by Nathan Long
I was all for leaving right that minute, but as Sai and Lhan tried to convince me that we needed a night to prepare, that fifth glass of sour wine hit me. That, on top of a whole day on foot under the big orange sun, and getting boiled in that stew pot they called a bath. Suddenly I could barely keep my head up. I think I remember Li-Tin guiding me through some dark passageways, but I’m not sure.
***
I woke up feeling better than I had in... I didn’t know how long. The room I was in beat any place I’d slept so far on Waar. Hell, it topped the nine-hundred-dollar-a-month shit-box I’d been calling home since I’d moved to California.
I was on some kind of futon: a soft, firm pad that rustled a little when I moved, and a thick blanket made out of some woven material that kept me just the right temperature. The room was cool and dim, with a knife-edge of pink light cutting through a gap in the heavy curtains. I could make out the shapes of bulky furniture against the plaster walls. Everything was cozy and rounded, like the stuff in Snow White’s room when she was shacking up with the seven dwarves.
I was practically purring. Even the pressure in my head from the wine felt right. A little pain to let me know how nice the pleasure was. I lay there awhile. Maybe staying here wouldn’t be so bad after all; hot baths, comfy beds, good food. Who could hate that?
Well I could, after a while. Even in heaven I’d get restless. And there weren’t any cell-phones here to keep me up to date on Sai’s progress. Not knowing and having to sit and do nothing? That wouldn’t be heaven. That would be hell.
I yawned and stretched and rolled out of bed. The flags were cool on the soles of my feet as I crossed to the window and threw back the curtain. The sun was peeking over the castle walls. I could see men down in the yard getting kraes and packs together.
I turned, wondering what the hell they’d done with my clothes, and stopped. Laid out with my sword on a backless chair was a brand new outfit. Grandma and the other elves had been busy last night, and they did good work.
They’d made me the standard Oran hot-babe get up: a bikini top and loincloth, but of some heavy green weave instead of the usual semi-see-through stuff. The cloth was reinforced with leather and rivets at the stress points, and all the bits were connected by leather straps. I also noticed that the loincloth, which on most gals trailed almost to the ground, was cut above the knees, probably to make it easier to ride. I had sturdy boots too, a perfect fit. My armor had been cleaned and polished and, most amazing of all, the breastplate had been banged out and reshaped so that there was actually room for my breast.
There was also a pair of leather saddlebags packed with two more outfits, one in deep purple and one in black, a bone comb for my hair, and one of those scrapey bath things.
I was ridiculously happy about all this. Ugly as I am, I’ve always taken pride in my appearance, and it wasn’t until this minute that I realized how embarrassed I’d felt about the hand-me-downs and cast-offs I’d been wearing.
You think it’s funny for a biker chick to be vain about her clothes? How much fuss can you make about jeans and a t-shirt, right? Just ask your neighborhood cholo. You know, the guy who irons his t-shirts and takes an hour pleating his baggy pants so they hang just right. Back home I spent hours on my leather jacket, oiling it, massaging it. I threw my Harley t-shirts out at the first stain. My jeans might have holes in them, but they were always Downy fresh.
I put the clothes on, amazed how grandma had got my cup size right without a fitting, and looked around for a mirror. There was one in the hall, a big polished yellow metal circle between two pillars. My reflection was a little on the brassy side, but then so am I.
I liked what I saw. A big, strong, half-naked, bad-ass chick in armor with a sword sticking up over one shoulder. I wouldn’t have kicked me out of bed for eating crackers.
***
Riding one of Lhan’s thoroughbred kraes was a lot different than moping along on the tired old pack birds the Aarurrh had given us. These were leaner and longer in the leg, with an evil gleam in their eyes.
Lhan picked out a high-stepping she-krae named Moonlight. “As gentle as a summer day.”
A summer day in Death Valley, maybe. She held still enough when Sai made her kneel so I could climb on, but as soon as she stood up and Lhan let go it was another story. She skipped and sidestepped like a pigeon in a room full of cats. She craned her neck around and tried to bite me off her back.
