“That was the way The Sarzana sealed us to him,” Nor said. “He wanted warriors with their manly virtues, and my pardon for using such trite words to someone who must know better, undamaged. Even better, a man with his seeds intact, but with no way of relieving his desires or needs, would make a deadly fighter, always brimming with blind rage. That was The Sarzana’s thinking, and he was quite right. We were terrors and would kill or maim anyone, child, man or beast, at his slightest whim.”
“How could he hold you to him, considering the crime he’d done to you,” I wondered. “Magic?”
“A bit of that,” Nor said. “When he was torn from the throne, a veil was lifted that he’d cast on us. But there was something more. He took all of us when we were small children. None of us know who we are, who our parents were, or even where our homes might be. The Sarzana had us kidnapped and . . . cut by a special team of men — although I find it impossible to claim them as human — who also ran his torture chamber; or for such tasks even poor bastards such as we would refuse. None of them lived beyond the day The Sarzana fell.
“We were raised and trained separate from the rest of the people; always told we were special and the gods had caused us to be birthed with only one goal — to serve and die for The Sarzana.” Nor grimaced. “You tell a child that ten or a thousand times a day from the time he can walk, and you will produce, well, what you see standing out there.”
“So you want revenge?”
“Yes,” Nor said. “That was the only dream we have. Somehow most of us managed to survive the day the palace fell and somehow we found each other. That was five years ago and we had but one goal — to send The Sarzana into the worst hell the gods can design. We called ourselves the Broken Men. I will tell you frankly we were attempting to mount a conspiracy, to find the island where The Sarzana was exiled, and seek him there. We’d already purchased five ships for the mission from some Konyan corsairs; ships not very different in design from yours, although I doubt if they’re as easily-sailed or rowed. We’d spent time teaching ourselves how to sail them as well, both in storm and calm.
“None of us gave, or give, the slightest damn for the curse that comes on he who slays a king of Konya. What curse could be worse than waking each morning and having to piss through this straw,” and he touched the jeweled tube in his hair, “and know no woman will look at you, no child will carry your name down the ages, and no one will bother sending your ghost to peace when you lie dead?
“So when The Sarzana used his magic against you Orissans, and found freedom, while most Konyans wept and tore their hair, we celebrated. He was . . . is . . . approaching his final doom.”
“You think you’re that invincible?” I said, not bothering to sound impressed.
“Of course not. I’m a soldier, not a fool. Perhaps he will return and regain the throne. But none of us will be alive on that day. Captain Antero, I know one thing — that if you believe something strongly enough, to the point your own death is meaningless, you have a good chance of reaching that goal.”
“True,” I said. “So you wish to serve directly under me?”
“That is the only way we’ll join this fleet. Otherwise, we’ll find a way to fight our own battle. We can buy more ships, or steal them if necessary. And even a sorcerer like The Sarzana can be taken from behind with a dagger at midnight, if there’s no other way.”
I didn’t reply at once, thinking of the problems that could well arise. I decided since Nor had been brutally honest with me, I would return the favor.
“If I accept your service, you must obey me, and all my officers and sergeants, absolutely in all ways.”
“Of course we will! We aren’t babes.”
“You don’t understand me. I mean you must obey any of us if we tell you not to fight, not to charge, not to throw your lives away in some futile attack merely because there is the slightest hope of seeing The Sarzana within bowshot. There’s an old soldier’s joke that says you must never be shield-companion with someone who’s braver than you are. Braver, or more reckless. That is my only condition, Nor; but one you must accept completely. I also shall require your men to swear an oath to do the same, in front of whatever gods you hold most sacred.”
Now it was Nor’s turn for silence. He grimaced, thinking hard. Finally he looked up.
“I accept. I don’t necessarily agree with you — the gods have always blessed those who go mad in battle, and care nothing for their own safety. But . . . I accept your conditions.” He drew himself rigid and clapped his right hand against his heart.
I returned the salute, while privately wondering whether I believed him or not. The Broken Men were unlikely to hold god-oaths any more sacred than anything else, especially when the fight waged furious. But I decided I could deal with that problem when it arose. Until then, I had twice the number of warriors as I’d had an hour earlier, and the inexorable game of numbers requires many compromises.
* * * *
There is never any real end when it comes to preparing for battle. No matter how hard you train, it can always be argued more is required. No matter how well you’re armed, there’s always a newer and better weapon about someone will want you to carry. And ships can be made more seaworthy until the oceans run dry. But there comes a moment when every soldier knows it’s time to face her enemy. From that point on, your enemy can only get stronger and more deadly.
That day finally came for us. The tide was right; the winds were right; and even the soothsayers had their last say.
All of Isolde turned out to see the great fleet depart. There were processions and speeches and wine and incense. Soldiers dallied with maids on the wharf for one last rutting, and even the most prudish smiled and said, isn’t that sweet, poor things. Horns blew, drums rolled, and bright clouds of ceremonial kites swooped in fantastic patterns across the sky. Mothers cried out the names of their sons as they boarded; fathers wept in envy for not boarding with them; and sisters wept for not being considered at all. Then pipes were piped and sails were hoisted and soon the entire sea was alive with white-winged ships speeding for their destiny.
