The Warrior's Tale (The Far Kingdoms, Book 2)

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  He who dwells

  In fire . . .

  She who sleeps

  In flame . . .

  I release you!

  There was a small flash of heat and light as I dropped the thread onto the parchment. Quickly I rolled it up into a tube. I rose, swinging the tube about my head until it burst into flames. Although my whole hand seemed alight, I felt no heat or pain. I rushed to the entrance and hurled the burning mass inside. It fell near a knot of sleeping men.

  No one stirred as the parchment tube began to hiss and throw off a shower of sparks. I stood there watching, cold with guilt, as the flames grew higher and brighter. In the center of the hold I saw the thread I’d tired about the big post begin to glow. Then the post exploded into flame. Still, not one man stirred. I backed out, looking up to see other places where I had tied the thread glow into hot life, then burst into hungry, licking flames.

  We heard the first screams as the center turret caught and became a roaring wall of fire. I saw naked men run out onto the landing, but it caught as well, enveloping them, turning them into charred, writhing flesh. Then the landing collapsed, spreading fire across the big main deck.

  I heard a bellow of enraged pain and looked up to see the demon break through one of the windows. He clung there for a moment, then reached in to pull out the woman. He put her on his shoulders, then climbed to top of the turret. He stood there, flames all around him, head swiveling this way and that. Then he seemed to look directly at us. His taloned hand shot out, stabbing at us and he roared in fury.

  “Awake!” he shouted. “Awake!”

  In the hold I heard screams of agony as the spellbound men came to and found themselves on fire, or surrounding by flame.

  “Kill them!” the demon shouted. “Kill them!”

  Men came stumbling out of the smoke, some on fire, some coughing blackness, but they were not fleeing, but charging us, clawing with their nails, or stabbing with swords they’d scrabbled up when the demon awoke them. But they were helpless before my women. Polillo howled her battle cry and leaped in, chopping about with her ax. Ismet and the others called for Maranonia to give them strength and cut down anyone within reach.

  Within a few short minutes the rolling kelp ground around them was heaped with bodies and slick with flowing blood. The men were hurled back into the inferno to die. Some tried to break free, but each time, my women fought so furiously that the only escape was a fiery death.

  I held back, watching to see what the demon would do next. He was howling with helpless fury, screaming for his slaves to attack. A sheet of flame burst through the roof of the turret and he leaped back. The woman lost her grip and, fell from her perch, screaming as she plummeted downward. She hit, seeming to bounce as the kelp absorbed the shock and then I saw her rise up, screaming with fear.

  “Polillo,” I shouted. She turned her blood spattered face toward me and I pointed at the woman, who was only a few feet away. “I want her!”

  Polillo bounded over and as the woman tried to scramble away, Polillo clubbed her down with the flat of her ax, scooped her up and threw her over her shoulder.

  The demon howled in fury. More flames exploded through the roof of the turret. But instead of destroying him, they seemed to only make him stronger. His body glowed with energy and he seemed to be growing longer. The glow became an armored carapace and as I watch, six insect-like legs shot out from his sides, pivoting in muscular sockets. He came scuttling down the sides of the turret, straight through the fire. His jaws gouted snapping mandibles as he ran, and his long barbed tail dripped with venom.

  I shouted for the others to retreat and we all turned and ran. I sent Janela speeding ahead to alert the ship. The path was plain before us. The oil Polillo had dribbled behind us was now a luminescent path straight to my ship and safety.

  I chanced a look over my shoulder as I ran and saw the demon drop to the ground. He screamed for his slaves and I saw the survivors boiling out, gnashing their teeth and crying for our blood.

  Then the demon called my name: “Antero! I kill you, Antero!”

  I only ran harder, leaping over the nests where Polillo and I had fallen through. As I neared the last one a tentacle curled out. It was huge and ringed with gaping suckers. It snaked around Ismet and she cried out in pain. But before the beast could tighten its grasp I was there, my sword slicing through the tentacle. The kelp erupted under us as the beast reacted to the pain. Ismet stripped away the still writhing stump, and I saw blood scars where the suckers had bit. We ran on, but the time lost was enough for our enemy to gain. They were right on our heels, now, and behind them the demon was cursing and hissing and urging them on.