Lhan called out. “Your knees, mistress Jae-En. One controls a krae with the knees.”
I clamped down, hard. Maybe too hard. Moonlight yakked like a dog on a choke collar, then stood still, panting.
Lhan raised an eyebrow. “Please, Mistress, little Moonlight has many good years left in her. Use her gently.”
I shrugged, embarrassed. “She started it.”
Lhan smirked at Sai. “Perhaps your stories of Mistress Jae-En’s strength were not exaggerations after all.”
Sai grunted. He wasn’t paying attention. He had his head bowed, lost in thought. Thinking about mister shiny-teeth Kedac-Zir was my guess.
We rode through the castle gates and hit the road.
***
It was a long boring day in the saddle, so I’m not going to tell you about it. The next interesting bit happened after we set up camp on the first night and Sai asked Lhan for a refresher in fencing. He was nervous about his throwdown with Kedac-Zir, and I didn’t blame him. I’d seen the guy. Lhan said sure, so they took out their swords and started hacking back and forth beside the fire.
At first it looked like a bunch of flailing around, mostly on Sai’s part, but after a while I started to see the science of it. It was a little like bayonet training back in Airborne school, but more complicated.
Lhan was a first round draft pick at this shit. He did everything as easy as taking a walk—no wasted motion, no effort—but his blade was always where it needed to be, always slipping through Sai’s defenses. Not that that was hard. Lhan was constantly holding back, pulling thrusts that would have kebabed poor Sai six ways to Sunday.
It’s not like Sai sucked, exactly. He did and he didn’t. It looked like he really had trained under the finest masters, because he knew his stuff. When he was going through the drills he was fine; fast and smooth. But when they started to spar, when it started to matter, he fought like a spastic duck.
It was like he was thinking too hard. He’d forget easy moves he’d done right seconds before. He’d freeze up when he had an opening and miss parries he should have seen from miles away. Pretty soon he was as frustrated as a one-armed man trying to hang wallpaper, stomping around and cursing himself, calling himself a fool.
I knew what he was doing. It had happened to me plenty back when I was racing bikes. I’d be at the starting line, thinking over and over again, “Don’t let out the clutch too fast. Don’t let out the clutch too fast,” and when the tree turned green I was thinking so hard I’d let the clutch out too fast. He was choking. He was trying to make his brain do the work he should have let his body do.
Lhan said the same thing. “Let the sword lead you, Sai. Do not lead the sword.”
Sai got worse and worse. He could barely hold onto his blade, let alone use it. Finally, when he almost impaled himself on Lhan’s sword after a wild, blind stab at nothing, Lhan stopped. He wasn’t even breathing hard. “Enough, Sai. Let’s call an end before we do ourselves injury. Our long ride today has wearied us both. Let us resume in the morning when we are both refreshed.”
Sai gestured angrily with his sword. “How can I rest when I must face Kedac-Zir so soon? I am not prepared. My life depends on my skill and my skill is sorely lacking.”
Lhan’s voice hardened. “Forgive me, Sai, if I quote my old Master of the Sword, Eshen-Gar. ‘One cannot teach a sleeping krae.’ You are too fatigued. We will start again tomorrow.”
Sai slumped, miserable. “As you say, Lhan. I only hope tomorrow is not too late.” He dragged himself off to the stream to dunk his head. Lhan sta
rted to sheath his sword, but I wanted a try.
“Mind if I go a few rounds with you? I may look the part now, but I don’t know move one of this crap.”
Lhan grinned. “Certainly, Mistress Jae-En. It would be a pleasure. The first lesson is: the art is not, as you so delicately put it, crap.” I blushed, but he was only funnin’. “Come, let us see what you have to work with.”
He laughed when I unslung my huge Aarurrh blade. “Perhaps at first we should use less fatal weapons.” He stepped to a tree and cut us some sword-sized sticks.
Sai came back as we were getting started. He seemed a little miffed. “Your weariness has left you, Lhan?”
Lhan just smiled. “I quote Master Gar again. ‘One can often learn as much from observation as from participation.’”