As for me — while I watched all the well wishers on the shore diminish — I recalled another day when we marched from Orissa.
It seemed like such a long lonely eternity, Scribe, since the prayers of good fortune had been for me and mine.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WINDRIDER
Fleet Admiral Trahern may’ve made all the correct sounds about being equals, but once we were at sea it was firmly fixed who was in charge, at least in his mind. Both Cholla Yi and I were clear subordinates. Important ones, yes, but certainly not to be taken into Trahern’s confidences unless he deemed it fitting. That became obvious when Trahern sent a fast courier boat with his chief aide, carrying orders thinly veiled as a report.
The aide said the Konyan wizards had determined that The Sarzana and his allies were lurking in the Alastors, an island chain about three weeks to the south, where they seemed to have found a base for their battlefleet. Trahern “suggested” we continue scouting as we had been, and correct our course so we remained directly in front of his ships. That was all — the aide had no instructions about asking for our observations or ideas.
It was amusing to see Cholla Yi fume and fuss at being treated in such a “shameful” way. Perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist quietly mentioning that Trahern’s behavior was most discourteous, and he should’ve patterned his style after Cholla Yi’s, particularly the way the Admiral had treated us when we set forth from Lycanth. All my sarcasm accomplished was to make him angrier.
Xia was even hotter, snarling she’d been betrayed, and this was no way to treat nobility. It was afternoon, in a sleepy midwatch, and all I could hear outside our cabin was the creak of the ship and the bootheels of the watch on deck above us as he walked to and fro. I was sprawled on the bed, and she sat beside me, legs curled under her. I told her she was right, but that was the way of the world, both here and
in Orissa. Men appeared to be men wherever I went. Perhaps, I said, she might become Queen one day, and begin a new way of thinking that’d end the silliness. She looked at me oddly.
After a moment she frowned, and started to say something further. But I had other thoughts, feeling the warmth in my bones looking at her as she sat in the dim glow from the deadlight. She caught my look and gave a knowing laugh — then all her anger melted in our embrace.
* * * *
I hadn’t gone into a rage of my own because I knew in advance that Trahern had no intent of treating us as equals, and had therefore planned how — and when — I’d deal with it. As long as we weren’t in contact with the enemy, I could accept the situation as it was. I concentrated my energies on daily drills to make sure everyone in our small fleet understood the new way I proposed we would fight. The change was great, as great as chalk to cheese.
The greatest change was in attitude. Instead of thinking ourselves as infantry that happened to be aboard ship instead of land, we were going to think like cavalry. There’s no greater sin a horsewoman can make than to be unhorsed to become one with the common swine she tramples under her hooves. In our case, our horses were our ships. We were only to “dismount,” in other words to board, when we were sure we’d crippled our opponent, just as a cavalrywoman only leaves her horse to administer the final mercy to a fallen enemy.
We were trying to destroy our enemy utterly, not just take the ground he was fighting from, which in a naval fight meant his ship. Burn him, ram him, drive him on the rocks, destroy his sails or oars and he would be out of the battle.
Naturally, Cholla Yi’s captains set up a clamor, again moaning that meant they’d take no prizes. I told them I understood, secretly cursing and wishing I had seamen under me who fought for the love of their city rather than for gold. But what I had, I had, and so I told them if they obeyed my orders, they might not take a prize at that moment, but when the battle was won, there’d be more than enough drifting hulks to claim. Wouldn’t it be easier, I asked, to seize such a ship from its demoralized, surrendering crew than have to take it by force of arms?
Also, if they didn’t close and board a ship unless they had the distinct advantage, their own craft would be less likely to be damaged or sunk. I reminded them these huge galleys of The Sarzana we’d be facing would no doubt have derrick-hung stones that could be dropped straight down from their decks when we tried to grapple them, and send us straight to the bottom without further ado. They didn’t like to admit there could be something new on the sea, let alone ideas produced by greenlings who also were women. So we went over the theory again and again, until little by little it sank in. Any time one of them said something that mirrored one of our thoughts I complimented him and told him we’d incorporate that into our thinking.
Eventually, it appeared to them they’d had as much to do with this new strategy as we had, and then, with the general idea accepted we could begin endless drilling the specific tactics. Sailors learned how to work their galleys handily in close quarters, practicing one against another, backing, filling, darting in and out like hounds worrying a boar, never holding still long enough for the tushes to slash them down.
We learned how to fight in two- or three-ship elements, striking always for the flanks and where blood showed. We would give no mercy, not expecting any ourselves, nor would we fight a “fair” battle, whatever that means. We had more than enough time to lower sails and turn aside from our course, since our galleys had three or four times as much speed as the hulking Konyan ships behind us.
There was also new weaponry to mount and train on, weapons I’d had built secretly in a small yard and moved onto our galleys under cover of night. They were special catapults, with double troughs set at slightly divergent angles. Somebody’d seen one as we loaded it and asked if we planned on shooting two arrows at once. I just said yes, and didn’t explain, assuming The Sarzana had spies thoroughly covering Konya, or else might be observing magically. I’d worried, but Gamelan had reassured me: “just because someone may be able to look at something doesn’t mean he can tell what it is, or what it’s intended for, now does it?”
