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

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  The creature looked around curiously, then came directly to me. Then I saw it, too, wore a jewel hung around its neck. The beast-man bowed, took an ivory tablet from inside its jacket and handed it to me. There was but one word on the tablet:

  Welcome.

  I jolted when I saw the greeting was written in Orissan.

  The beast-man did not wait for a response, but vaulted back onto the zebra. Again without command, the animal galloped away, but not toward the great villa, but to a large barn I saw in the distance.

  I told Gamelan what the tablet contained and asked if his feelings had grown any stronger.

  “No,” he said. “All I know is that we must go on.”

  And so we did. I put my soldiery out in extended formation, with strong skirmishers on the flanks and we marched toward the villa. It was even larger than I’d thought and not nearly as close. In fact, it was almost two miles away. As we came closer, I could make out gardens, a maze to one side, fishponds and other lavish outworks. But I saw not one of the vast company of gardeners that’d be necessary to keep these grounds so perfect.

  There was a curving drive, wide enough for half a dozen formal carriages, paved with broken white oyster shell. Our boots crunched as we walked toward the villa’s entrance — double doors thirty feet high and set in the center of a colonnaded terrace.

  I brought my troops to a halt and without any orders, they automatically formed up in column, as if awaiting inspection by a great prince, never fearing an attack.

  After a moment, the doors opened, and a man walked out.

  “I greet you, and welcome you to Tristan,” he said in Orissan, and his voice rang like a great gong, as welcoming as spiced cider on a winter’s night.

  “I am The Sarzana and I have waited long for your coming.”

  * * * *

  A day has passed since I dismissed the scribe, telling him I wasn’t angered, but needed time to reflect on what words I would choose before continuing my story. I needed the time not because I was afraid to say what happened. We all err and the only sin is committing the same stupidity twice.

  It was rather that when you first meet someone great, someone who rocks the earth in his passage, memory has been known to shake a false ivory. Certainly The Sarzana must be considered great, for that word describes both good and evil. I do not want my knowledge of what came later to color what I saw and felt there on that island, seeing this man for the first time. But now my words are ready.

  The Sarzana might have been taken for a merchant prince. He was richly dressed in a wide-sleeved tunic that came close about his neck. He wore pantaloons whose legs flared as fully as his sleeves. Both garments were purple and he appeared born to that imperial color. I guessed them to be made of heavy silk. He wore a belt of twisted thongs, turquoise in shade. I saw the glossy toes of ebony boots peeping from under his pantaloons.

  The Sarzana was a bit under medium height and was full-bodied. It didn’t appear as if he’d missed many meals, but neither did he appear to be a piggish feeder like Cholla Yi. He was clean-shaven and his cheeks were powdered. His pomaded hair hung in waves to just above his shoulders and looked to have had the attention of an artist with the curling iron minutes before he stepped out to greet us. His face was roundish, marked by very dark eyebrows and a straight mustache. If you passed him on an Orissan street, you might have thought him a visiting magnate, no more. A man of dignity and wealth.

  At that moment I looked into his eyes. I swear this not my jade of a memory adding something I didn’t notice at the time. His eyes were a deep well of expression. They were dark — I can’t say whether they were the deepest of greens, blues or blacks now — and they shone with the memory of power. The best I can compare them to is those of a caged eagle, who sits in the mews remembering how his talons ripped all that came before him; or perhaps the glow that comes to my goshawk’s yellow eyes when she’s unhooded and sees the woodcock in the field.

  No. Even on a busy street, in a rich district, The Sarzana would not be casually dismissed — not once you saw those eyes.

  The Sarzana stopped when he came off the last step and bowed.

  “You are safe,” he said, and I knew absolutely, that he spoke the truth. “You may summon the ships you have on guard beyond the headlands to enter the harbor and anchor, and may allow as many as you wish of your sailors to come ashore. There is no harm here. I do not expect you to take me at my word. I sense there are two among you who have the Talent. One has been badly hurt, I can feel . . .” . . . and I could sense Gamelan stirring from where he stood just behind me. “. . . the other is young, still feeling her way to power.”

