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

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  “The question now becomes,” he went on, “what sort of shield we might be able to give you so that you can meet him on equal ground, at least for a moment. I must think,” he said. “I must think.”

  He may have been the only one interested in thinking, though, after I made my report personally to Admiral Trahern. He ignored any mention I made of the Archon, as if he still had trouble believing magic existed.

  “Now we have him trapped,” was Trahern’s hearty response, and he ordered all sail clapped on and the oars manned. “We’ll not let The Sarzana escape us this time.”

  From our scouting I knew The Sarzana’s ships hadn’t made any effort to sail out and I had to wonder who was being trapped. I also had to wonder why Trahern’d sent the oarsmen to the sweeps. All that would accomplish would be to exhaust his sailors before the day of battle.

  But I wasn’t consulted, and so held my tongue.

  * * * *

  A week later, we closed on The Alastors. The sail had taken an eternity, even though I was deathly afraid of the battle that would be mounted when we reached them. Was it possible, I dreamed for an instant, that all women and men could learn sorcery, and be able to send their spirits flying wherever they wished? It was an idle thought, but at least a cheerful one amid the grimness surrounding us.

  I’d tried twice more to send my spirit forward, but each time had only stood there naked, dripping oil, and feeling a bit of a fool. The Archon, for so I thought of him regardless of his physical envelope, had firmly bolted that door.

  But there was always another way. We took our galley close in, using night and bad weather to shroud us, then I went into the gut with a hand-picked team of sailors in a longboat, past the two portal cities, far enough to be able to see The Sarzana’s ships as they waited for battle. No. The Sarzana wasn’t running.

  Finally the fleet arrived off the islands, and assembled into its three battle wings. Fleet Admiral Trahern ordered all ship’s captains to assemble on his flagship, the biggest and, I thought the clumsiest, of all the Konyan galleys.

  I went across with Gamelan and Cholla Yi. Cholla Yi was already stewing. “I wonder just how,” he growled, “that pussel-gutted old man will make sure we’ll be denied our fair share of glory?”

  I agreed with him that no doubt Trahern would do something stupid. And indeed he did.

  He’d had one of his pet aides, who evidently had an artistic bent, draw up a wall-size sketch of the way he proposed to fight the battle. It was quite beautiful, and the aide’d had time to add froth-blowing dragons, mermaids and even a sea demon or two along the borders, so as not to obscure our complete understanding of Admiral Trahern’s brilliance.

  It fit right in with the gold- and imperial velvet decorations of the flag cabin, and with Trahern’s ship itself, which made the galley I’d rescued Xia from look like a paragon of subtle decoration and design, with its polished metal and white-clayed knotwork everywhere, and the sideboys and on-deck watch perfect in blue-striped long-sleeved tunics, white pantaloons, bare feet and white gloves.

  Briefly Trahern proposed to divide the fleet into three striking elements. One would hold to the left (west) as we entered the gut and be commanded by Admiral Bhazana, who’d wanted my head when we were captured by the Konyans. He was, at least, a fighter. The wing on the right, the east, would be led by Admiral Bornu, who’d I’d heard was a complete waste, more concerned by who was rogering his roundheeled but rich wife than the ships under him. The center wing, and command of the entire fleet, would be under the command of Trahern himself.

  Trahern’s plan was simple — which was it’s only good point. Our fleet would sail into the bay. It would, somewhere before it reached Ticino find The Sarzana’s fleet. Then all of the Konyan ships would close frontally with The Sarzana’s, board, and victory could only be a few hours away. That was the sum total of his “strategy.”

  I was seething already, having noted there was no mention of our role in the battle. Instead, I forced calm, and asked.

  Admiral Trahern, a little nervously, said, “Well, Captain, and damme but I wish we’d arranged to give you a proper title, harder than all blazes realizin’ you’re more than just a ship’s officer, we thought you and your, uh, men, I mean, command, would be our reserve, ready to fling yourselves into the fray at the proper moment.”

  There’d been a few snickers when he said ‘men,’ not only because of my Guards, but because of Nor’s unfortunates. I ignored them. “Which will be?” I asked.