  I saw our ship and at the same moment heard a great rushing as our archers fired their volley. Behind me, men cried out as the arrows found their marks. When Polillo reached the ship, she flung our captive on board, then turned to unlimber her ax.

  “Come on you swine lovers,” she shouted. “I’ve got something sweet for you.” She whirled the ax above her head.

  Some of the men cut in to flank us and she hammered them down as Ismet and the others were helped aboard. From the deck, another flight of arrows was sent a hunting. Finally, I reached the ship. I turned to join to Polillo, but saw the demon was calling his slaves back. Scores of bodies heaped the rolling plain, all eerily lit by the fire that was consuming the demon’s lair.

  As for the demon, I saw him transform back to his original shape, then snarling and hissing, lead his men deep into the darkness, until I could see them no more.

  “They gave up too easily,” Polillo grumbled. “I was just getting warmed up.”

  “Don’t worry,” I gasped. “He’ll be back.”

  Exhausted, I climbed on board into the welcoming arms of my Guardswomen. They all cheered and pounded our backs and passed around wineskins to slake our thirst.

  I upended a bag and drank mightily, letting the cool wine overflow and spill down my body. Tiredness fled the boozy river. I felt very well, indeed. It hadn’t been a great victory, but it was good enough for now.

  * * * *

  I slept for a few hours and rose early, quite refreshed, to prepare for our next encounter with the demon. I had no doubt he’d come, especially since we had his favorite slave for bait. Her name was Chahar, and she was quite nonplused at being a captive. I had a tent made of cheerful material erected on the main deck and had her brought to me for interrogation.

  “You’ll be sorry,” she said as soon as she entered. “My Master Elam loves me. He’ll make you pay.”

  I didn’t tell her I was counting on her dear Elam trying that very thing. I merely indicated some soft pillows I’d had installed for her to plant her naked haunches on. Polillo hovered over her, anxious to apply whatever pain was necessary to learn what we needed to know. The image of the demon’s chamber of horrors haunted her, as it did me, and it was not unnatural for her to want revenge for all those poor souls.

  “Give me the fat little bitch for half an hour,” she growled.” She’ll spill her guts, or I’ll cut them out to make sausage for our supper.”

  Chahar shrank back in fear. I gave Polillo a wink, saying, “We shouldn’t be too hasty. Perhaps we have been wrong about Lord Elam.”

  Gamelan, who was also in attendance for the questioning took up my theme. “You are quite right, Captain Antero,” he said. “We could have misjudged the good Lord Elam. Perhaps he really is a good master who will treat us handsomely if we serve him well.”

  “Oh, he would,” Chahar said. “He can really be very kind. He just acts angry sometimes because he’s so sad.”

  “Sad?” Gamelan asked. “Why would such a powerful lord be sad?”

  “He’s lonely ’cause he can’t go home,” she answered.

  “Oh, really,” I said. “Tell us more, my dear. And while you’re at it, Lieutenant Polillo will bring you something to eat. This has all been such a trial, I’m sure you’re famished.”

  “Well, I could eat just a
little bit,” she said, holding two fingers slightly apart for illustration. “It wouldn’t be polite for me to refuse.”

  Polillo glowered, but I tipped her another wink and the glower stretched into the best smile she could make under the circumstance — more a curling sneer than anything. She went off to do my bidding. I sat down on the deck next to Chahar and chatted idly about this and that until Polillo returned. She’d caught on to what I intended, and enlisted some help to bring huge platters of every variety of food we could manage. Chahar plunged in with both fists, and was soon a greasy mess.

  When I thought her lulled enough by bloat, I resumed my questioning. “You said your master couldn’t return home. Why is that?”