Sai curled his lip. “Was Master Gar a teacher of the sword or of the platitude?” He went off to his bedroll and sulked.
Lhan took me slowly through the basics. Very slowly. There were seven guards and seven attacks, and a shitload of combinations to learn; beat-lunge, parry-riposte, disengage. No big surprise that he had it all over me on technique, but I did have a couple things on him. The first time we brought it up to speed and crossed sticks I nearly knocked him flat. The second time I remembered to pull my swings, but I got carried away escaping a lunge and jumped over his head.
He was too stunned to block and I whacked him hard on the arm. He hit the ground in a heap.
I ran to him. “Oh shit! Lhan, are you alright?”
He sat up, grinning and rubbing his arm. “By the Seven, Sai spoke of your leaps, but hearing of a miracle and seeing one with one’s own eyes are two different things. I can scarcely credit it.”
I helped him up. “Sorry ’bout that. That’s cheating, huh?”
“There is no such thing as cheating in a fight to the death. Use whatever advantage you have.”
I smirked. “That’s why I want to learn all your fancy tricks.”
He laughed. “You may never have much need of finesse, Mistress Jae-En. Your strength will more than suffice for most of the louts you face. But strength does not always win. Skill can often defeat strength, and skill and strength together? That is nigh unbeatable. Shall I demonstrate?”
“Sure. Go nuts.”
He nodded. “Good. Now attack. As hard as you like.”
I wasn’t crazy about the idea. I’d cut the tail off an Aarurrh with one chop, and that was thicker around than Lhan’s waist. Even with just a stick I could bash his brains in without trying. “You sure? I already put you on your ass a couple of times.”
“Fear not. It will not happen again. Now come.”
I shrugged. “You asked for it.” I wound up baseball bat style and charged, swinging like Paul Bunyan.
I didn’t have a chance. Lhan was like a cobra. I couldn’t touch him, even with all my leaping around and dropping out of the sky. I couldn’t even see him half the time. He was like water in a stream slipping around a boulder; sliding past my stick, ducking under my arm, dodging around my back, then slapping his stick against my skin or touching me with the tip with the precision of a kung fu acupuncturist.
It was my turn to be red-faced and frustrated, but when he finally called a time-out, I noticed that I’d at least raised a sweat on him. “Very good, Mistress Jae-En. You have a natural facility. Once your skill equals your strength you will be a formidable fighter indeed.”
I nodded, still catching my breath. “Thanks. Er, listen. I don’t want to beg or nothing, but, uh, this sword stuff seems pretty important around here, so...”
Lhan bowed, hands out and wrists crossed. “I would be honored.”
Our eyes caught, and for a second I thought he was going to offer to teach me another kind of swordplay, then he looked away and the tension faded. We got ready for bed, separately.
Who knows, maybe all the tension was on my end. I wasn’t going to blame him for not having the hots for me. I wasn’t exactly the ideal of Waarian femininity, even without the freckles and red hair. I tried to shrug it off, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. What if I never got home? Was I ever going to find a local with a thing for big pink chicks?
Once we were all laid out around the campfire Lhan dropped off instantly, like a Christian with a get-out-of-hell free card, but Sai tossed and turned like a kid with his first dose of crabs. I couldn’t sleep either. I had a couple questions about Waarian honor that were keeping me up.
I whispered to Sai. “Why fight this Kedac guy if you know he’s gonna kill you? Why don’t you just grab Wen-Jhai and head for the hills?”
Sai looked shocked, but then relaxed. “I forget sometimes that you are a woman, and know little of honor.”
I bristled, but let it pass, remembering that Sai was an ignorant barbarian who knew little of girl power. He put on his patient voice. “Honor is the shackle that chains we Orans to the warrior tradition where strength of arms is held in higher regard than strength of intellect. Thankfully Wen-Jhai shares my modern philosophy and our marriage will be free of these backward notions. But barbaric though it may be, honor is still the law. I had but two options when Kedac-Zir attacked me: defend Wen-Jhai or die.”
“But you tried, didn’t you?”