  “Well,” Trahern hedged, “at my signal, of course. Or, once their fleet is broken, perhaps you’ll be useful in the mopping up. Yes, that’ll be your role.”

  I was about to explode, and all at once everything came to me, precisely and as crystalline as if I were looking down on a battle-miniature under glass. I knew what we must do, and, more importantly, realized Admiral Trahern had given us the opportunity. It was just then Cholla Yi boiled to his feet, sending his chair crashing. I spun, and time froze, just for an instant. Cholla Yi had his mouth open, ready to bellow his frenzy at being left out yet again, and I looked him straight in the eye. I make no claim for working magic at that moment. No spell came, I swear. But somehow what was in my mind must’ve signaled, because he clamped his mouth shut, and, without saying anything, turned and stamped out.

  Admiral Trahern was red, about to shout an order for this unruly pirate to be hurled into irons, then regained control. “My apologies for my compatriot,” I said smoothly. “He’s merely caught up in the desire to destroy this evil, as are we all. Isn’t that correct?”

  Trahern nodded jerkily, accepting what I’d said.

  “As long as I’m on my feet,” I went on, “I have a question about your strategy. You seem to be forgetting the curse that surrounds those who kill their rulers here in Konya. One of the reasons the Council of Purity listened to me,” and I put emphasis into my voice for this latter, “and Princess Xia, was of their wish for me, or my forces, to keep the blood from their hands. Are you saying you propose to defy that curse?”

  There were mutters from the other captains, and I saw fear on the faces of more than a few. Trahern harrumphed.

  “As to the curse, well, I must say I’ve never been entirely comfortable with certain beliefs the masses hold true. I mean, whatever happened to the man, whoever he was, who actually cut the throat of our late King, or however he died? I haven’t seen any such ghost being pursued through the streets of Isolde by demons.”

  He forced a laugh, and was the only one in the room to do so.

  “But in fact, Captain Antero, I have taken the curse into account. We have every intent of using your forces to the fullest at the proper time, and have no intent of violating The Council’s wishes in any way.” Trahern looked a little nervous at that thought. “But to be realistic, I must say that if The Sarzana happens to fall in battle at the hands of an unknown soldier or archer, well, whatever penalties might be put on that wight’s soul will be balanced by the honors we Konyans hold his memory in.

  “But I do not think that will happen, which is why I’ve designated your galleys as our reserve. Once we’ve isolated The Sarzana on his flagship, and boarded it, I will signal, either by flag or by magical sign from one of my own wizards, for you and your women to administer the final stroke that will free our lands.

  “I’m glad you had the question, Captain, and enabled me to clear up this small misunderstanding.”

  Misunderstanding, indeed. Trahern was even a bigger ass than I’d dreamed. It was clear he intended all glory from the death of The Sarzana would cling to him, and would doom all around to make that so. Again, I was reminded of General Jinnah — another man who’d rather lose a war than face reality.

  I kept a stony face, however, bowed and excused myself, saying I had to order my galleys, and I’d be paying close attention to his signals. Trahern knew — or thought he knew — what I was thinking, and was glad to see me leave. I took Gamelan’s arm and we left the cabin.

&
nbsp; As we came on deck, I saw Cholla Yi, pacing back and forth by the railing. He was alone on the deck — none of the Konyans had courage enough to approach this great bear of a man with his spiked hair and face black with rage.

  I was about to go to him, when Gamelan stopped me. “Rali,” he said softly. “Is there anything close at hand that reflects?”

  I thought for a moment he had gone mad, then recovered. “Almost everything,” I told him. “Admiral Trahern evidently believes that if something moves it’s to be saluted, and if it doesn’t it’s to be polished.”

  “Lead me to something like that. Metal, by preference.”

  Not three feet away was a decorative shield of some sort, made of bronze and hung from a bulkhead. I obeyed.

  “Take out your dagger,” he said, “and prick your finger.”

  “Gamelan — ”

  “Rali, do as I say!”

  I heard the crackle of command, and remembered this man, blind though he was, had ruled all of the Evocators of Orissa, and obeyed.