  I removed my helmet and bowed. “I greet you in the name of Orissa,” I said, but made no response to his statement about sorcerers. “I see you have the powers of magic and are what we call an Evocator. Can you sense aught of our history?”

  “Some,” he said. “And what I cannot, I am sure you will tell me. But we need not go into that now. I know you are not long from a great voyage and a greater battle, and since your victory, which nearly brought you down, you have been harried and sore-struck. But now you are safe. You may remain here as long as you wish and refit. What tools and equipment you find, you are welcome to use as you wish. You may find housing below in the village, or up here, on the plateau. There are more than enough barracks to accommodate regiments far greater than your own.

  “The fresh water, the grains that grow wild, the fruits of the trees are yours for the taking. You may hunt, you may fish where you will. I ask only that you hunt no creatures who walk upright. Nor should you take any creatures who wear my sign, a jewel set in their forehead or on a band around their neck. They are my servants and my friends and I have sworn to let them come to no harm. This I must insist on, and anyone who breaks that law will be punished and the manner of his punishment shall be most dire.” Now all of us could see that sheen of authority in his eyes.

  I broke the hold he had on us. “We come in peace, and none of us are fools or children. We hold to the laws of the country we visit,” and I allowed a bit of steel into my voice, “so long as we are honored as guests. If that agreement is broken . . .” I did not finish my sentence, nor need to.

  “Good,” The Sarzana said. “I have already sent one of my . . . servants down to welcome the rest of your party, and to invite the officers of the ships, particularly the one you call Cholla Yi, to my villa. Captain Antero, you may, if you choose, allow your soldiers to break ranks and relax. There will be an opportunity to fresh yourselves before we dine.”

  I thought a moment. It would have been absurd to have listened to his honeyed words, but once more I felt nothing but calm and welcome. I looked at Gamelan, and he had a slight smile on his face, lifted his face as if to the warm afternoon sun.

  “Thank you, Sarzana,” I said. “We thank you deeply for welcoming us to your kingdom.”

  The Sarzana’s expression changed, darkened. “Kingdom?” he said, and his voice, too, altered. It was if a sudden storm cloud had rolled across the clear sky. “I who once ruled lands that stretched so wide no man could see them all in a lifetime? This is not my kingdom.

  “This is my doom, Captain. This is my exile. This is where I was sent to die!”

  * * * *

  By midafternoon all of our ships were moored in the harbor and most of the men ashore. The Sarzana said he’d have his minions clean out the death barracks in the village and our people could quarter there. Those of us who heard the offer shuddered collectively at spending even one night in that morgue. The Sarzana saw our response and said we were more than welcome to sleep up here on the plateau if we wished — his enemies had built more than enough rooms when they exiled him to this island.

  Corais boldly chanced a question, and asked what had happened below.

  The Sarzana smiled and his smile wasn’t humorous. He said we’d learn in time, but that was near the end of his tale, and he preferred to tell it later. Unless, he added, the leg
ate was worried that somehow what happened to those scoundrels bore on her fate? Even though his words were a taste harsh, no one took offense. Corais shrugged and said it was his island. All of us were still feeling that odd contentment, as if our troubles had come to an end.

  The Sarzana’s offer was generous, but neither Cholla Yi nor I wanted to be that far from our ships. Also, it would’ve taken too long for the working parties to go up and down that staircase and as long as our ships were near-derelicts, we felt naked, unprotected.

  We decided a small party of my Guardswomen, headed by Corais, would be quartered on the plateau, more to keep an eye on The Sarzana than anything else. The rest of us would use the abandoned houses along the waterfront and cleaning them would be our first task. Two taprooms would be used for Cholla Yi’s and my headquarters. The tavern I’d chosen also had good-sized rooms above-stairs, so these became quarters for Polillo, Aspirant Dica and myself.