“To try is nothing. Lhan informed me that when news of my defeat by Kedac reached Ormolu, my reputation actually rose because they believed I had died fighting bravely against overwhelming odds.”
He sighed. “Alive I am a coward, and will not be able to show my face in court or country until I win Wen-Jhai back honorably, or die trying.”
It sounded whack to me. “But this guy’s like Errol Flynn times ten. You’re gonna buy it!”
Sai sighed. “I don’t understand your words, but I parse your meaning, and share your apprehension. I am reluctant to face this challenge. If there was another way...”
CHAPTER TWELVE
DISSENSION!
Early the second day we hit a forest. Lhan and I were pretty chipper, but Sai had woke up even glummer than he’d been the day before, and it just got worse with every mile.
This was the first time on Waar I’d seen more than twenty trees together in one place. They looked like giant Q-tips: tall and thin, with a fuzzy clump of branches and leaves way at the top. At ground level it was more like riding through a field of telephone poles than being in a woods. “This must be the only forest on Waar.”
Lhan smiled. “In Ora, certainly. Kalnah, the city we ride to, exists because of this forest. The shipyards of the Oran Navy are there. They fell these trees for their lumber. To fell one without the Aldhanan’s order is death.”
I gave Lhan a look. “You guys have a navy? I haven’t seen enough water around here to drown a rat in.”
Before he could answer a shadow covered us, like a cloud blocking out the sun. I looked up.
Hanging high in the sky above us, exactly the way boulders don’t, was a big, wooden pirate ship-looking thing with a huge leather Goodyear blimp plopped on top instead of sails. Actually, that’s wrong. They did have sails, little ones, stuck on each side of the gas bag like fins on a fat fish.
“Jesus H Christ on a ten speed bike! What the hell is that?”
Lhan smiled. “An Oran man-of-war. You see, we have no need of water.”
“But you guys never...! Oh, wait. This is another Seven thing, huh?”
Lhan nodded. “The secret of the levitating air was the closest-guarded mysteries of the Oran empire. It made us invincible. But in the wars that followed the War God’s departure, Ora lost its empire, and with it many of our secrets. Now all our former colonies have navies of the air.”
I watched as the bulky airship lumbered into a turn, pulling one of its sails in and letting the other fill with wind. What a way to travel. Not exactly the SST, but I bet the view was terrific.
About an hour later we rode out of the woods at the crest of a hill. I stopped to take in the scenery.
A wide plain stretched away from us for about two miles until
it hit a high cliff. At the base of the cliff was an honest-to-god city. It wasn’t big by LA standards. Hell, it wasn’t even big by Albuquerque standards, but it was definitely a city. Towers and domes and spiky steeples stuck up over the walls and smoke rose into the air from a thousand chimneys.
I followed the smoke up with my eyes. The sky was filled with airships going every which way. I wished I had a camera.
Lhan pulled up beside me. “Kalnah, city of the sky.” He started pointing out things like a tour guide. “To the south, by the river Kal, is—”
I laughed. “River? Back home that trickle wouldn’t qualify as a creek.”
Lhan coughed. “By the river Kal, is the Navy’s shipfield and stockade.”
He pointed where the airships were thickest: an open field next to a stone fort between the river and Kalnah proper. Docked airships floated above it like a fleet of Porky Pig balloons from the Macy’s parade.
Lhan pointed straight ahead. “On the cliff over the city...” He looked over at me, sly. “You have no objection to the designation ‘cliff?’ Perhaps this would only qualify as a stepping stone back home?”
“No no, that’s a cliff alright, wise-ass. Go on.”
“You are most gracious. On the cliff over the city is Kedac-Zir’s ancestral castle, which also serves as quarters for his high-ranking officers.”
I had to squint to see the castle. I hadn’t even noticed it before. With the sun behind it, it looked like part of the cliff. It was black and blocky, and the walls seemed to spread out wide along the edge like the wings of a vulture, hovering over the city.
“Cheerful place.”
Lhan laughed. “Like its master.”
Sai groaned. First sound he’d made all morning.
***