  He said, “Smear a bit of blood on the edge of this thing, whatever it is. Just at the edge, where it’ll not be found. And don’t let yourself be seen.”

  Again I obeyed. The Konyans on the deck were intent on their duties, as anyone who wishes to survive aboard a ship flying an admiral’s flag, or else gazing in wonderment at Cholla Yi. I touched my finger to the side of the shield.

  “Now, collect Cholla Yi and let’s away.”

  “Will you explain?”

  “Perhaps. Later.”

  * * * *

  Cholla Yi sat in the sternsheets of my longboat, still enraged. We went directly to his galley, and I followed him to his cabin. He started to pour himself a glass of wine, then stopped. He turned, looming over me.

  “Well?” was all he said.

  I explained my realization. Trahern’s plan of attack was impossibly stupid. There was no way I could believe The Sarzana wasn’t expecting us. It seemed he was more than pleased to let the Konyans sail right up to him. He must have some sort of an advantage, besides the slight numerical one.

  “Of course he has,” Cholla Yi put in. “Which is why I wanted to tell that vomit-brained . . . never mind. Continue.”

  I did. What was our battle? What was our concern?

  “The Archon,” Cholla Yi grudged. “Assuming you weren’t mind-clouded by a spell, and he, or his ghost or whatever the hell it is, are one with The Sarzana.”

  “Right. Once he’s dead, or possibly even captured, the war’s over. Right?”

  “Again.”

  I went on. I had no interest in sacrificing my women for the Konyans, nor in spending the lives of Cholla Yi’s pirates if it didn’t accomplish the goal we’d been assigned by our Orissan leaders. This battle, even if there weren’t any nasty surprises prepared by The Sarzana, would be a bloodbath. I assumed Cholla Yi planned to return to Orissan seas with some of his ships and men or, if he planned to stay in Konya he’d be wanting something resembling a navy that was floating instead of sitting at the bottom of the Bay of Ticino.

  “Again, granted.”

  So Admiral Trahern could call us what he wished, a mobile reserve or pink lions if he wished. We were after The Sarzana. If we could take him, anything we did after that would be forgiven.

  “True. Plus we’ve got your little birdie the princess along, and she’ll be listened to once we get back to Konya.”

  “Exactly.”

  What I proposed was that we let the three wings engage the enemy. I’d prepare a spell to find the bastard. When we did, we’d strike directly for his ship, paying no heed to anyone or anything else.

  “In the confusion of battle,” Cholla Yi said, his rage fading by the word, “such a plan, boldly carried through, stands a good chance of succeeding. If we strike as one, dagger-formation perhaps, straight through the melee . . . hmm. And if we’re the ones who come back with the head of The Sarzana, and whatever the hell it takes to make sure that damned Archon’s down in the depths for good and all . . . damn, damn, damn. We’ll be able to rename Isolde Yi . . . or Antero, if we wish.”

  Now he poured wine — two glasses, and he ceremoniously handed the first one to me.

  “Captain Antero,” he said, “I think you may not only have come up with a plan that’ll cover us with glory, which means gold, but also may keep most of us alive to spend it. You’re a real warrior, Captain.”

  He started to say more, stopped himself, and drank.

  As I sipped, I found it hard to hold back a grin, wondering what words might’ve slipped out: “. . . for a woman?” “. . . a pity you were born cloven?” “. . . almost a man’s man?”

  It didn’t matter. I finished my wine, and returned to my galley.

  No one slept that night.

  And the next morning, we sailed into battle.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THE MAILED CRESCENT

  The Sarzana’s ships were waiting. Their battle-formation was a huge semi-circle blocking the bay, which curved from the eastern shallows of the gut to the steep cliffs on the west. It was a bright morning and I saw the gleam of armor on the enemy ships.

  Our galleys sat rolling in the gentle swell, oars at the lift, as the three wings of the Konyan navy went forward to meet the mailed crescent. We hadn’t sent our masts down, since we might need full maneuvering speed later in the day. Cholla Yi’s galley sat not thirty feet from my own and I had the morbid thought we were but idle spectators at some great match — with life as the prize. Xia was beside me on the quarterdeck, wearing her new armor and a sword belted about her waist.

