still feel the sensation?”
I fought off the sensations that filled me — the fatigue, the sorrow for Yakar’s death, the terror of the demon and the battle, the worry for the future and tried to “listen.” I shuddered. I did, but very faint, very distant.
Janela caught my expression. “I do, as well.”
“So Senac was not the linchpin. He has... had a master.”
“Perhaps,” Janela wondered, “someone from the Kingdoms of the Night. Or someone... something... from the other worlds. It matters not, at least not yet. But we already have a great enemy and our quest’s not mounted.”
“We have only one choice,” I said, knowing she was right. “We must move more rapidly. Sooner or later there’ll be another Lord Senac, or a host of them.”
Janela smiled, oddly. “Now I see why my great-grandfather knew you were the companion for his search. You never think of turning back.”
I made no response but drained my mug.
“Three weeks,” I decided. “We sail then with what we have.”
* * * *
It had been some time since I’d personally overseen the mounting of an expedition and thought I’d be rusty at the craft, especially since this journey would be as hazardous as any I’d set out on, from the day of its departure until wherever it ended, either with our bones scattered on some desolate heath or even at the Kingdoms of the Night. I also felt my problems would be compounded by the haste we must take and more immediately by the problem of my successor occupying most of my attention.
It was, however, surprisingly easy and took less than a week and a half. I’d estimated I’d need about seventy five men between the three ships. The two hoys already had crews on board of about fifteen men each so that lessened the number I’d need to find.
We never posted broadsides or sent criers around announcing the expedition. But somehow the word spread to those who wanted to hear. There would be a knock at my door and a man I hadn’t seen for ten years would be there, hat in hand. He’d stammer and say well, he’d heard Lord Antero might be mounting some sort of a trading expedition again, and he’d heard this one would be sort of special and perhaps the Lord would remember him, back when we made the first contact with the swamp-dwellers of Bufde’ana, right terrible time it was too and well, he was more than willing to go, seems that Orissa just couldn’t hold him like it used to and...
... And another one was signed on.
So it went. He would have a friend or perhaps three of my former fellow-adventurers would send a representative. Or sometimes it was a man from much time past, too broken by his years or the wounds he’d incurred in my service who sent a son or cousin or nephew.
Other men I sought myself, not only men who’d been with me on other expeditions but sometimes competitors, small traders who’d made notable voyages of their own to strange shores.
Some of these men came from my own household. Otavi came to me and said if I wished he and the three others who’d companied me to Lord Senac’s wouldn’t mind going along.
“Since we was in at the start, I’m supposin’,” he said, “I’d like to see the outcome. Besides, it’d keep Da from sayin’ on an’ on there ain’t no men like there was in his an’ Granda’s days.”
That pleased me no end, especially when I realized Maha, the kitchen apprentice, was ready to be promoted to beginning cook. I’ve noted more expeditions wreck themselves on the shoals of indigestion than enemy spears and had no intent of following their lead. As Quatervals put it, “any fool can be miserable if he wants, without even tryin’ at it.”
I told Kele the details of our expedition and asked her if she wished to be the admiral of this tiny fleet. Kele grinned and said she’d been getting worried, not having been asked and would’ve either killed herself or me if she hadn’t. She was also able to put the word out through the waterfront dives and collect enough experienced seamen for the Ibis and to fill out the crews of the two hoys.
Quatervals himself brought twelve men, all ex-Frontier Scouts. It seemed that not all of the soldiers in the regiment chose to return home after their retirement or leaving the service. Others stayed in Orissa doing, as Quatervals said, “whatever comes up that seems right.”
They were a hard-looking bunch of hellions, some young, some old and I gladly welcomed them. From their ranks I’d most likely choose my subofficers.
As an aside, there might be those who think that men who go on journeys into the heart of danger such as the one I proposed are of a special breed. They are, but not as those who listen to the epics might imagine. They probably envision a young man, fair of hair, keen of expression, muscles like iron bands, silent, determined, trained in arcane skills from nomadic languages to killing with no other weapon but those the gods gave him. A man who wishes for nothing more than to throw himself into the lion’s den, a smile on his lips and a song in his heart.
I’ve been looking for such a stalwart for years and intend, once I find him, to require Orissa to reinstate slavery just to keep this man perpetually in my service.
Let me contrast the epic hero with one of my real valiants, Pip. When Pip stands erect, which is seldom, he’s a full inch short of five feet. He won’t off balance a hundredweight on the scales, so skinny Quatervals once said he’s got to lean thrice to make a shadow. Pip comes from Cheapside and until I signed him for a journey nearly twenty years ago had never been outside the city and thought anything green was probably dyed that way.
Pip is my best scout. The cunning that kept him alive in the alleys of Orissa served equally well beyond Laosia and in the wastelands west of the Rift. Pip cannot finish a sentence without a curse and when a journey is over can spend a full day whining that he’s not sure he hasn’t been cheated out of his fair share of the gold. I would no more set out without him than I would without my sword or Quatervals.