  I’d determined to make her a Legate if she survived our next battle and to blazes with the official policy of not making promotions without a higher officer — which meant a man — approving. The long voyage had given me time to think about many things I’d taken for granted in Orissa and there would be changes when we got back.

  The Sarzana informed us he’d planned a feast to celebrate our arrival. We accepted, but told him some of my Guardswomen and a small watch aboard each ship, would be unable to attend. They would mess off ship’s rations. Tomorrow, if none of us fell ill from the food we’d eaten, they could have their own feast. This was common practice when dealing with foreign lords for whom poison might be an ordinary tool of state.

  The Sarzana frowned when I told him we wouldn’t all be able to take advantage of his hospitality and I said, perhaps a little sharply, that we, too, had our customs. He smiled, not taking offense and I felt whatever bit of suspicion I might have felt melt in his warmth. He said custom was a most good thing and that one of his own personal beliefs was the commoner was as deserving a banquet for his or her deeds as any lord. It had been his way, he said, from the very beginning, that nobility and peasants should sit intermingled.

  “If nothing else,” he said, his smile becoming jovial, but never touching his eyes, “I’ve found the man or woman of the soil or sea has far more interesting things to say than the latest court prattlings.”

  I was most impressed, as were my women. This was the way we ate and lived in battle, but in barracks even the Maranon Guard had separate messes for sergeants, officers and privates. I made a note to think about this way of The Sarzana’s. Perhaps when we returned home, this would be another idea worth introducing to the cobwebbed customs of the Army, at least for the Guard. Only Cholla Yi and some of his officers appeared to resent the planned seating arrangement, but none of them said anything within my hearing.

  We toileted in shifts and did our best to smarten up to our best full dress. But it was pretty pathetic. Our dress tunics were salt-spotted and our armor had discolored, in spite of constant polishing. Our brass was a beautiful greenish tint that took much cursing and ashes to remove. We whitened our leather as best we could, although it needed more than oiling and blanco — I hoped we could find time to cut and tan new hides before we sailed on. Our beautiful plumed helms had not taken the passage well and looked like seabirds who’d been tumbled about in a winter’s gale. Only our weapons gleamed with never a stain.

  We ourselves were so many harridans. Polillo took one look in a pierglass set between the two windows that looked out onto the harbor, and moaned. “This isn’t hair, this is a dustmop,” she said, waving a handful of her brown locks at me.

  I tried to be polite, but she was right. My own hair was in even worse shape, since a blonde’s hair and skin is always the weather’s first choice for destruction. We’d combed and washed and when we could, oiled. But the sea and salt air had laughed at our efforts. Somehow, it hadn’t seemed important aboard ship, when we all looked equally good or bad and who gave a damn what any sailor thought. But now, with the promise of this banquet, even though there was no one to impress but The Sarzana and his half-men, we felt shamed.

  But we did what we could with the time and materials we had. And from this came another tale my women would be telling as long as I led them and beyond.

  The villagers of Tristan had evidently been cleanly sorts, because there were more than enough tubs, wooden or metal, for bathing. Two of Cholla Yi’s sailors decided to amuse themselves by peeping on our pastime. One earned himself a broken arm courtesy of a hurled stave by Polillo, the other bruised or broken ribs from a blunt-headed arrow fired by Gerasa.

  Those of us who preferred our limbs hairless stropped our razors or smallknives and shaved. I wondered, as I cut myself and swore, why no Evocator had ever provided a depilatory spell, until I realized men set great store by their own bodily hair and of course paid little heed to a woman’s desires. I did remember having heard tales that some of Orissa’s finer courtesans had their bodies completely ridden of hair below the neck and realized perhaps such a spell did exist and I’d never considered magic as being intended for daily use, until Gamelan began tutoring me.