  I’d wanted to assign her a bodyguard, but she’d refused. Corais, Pollilo and Gamelan were also on the quarterdeck — as were Stryker and Duban. Gamelan was accompanied by his two guards. One of his companions, Pamphylia, had become expert at being the “eyes” for the wizard, and her low drone of narration had become a familiar backdrop to the Evocator’s presence.

  Oars flashed and feathered on The Sarzana’s warfleet as they got under way. The wind blowing up the gut toward Ticino suddenly died. Then another arose, answering the call of our enemy’s magic. It blasted south into our faces and the sails on The Sarzana’s ships bellied and filled. The Konyan wizards struck back, and the sails flapped emptily as their counterspell broke The Sarzana’s wind-magic. Winds gusted and swirled from all points of the compass. Cholla Yi bellowed orders, and we, too, began moving, making sure we kept the proper distance behind the Konyan battle line — close enough to give support if summoned, far enough away to avoid entanglement when the fighting began.

  I had the sudden impulse to cast my tern-spell and observe the struggle from the skies. Fortunately, I asked Gamelan, and he grimaced. “Rali,” he said, “I thought I had taught you better and I certainly thought you brighter. What do you think would happen if you send yourself spiraling up there, as innocent as any noble booby who takes a picnic to a battlefield to watch the gore splatter, and either of our great enemies happens to sight you, hanging there with no safeguards, no sense, and no cover? Woman, do you have to look for the executioner’s ax with your neck?” I was properly chastened.

  But it didn’t matter. I don’t know exactly what to call it, more than a vision, less than actual sight, but it was if I was hanging in the sky overhead or atop one of the cliffs to the west, and could see everything that happened on that dismal day. Just as the Konyans, The Sarzana’s forces appeared to be divided into three battle groups as well. It may have been chance, or perhaps that was a standard tactic in these islands, but to me it boded no good, and suggested there might well have been some spying, magical or otherwise, and The Sarzana had cleverly planned to have his forces capable of responding independently to any equal threat from us.

  I tried to look beyond the crescent as it moved forward, back up the bay toward Ticino. Once again I saw that bewildering “mist” — lying low between me and the city, just where The Sarzana’s reserve ships should’ve been. I still couldn’t see what lay ins
ide that fogbank, but now knew what it must be — The Sarzana had developed some sort of new magical weapon to be deployed at the proper moment. This was the second ill omen of the day. Then I noted that the clifftops to the west were barren of life.

  Somehow that made the day even more strange. If a seabattle was being fought close to most cities, the entire populace would turn out to cheer their own warriors, worry about their own fate, or simply to gape over the spectacle. I wondered what had happened to the people of Ticino. I had a moment to wonder if we would enter a city emptied save of blood smeared streets if The Sarzana fell on this day.

  “They’re firin’,” Stryker grunted, and I, too, saw the ranging splashes rise up ahead of the on-rushing Konyan galleys.

  “Very good,” Polillo said, trying to sound optimistic. “We can hope they waste all their weapons killing those waves between us.”

  I could see war engines on the bows of the enemy ships, and saw trebuchets buck as they lofted boulders through the air. I thought I could hear the thumps as their wooden arms struck the padded crossbars, and I could see them being wound back down for another launching. In Isolde, I’d suggested to Admiral Trahern the Konyan ships appeared under-equipped with such gear, but he said there was no place for machinery in their wars — Konyan battles were decided by steel and blood, not wood, rope and iron. The few devices the Konyan ships had were all that would be necessary for victory, and he had little interest in duplicating any of the special weapons I’d designed. Obviously he’d never learned the truism there’s no such thing as too much in battle.

  I felt fear crawl up my spine — fear and the certainty of doom; with the added knowledge that I was worse than useless as a captain, more of a danger to my women then the enemy. But this I’d felt before. This was the same spell the Archon had leveled against us, so long ago when we killed his brother at the volcanoes. It still was unsettling, but at least being familiar the feeling was endurable.