  Chahar daintily wiped away a gob of food dangling from her lower lip. “’Cause he’s lost,” she said. “See, he’s not from here. He’s from . . .” she waved her hands, searching for words. They didn’t come. “. . . Not from this place. Not from any place. Sort of.”

  “You mean, another world?” Gamelan asked.

  “Yes,” Chahar said. “Not our world. But another one. That’s where he’s from. That’s where his home is.”

  “How did that come to be?” I asked.

  “Well. He ‘splained it to me once, and it’s kind of hard to remember everything. And I’m not too smart. I’m not too good at most anything. Except making my Master happy. I know what he wants, even if he doesn’t ask me out loud. I can make him happy. That’s what I’m good at.”

  Gamelan’s bushy eyebrows raised over blind eyes. “She is his Favorite,” he said to me.

  “Oh, I am!” Chahar said brightly. “I’m his favorite over everybody else.”

  I knew that’s not what Gamelan meant. He meant her role was the same minor demons played to some wizards in our world, such as the little fellow who cooked Gamelan’s meals and now did my bidding when I needed small tasks performed. But I didn’t say this. I patted her hand.

  “I’m sure you are, my dear,” I said. “Now, tell me, how did Lord Elam find himself in this terrible predicament?”

  “As near as I remember, he said he was brought here by an evil wizard. He was . . . uh, summoned . . . that’s the word. And this bad wizard was so powerful that my master couldn’t help himself. So he came. And the wizard made him do things. And then the wizard was killed in some kind of fight, and now my Master doesn’t know how to get back home. He’s lost, you see. And he’s been lost for maybe two hundred years.”

  She made a broad gesture with one hand, indicating the great Sargasso we were trapped in. “It’s taken him all this time to make this. So he has a place to live, and can eat, and get servants and everything. He says it’s sort of like a big spider web. Except it’s not really that big. That’s what he says, at least. He’s making it bigger all the time.”

  I pretended to scoff at this. “Come now! No one could have made something like this. Even your master isn’t powerful enough for that!”

  Chahar was indignant. “He certainly did! And he keeps on doing it. He makes the winds stop. And he makes the kelp grow and stick together. And he makes the others happy, even when he hurts them. He doesn’t do that ’cause he’s mean, or anything. It just makes his food taste better. ‘Sides, he never hurts me. Well, maybe a teensy bit when he needs some of my blood for his magic. And that’s not very bad. I make a little cut and drip some of my blood in his cup, which he mixes some other stuff in. It only stings a little, and he’s so kind he lets me eat extra whenever he does, so I don’t mind so much.”

  “Why did he choose you for this, my dear?” Gamelan asked. “What makes your blood so special?”

  Chahar scooped up more food. “My father was a witch,” she said, matter of factly. She ate. We waited until she swallowed. “I’m not a witch. But my father was. Then he died. And the new witch made a big ceremony for the funeral. My people built a long boat and put all his stuff in it. Also me and my mother and all my brothers and sisters. Ten of us, there were. ‘Sides my mother. Then they pulled the boat out and let the current get it and it took us away. Far away. Finally, I got here. And my Master found me.”

  “Just you?” I asked. “What happened to the others.”

  Chahar shrugged. “They got dead,” she said. “We didn’t have any food. So we had to eat the ones that died all by themselves. Then they started looking at me, ’cause I’m kinda fat, I guess. So one night I killed the ones who’re left. With a knife. While they were asleep. Then I had plenty of food.” She gnawed on a bird haunch. Then she said: “I ate my mother last. She was pretty skinny. Anyway, that’s how I got here. And I guess my blood is special because even though I’m not a witch, I got enough of my father in me to make my blood just right for my Master’s magic.”

  We were all struck dumb by her adventures.

  Gamelan was the first to recover. He said: “That makes you very . . .” he coughed, “. . . special, indeed, my dear. But, tell us, don’t you ever miss your home? Your people?”

  Chahar gave a vigorous shake of her head, quaking her fat from jowl to thigh. “Never,” she said. “They weren’t nice to me. Ever. Not even when I made the stick charts for them. The hunters would just grab them out of my hands and say mean things.”