Polillo had been detailed off to train sailors how, and more importantly when to fire these catapults, which were intended for use deep in the battle.
She’d snarled she had more than enough to do making sure her women were ready, plus keep herself in shape so that Precious, her ax, would drink deep in the fight. Someone else could worry about those damned sea dogs of Cholla Yi.
Corais laughed, and said she was being innocent. She herself would never turn down a chance to teach a man something in his own supposed area of expertise. “It’d be almost as good as showing one of these leap-on, leap-off, drop a coin and gone oafs how to really pleasure a lass.”
Polillo had grinned wickedly, then said, dreamily, “Now, there is a thought. Perhaps, if I’m nice enough, one of them might introduce me to his sister.”
“Careful,” Corais warned. “Sailors don’t have sisters. They only mate with porgies and lighthouse keepers.”
I paid little attention to their chatter, deep in my conjectures as to how the Archon had managed to send fire spitting across the waters, and while I’d not been able to come up with a spell that would let me do the same, I thought I might have devised an incantation that could prove a stronger counter than what Gamelan had been able to produce on the instant.
Gamelan was another problem. As much as he tried not to be a burden, and not always be the specter at the feast, he was hardly the picture of cheerfulness. I heard Sergeant Bodilon refer to him once as Evocator Darkness, and took her aside and asked sharply if she herself would bear up handily should she lose both her arms. Bodilon said if that happened, she’d find the nearest cliff and leap rather than wander about glooming to her once-fellows.
I retorted, “then, it’s evident who’s got the greater courage, isn’t it, since Gamelan soldiers on without giving up.” She started at what I said, then bowed her head, apologized and said I was right.
Maybe I was, but something had to be done about our Evocator. I began to worry that he might, indeed, take Bodilon’s way out, and considered warning the two women who were his caretakers.
Then another thought came. I ran it back and forth, and it seemed to have a bit of merit. Or, at any rate, to be something that’d not make matters worse.
The next day was clear and sharp, spray coming off the bow as we made full sail toward where The Sarzana would be waiting. There was a slight haze in the air, just enough to blur the horizon and make it a glow. Gamelan was in his usual daytime post in the bows staring forward as if he could see. I jerked my head for his two companions to leave us, and greeted him.
“How goes the planning, Rali?” he said, his voice dull and lifeless.
I was surprised at his tone. It’d been days since I’d had time to think about him, and I realized just how much his morale had plunged — like a soldier whose wounds refuse to heal. We talked a bit, and I led the conversation to the predictions of Admiral Trahern’s sorcerers that The Sarzana was close.
“I think they’re most likely right,” he said. “Not because I can feel even a hint of my powers, but out of pure logic from all the years I’ve lived.”
“Go on,” I said.
“The Sarzana, or at least so he told us, had his first triumph when he destroyed the fleet the Konyan king sent against him. Wouldn’t he want to repeat his triumph?”
“Of course,” I said. “That’s a trap every soldier must be wary of. If it worked once, it’ll work again and again until one day you walk into an ambush and are slaughtered by an enemy who learned your habits better than you did his.”
“Even more to the point,” Gamelan went on, “it’s in The Sarzana’s best interests to break the Council of Purity as rapidly as possible. His bloody ways won’t be peaceably accepted for long, if there’s an alternative. But if he can shatter the only rule the Konyans know, then they’ll most likely acce
pt him rather than risk complete chaos.” Gamelan sighed. “So we’ll meet them soon I’m sure.
“Unfortunately, I’m also sure we’ll be lured onto ground of The Sarzana . . . and The Archon’s . . . choosing. Perhaps I’m being vain, but none of the wizards I’ve spoken to in Konya impressed me as having half the powers of The Sarzana, let alone the Archon’s . . . Gods,” and his voice turned fierce, “this is the battle that’ll settle Konya and perhaps the fate of Orissa, and I might as well be put at the gate with a bowl to beg! Rali, if you knew how many ways I’ve prayed and thought and wished for even a touch of my powers to come back!”
“I know,” I said. I let the silence hang, then said, as quietly as I knew, “A thought came to me last night, Gamelan, that might be of some help, and perhaps--”
Before I could continue he’d spun and had me by the arms. His face thrust forward, as if he could will sight, could somehow look into my eyes. “Anything, my friend. Anything, please. I cannot continue as I am much longer.”
I waited until he calmed, then began. “I don’t know very much about wizardry,” I said, “in spite of your teachings. By that, I mean I don’t know how the talent comes on you.”
“It comes as it went,” he said. “Without bidding or whether you wish it. Now I wish it’d never cursed me, but left me as a fisherman on the banks of our river.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said, paying no mind to his bitterness. “And I know it’s cheaper in lives if a soldier can figure a way around a defended position, or else take it from the rear than to shout battlecries and make a frontal charge.”
“Which is what I’ve been doing, trying to force my powers to come back,” Gamelan said. “So what is the way around, my cunning friend?”
The Warrior's Tale (The Far Kingdoms, Book 2) Page 43