So let me briefly give the qualities I seek in an adventurer, Hermias my heir, for the time you come in search of my remains.
First, the ideal man or woman must have a sense of humor, most pointedly at themselves. If they cannot laugh at their plight when toppling into a mud hole after staggering under a pack that would fell a woolly elephant all day long and then find there’s no water for bathing then they’ll never travel with me. I’d say such a candidate must not be stupid but I cannot define stupidity — is someone who speaks ten languages but can’t learn to read and write stupid? I don’t think so.
They must be clean and always keep themselves and their equipment in perfect order, or as perfect as the road and weather permits. The must be hard workers but also be someone who’ll see a task waiting and set to it without orders. They should be in good health although I’ve had men and women I swore were on their deathbed stagger on beside me a league, a league and then another.
As for skills and talents — all of them can be learned enough to suffice. It doesn’t hurt for one of my company to be able to cast a knife unerringly into a coin’s center from a dozen paces ten times running but I’d as lief have a someone who can realize a fight is in the offing and then finds soft words to turn the wrath away — or a side passage fit for the running. Skills can be taught, from languages to killing to even bargaining, although I like to fancy there’s one area where talent is uppermost and that Anteros are peculiarly gifted in that arena.
There is one final quality or pair of qualities and I am not sure how to put it. The ideal fellow must find the peaceful life impossibly dull, so dull he’ll do anything, including foolishly join an expedition more likely to produce painful death and a forgotten corpse than fame and riches. The paired portion of this is he should not h
ave much of a home. A man who pines for Orissa the minute the river takes him beyond sight of the Palace of the Evocators should be shown mercy and set ashore at once. Homesickness can blind one as much as fatigue or stupidity.
I was most proud the day that I found my seventy fifth such hero or fellow fool and then wondered how I could most politely turn away the other one hundred fifty who’d either come to mind, presented themselves or been mentioned by Quatervals or Kele.
A day later Palmeras summoned me to the Palace of the Evocators.
* * * *
I’d been expecting something of that nature — the mysterious fire that killed Lord Senac and his entire household was still the favorite chatter in the marketplace and I was hardly unworldly enough to think a few minutes work with flame could cover what’d happened from Orissa’s Evocators, as skilled as bloodhounds in tracking magical scents.
Even if what’d happened went unexplained I couldn’t leave Orissa, my home and my pride, without somehow giving a warning that once more dark events were circling the city. But I wasn’t entirely sure of how to present matters or to whom I should go — even an Antero cannot dance into the Palace of the Evocators or Citadel of the Magistrates and calmly announce that, well, yes, I butchered one of Orissa’s leading magistrates because it seems he tried to murder me, but don’t worry, he wasn’t really a man at all but a demon and you should be careful because there may be more demons in your midst or arriving soon by hellish charabanc.
When the summons came I was pleased it was from an Evocator, since these matters were sorcerous, rather than a Magistrate and certainly felt I could have no better judge than Palmeras in the matter.
I admit to being nervous when I arrived at the Palace. I was greeted civilly by one of Palmeras’ aides, a senior wizard wearing a red sash over his robes, not accompanied with guards, which was a good sign. I was escorted to an anteroom, not to the huge dark cavern where the Evocators’ most sacred and dangerous hearings were held, which was also good.
I was not offered refreshments, which was not. And Palmeras entered in his robes of office, which also was not heartening.
Palmeras asked me to be seated and sat across from me at a rectangular table. He didn’t speak for a long moment, probably to let the awe and grandeur of his office overwhelm me. But waiting is second nature to a merchant. Eventually he spoke.
“I’m sure, Lord Antero,” and I liked it not that he used my title, “you’re aware of the strange death of Lord Senac.”
“I am, Lord.”
“There are some... peculiar aspects of the matter that interested me... and some other members of the Council.”
“I’m not surprised.”
What might’ve been a smile flitted across Palmeras’ lips. “Amalric, I won’t fence with you. Would you be so kind as to tell me what happened? I vow whatever you say will not be heard officially, although I must warn you this is a most grave matter and unless satisfactorily explained may well result in charges of the highest degree.”
If I’d been told that by a Magistrate, I would have clamped my mouth shut and refused to say anything out of a proper court. But this was different. I counted Palmeras a friend, or at least as much of a friend as an Antero could permit an Evocator to be.
I said I would tell him everything. But I insisted he swear an oath of secrecy — unless he deemed the matters surrounding Lord Senac required a criminal charge, none of what I was to tell him was to be passed along to his fellow Council members — until time and circumstances made it necessary.
Again Palmeras’ lips quirked but this time the smile remained. “Only an Antero,” he sighed, “would have the fortitude to set conditions to the chief of all Orissa’s Evocators in a matter that could involve the Kissing of the Stones. The only reason I’m agreeing is that I probably know more than you suspect.
“Not hours after the fire was extinguished I was called to Lord Senac’s estate, or what remained of it, by one of the watch officers who’s had an interest in magical matters over the years. He asked if I would sieve the area for emanations. I suspect the man has more than a bit of the Talent, although he denies it. I was a little piqued that he’d ask a man of my rank rather than a lesser Evocator. But I obeyed his request and discovered some most unusual matters. Now, tell me your tale.”