  “Stick charts?” I said, trying to hide my excitement. “What stick charts?”

  “The ones my father had me make, silly,” she said. “Sometimes the hunters have to go a long ways in their boats, so my father would give them stick charts so they could find their way to the places they had to go where there was game, and then get back.”

  “Why did he have you make them?”

  Chahar gave me a look like I was dunce. “’Cause we had to have lots of them. And they’d get lost or broken. So we’d have to make more. My father didn’t have time to do all that, and my brothers and sisters were always busy working. I wasn’t good at it, but since I used to get sick a lot and couldn’t work, my father had me do it. Then he’d bless them and that was that!”

  “Could you make one, now?” I asked.

  Chahar snorted. “’Course I could. I’m not smart, but I did so many of them I could never forget. Sometimes I even dream about it.” She shuddered. ”When I have bad dreams. About home.”

  “Would you make one for us?” I pressed.

  Chahar shook her head. “I don’t think my Master Elam would like that,” she said.

  “He wouldn’t mind,” I said, “if in return we let you go.”

  Chahar stared at me, hard. “What do you need it for? You’re never going to get out of here.”

  “Just the same,” I said. “If you make one for us, I’ll release you.”

  I got another long, hard look. Chahar gobbled more food while she weighed my proposal. Finally: “You promise?” she asked.

  “I promise,” I lied.

  So she had us fetch some sticks and whatever shells and small rocks and yarn we could find. It took her about an hour. Her fingers moved swiftly for such a lazy, obese creature, but the primitive map that formed seemed well made — although I had never seen such a thing before, but had only heard traders’ tales of the extremely accurate maps that savages made.

  When it was done, she handed it to me. As I held it, she pointed out its main features. “We’re sort of here,” she said, indicating a shell near the bottom of the chart. “I’m not exactly sure, but that’s the way the current was going when they put us on the boat.” Her finger traced a blue strand of yarn woven through the stick frame.

  She showed us important islands, but said the people who lived there didn’t take kindly to strangers. And finally, she indicated a whole scatter of large islands near the bottom.

  “That’s Konya,” she said. “Lots of people live there. It’s so far, only a few of my people have ever visited, and that was a long time ago. They said there was hundreds of big islands, all crowded with people. And they had all kinds of wonderful things, and never got hungry, because their wizards are the most powerful in the whole world. They have a king, and big bu
ildings instead of huts, with fireplaces that don’t smoke. They’ve also got things they look at for hours, called books, and ships that go almost every place.” She shrugged. “I guess they don’t come to visit us because we’re all pretty stupid.”

  Polillo smiled for the first time since the interrogation had begun. “Civilization!” she said.

  Chahar shook her head. “No. I said it was Konya. Not ciliiz- whatever it was you called it.” She sneered at Polillo. “You must be pretty stupid too.”

  But Polillo only laughed. Gamelan was practically squirming with glee. Her chart was like finding the key to a fabled treasurehouse — except in this case, the value of that treasure was our very lives.

  Chahar was looking at us, suddenly alarmed. “I did what you told me,” she said, indicating the stick chart. “Now, it’s your turn. You really are going to let me go when my Master Elam comes, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely,” I said as heartily as possible. “I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

  Gamelan rapped his stick to catch my attention. “I think you and I should have a little chat about that very thing, Captain Antero,” he said. “Privately, if you please.”

  I left Polillo to guard her, whispering stern instructions about not harming the bitch, and led Gamelan from the tent.

  When we were out of earshot he said: “I hope you intend to keep that promise,” he said.

  I was startled. “By all the gods swear is holy, why would I ever do such a thing? She’s trading fodder. The only thing we’ve got that the demon wants.”

  “Oh, I don’t oppose some bargaining. Obviously, you don’t expect him to keep his side of it. But a bit of bargaining for appearances sake might be wise so he doesn’t become suspicious that we’re giving her up too easily.”