  And from there came my disaster. Just as I opened my small personal case and groaned, I heard other women complaining. The few cosmetic items we’d carried in our warbags had seen even worse treatment than our bodies. Our powders were caked, our oils were dried and thick, our creams were clotted, our rouges were cracked. This, and the way I’d been thinking a few minutes earlier, brought inspiration. I would save the day. I called for my sergeants and had them collect these dried up items, each marked as to its owner. I thought for a moment and set my own kit in front of the others. I collected a bit of clean rainwater from a nearby cistern, some sweet-smelling flowers from a bush, a bit of oil from the tavern’s kitchen and finally a gaily-colored scarf that’d been abandoned in a closet. I touched the scarf to each of my other ingredients and was ready.

  All I needed was some species of goddess. I thought of Maranonia, but instantly put her aside. If she heard my prayer, she was as likely to turn me into a warthog for bothering her with something so trivial as face powder as grant my wishes.

  I tried to remember another god, but unfortunately, being a true and skeptical Orissan, I grew up paying little attention to any gods except my own hearth god, Maranon, the gods of the city, and any other beings it might have been politic to pray to in a public place. Having a god or godlet for each and every function — why, that was for superstitious peasants and outlanders. I asked if anyone knew of a goddess that might help us and there was a long moment of silence.

  Finally Polillo brightened and said that when she was but a mite of a youth, she remembered a friend of hers, “she was like a young deer,” Polillo mooned, “but she preferred only men, the hairier the better, so she had no time for me. But I remember she used to pray to . . . to some goddess named . . . let me think . . . I have it! Helthoth. No, Heloth. Yes, that’s it. I’m sure of it.”

  By this time about half my Guardswomen had gathered around and I knew I had better pull this one off most handily.

  So I began my spell:

  As you were

  So shall you be

  Listen Heloth

  And grant my plea.

  Turn back

  Turn back

  Turn back again

  Now you are

  What you were.

  As I chanted, I touched my scarf to each of the cases, willing the properties of the oil, the flower, the sweet water, to rejuvenate our powders. I thought I saw a bit of a flicker and looked down at my own case. It looked as if it were brand new, and the nicks and scratches from a hundred hundred campaigns in my warbag were gone.

  I’m afraid I got a little over-excited, this being my first real spell from intent to end. In fact, I yelped, “I did it!”

  Corais was the first to pick up her case and open it, even before I opened mine. She gaped . . . and then she started laughing, laughing like a vixen in the s
pring watching her kits play. I had just time to realize something had gone very wrong and then my fingers fumbled my own case open. My spell had worked very well. In fact, it’d worked too well. My cosmetics had grown young — inside the case was a disgusting mess of ingredients: almonds, before they’d been crushed for their oil, rose petals, metallic powder, butter, olive oil, and all the rest of the things skilled chemists ground and mashed to make unguents from.

  As the laughter grew into hoots, I glumly knew it would be a very long time before the Guard forgot the tale of how Captain Antero Turned Back Time.

  * * * *

  Before we assembled and went back up those stairs to the plateau to meet The Sarzana, I drew Gamelan aside. He, too, was dressed in his best. I’d detailed two of my women off to help him get ready and told them if he gave any sign that they were treating him like a cripple, they would not have to wonder who was assigned to the jakes detail for a long, long time.

  Just as I had before we landed, I asked Gamelan if he sensed any magics being constructed against us.

  He said he did not.

  “But I can tell you one thing for certain, which you certainly will have realized already. This Sarzana is a mighty sorcerer, as mighty, I can feel, even though stripped of my powers, as any I have heard of or encountered. “Further, I sense that he held power in a temporal sense.”

  “Like the Archons?” I said.

  Gamelan thought for awhile. “In a way. It is hard to describe exactly, but with a difference. The Archons learned magic and with that magic seized the throne, true to the tradition of the rulers of Lycanth. This man is different. I feel that this Sarzana, and I wish I knew what that word meant, whether name or title, seized wand and scepter at the same time — and used one to give the other greater strength and then return the favor before he fell.