I did, from the arrival of Janela until the time we rode away from Lord Senac’s mansion. I had to pause for a time after I’d told him who Janela was and also her conviction that the real Far Kingdoms had never been reached. At that point he sent out for wine and while it was being brought went to his own chambers and returned with sorcerous materials and cast a Dome of Silence about us, so not even his fellow Evocators could eavesdrop on what was being discussed.
Then I finished my story.
“I said unusual matters,” he mused. “But these are far darker, far deeper than I’d dreamed. Let me say right now I believe you completely. Among the other things I found when I cast my magical net of senses through the ruins of Senac’s house was signs of magic not of this earth, or at any rate not of any earthly arts I’d ever encountered or read of. At first I thought they could belong to that young woman all Orissa seems to think you’re having a mad affair with, but these signs went back more than six years.”
“That,” I remembered, “was about when Lord Senac, or whatever was calling himself by that name, arrived from the hinterlands and had the mansion rebuilt.”
“Just so. That made me very curious and so I cast further spells. I could go into details about what I discovered — the slain retainers whose bodies I could find bits of to sample had been killed hours earlier, at a time when you were still being questioned by the sergeant of the watch at the docks. Or some things I found of Lord Palic’s sudden infatuation with sorcery and servitude. But this is not a court, Amalric, although I’m still the knowledge-seeker, but in much greater areas.
“What lies ahead? You and Lady Greycloak must continue on your quest. I must admit to still being taken aback that a descendant of the great Janos Greycloak is in our city and wish times were different so we could celebrate such an event properly. I am accepting without question that there is a real, or at any rate a greater, land called the real Far Kingdoms or the Kingdoms of the Night that is reachable from this world.
“But what of Orissa? What does this demon’s presence mean? I remember in your account of seeking the Far Kingdoms you wrote of Watchers who were magical sentinels for the late King Domas, long may his memory shine. Was this Senac a Watcher of a different sort? For someone else, in another place?”
I answered truthfully — I did not know and the few spells Janela had gingerly cast, not wanting to attract more attention than we already had, found nothing.
“But I do know,” I finished, “Orissa must be on alert. Almost as if this were wartime, although I doubt if there will be armies marching against our gates, at least not for awhile.”
Palmeras sat thinking for a very long time.
“Yes,” he finally said. “We... or at least such Evocators as I choose to admit to this secret, given your permission, must become sentinels. Sentinels and even warriors. I once heard that being around you Anteros almost invariably was interesting and the person who told me that added hastily he could wish for nothing more than his life now return to dull drab boredom.
“What do you need of us, Amalric? How does Orissa help?”
“By maintaining silence, Lord Palmeras, as long as possible.” I wasn’t sure why I knew this to be vital, but it was. “Other than that, we have almost everything we need. I might ask one favor — if Janela Greycloak has need of any sorcerous materials that you might have, may I have them? I shall use Quatervals, who I trust as much as myself, as courier, since I think even Janela’s visiting this Palace would cause even more of a stir.”
“Granted.”
Palmeras lifted the silence spell, and led me to the door. “I wish,” he said a bit wistfully, “there was time and place for me to talk to Lady Greyc
loak. If, as you say, the sorcerous talent has been handed down, there could be much for me to learn in spite of what people believe my vast knowledge. Oh well. Life, I’ve been thinking, is sometimes little more than a series of missed opportunities.”
“One thing, Lord Antero,” he said, his mood changing as he reverted to formality. “There is one matter you must deal with before your departure.”
His wizard’s gaze pinned me. He said no more, It wasn’t necessary. I knew what he was referring to.
* * * *
I did not handle the matter well. I should have launched a quiet investigation into the Jeypur incident. I also should have gathered evidence on other sins I was certain Cligus had committed as well. Then I ought to have summoned my son into my stern presence and — supported by a stack of reports detailing his crimes — denounced him. Told him that as a son, much less a human being, he was a failure and a grave disappointment. Furthermore, I should have then banished him from Orissa — sending him into golden exile to some far away place. And if he violated that exile, not only would all funds be cut off but the list of crimes would be revealed to all.
I thought of all those things but in the end I didn’t have the heart. After informing Hermias of my decision I drew up a will naming him as my heir and as a sop to Cligus ordered a goodly percentage of income derived the sprawling Antero empire to be paid to him annually for the rest of his life.
Cligus was not satisfied.
“How can you do this to me, father?” he shouted after I had laid out my plans privately in a meeting in my study. “You are destroying me!”
“On the contrary,” I said. “I’ve just made you a very wealthy man.”
“But I’m your son,” he said. “Everyone will believe that you’ve disowned me.”
“If you review the wording of my will,” I said, “you’ll see that I’ve praised you for your military prowess and stated that I think it best you continue to serve Orissa in your capacity as a general.”
Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) Page 10
