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

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  With much relief we made it through without incident. But we stretched sail with haste and flew from that place as fast as we could. That night the skies cleared and we were treated to the sight of more familiar stars. The next day dawned bright and balmy, and although we still had a long way to go, we all felt that now, we were truly going home.

  Some days later I went to Cholla Yi’s ship for a conference. Although we’d sailed these waters before, they were still generally unknown to us and with our fleet so pared down I thought we ought to be prepared for pirates. There was a small gig tied up beside the gangway. Cholla Yi was having another visitor besides myself. I ordered my boatmen to tie up to the gig, and stay in the boat to keep it from swamping as it was towed along by the galley.

  I boarded as the watch was changing and as proof that we’d perhaps become too unwary, no one hailed my coming. The officer in charge seemed startled when he saw me and saluted. I returned the salute, and when he started to escort me to Cholla Yi’s cabin, I told him to stay.

  “I’d do a little lookout skinning if I were you,” I said. “If they missed me, who else aren’t they going to see?” He muttered an apology and I made my own way along the deck.

  I hesitated at the door when I heard the unmistakable rattle of a dice cup, then the throw. Someone cursed at the result. It was Stryker, who must’ve come over from our galley without my noticing his departure.

  “I ain’t never seen such luck! If’n we wasn’t usin’ my dice, I’d ask to check if’n they’d been shaved.”

  Cholla Yi laughed. “That’s six straight passes. Want to put up the rest of your share to see if I can make it seven?”

  I smiled. With all the riches on board, Cholla Yi still wasn’t satisfied with a share that would please a prince. He was busy skinning his own men for more. He gave new meaning to the phrase, “pirate’s greed.”

  Stryker forced a return laugh. “What’d yer go ’n do, Admiral? Make a bargain with a demon?”

  Cholla Yi’s voice hardened. “What are you accusing me of?”

  Stryker was instantly contrite. “Nothin’. Nothin’ t’all, Admiral. I was only cursin’ yer infernal good luck.”

  Cholla Yi relented, chuckling. ”You’re as bad with a dice cup as you are with a bow. I remember a time when you had a good clean shot, wind just right, and everybody too busy keeping their skin together to notice what you were up to. And then you go and miss.”

  And Stryker said: “Weren’t my fault. And weren’t that easy. Deck was pitchin’ somethin’ fierce. Had half-a-dozen devils a’ter me hide. ’Sides, we’re talkin’ luck nobody could match. I mean, yer luck’s nothin’ next to — ”

  “Watch your tongue,” Cholla Yi cut in. “On a ship you never know who might be listening.”

  I flushed as the bolt inadvertently hit a guilty target. Wondering if the poor bastard they were referring to ultimately escaped with his life, I knocked.

  “Come in,” Cholla Yi barked.

  When they saw me both men flushed and rose quickly to their feet. I nearly laughed. On this ship, guilt was as contagious as a summer chill.

  Cholla Yi stammered a greeting: “I . . . uh . . . it’s . . . uh . . . a pleasure to see you, Captain Antero. Stryker and I were . . . uh . . . just . . . uh . . . ”

  “Havin’ a bit of a game,” Stryker broke in, coming to his admiral’s rescue. “’Course, he’s takin’ more’n a bit outter me, if yer knows what I mean . . . har, har, har.”

  They were acting like school boys caught doing something naughty, rather than studying. Now, I did laugh.

  “Gentlemen, please!” I said. “I’m no stiff-backed prude. In fact, I’ve been known to shake a dice cup or two to pass the time.”

  Both men chuckled, but the sound was hollow.

  “What can I do for you, Captain?” Cholla Yi asked.

  “I thought we might discuss security, Admiral,” I said. “These waters have an unfriendly look.”

  “Good thought,” Cholla Yi said. He shot Stryker a look that snapped him to attention and the rogue quickly made himself scarce.

  Cholla Yi and I got down to business over goblets of brandy. He was quick to agree to my suggestions, and soon we were done. Then he refilled our goblets and raised his in salute. “We’ve had a good run, Captain,” he said. “I’m almost sorry to see it coming to an end.”

  I returned the toast, then drank. I said: “It certainly hasn’t turned out the way General Jinnah expected, has it?”

  Cholla Yi’s face darkened. “What’s your point?” he snapped.

  I was surprised by his tone. “Why, nothing to take offense at,” I said. “I thought it obvious that Jinnah was only trying to get me out of the way so he didn’t have to share credit. He never intended, much less envisioned our success.”

  “Jinnah cheated me and my men out of our rightful shares of the spoils, is what he did,” Cholla Yi snarled. For some reason his old resentments had flown back to roost.

  “You’ll have the last laugh, then,” I said. “We’re loaded to the gunwales with gold. Much more than would’ve been yours if we’d stayed.”

  But Cholla Yi would not be calmed. “I started out with fifteen good ships of the line,” he said. “Now I have seven, and they’re so beaten up they’re worthless. That’s not right, I tell you. I was cheated.”

  I didn’t point out that a mere handful of the Konyan baubles that was his due would replace his lost ships — and more. With so little time left in our voyage, I wanted a happy pirate to sail with. No sense jeopardizing things when we were so close.

  “I’ll see it’s all made right by you,” I promised. “If it comes down to it, I’ll pay for it out of my share.”

  “So you think it’s just money I’m after, is that it?” Cholla Yi snarled. “What about respect? Pay me off and you’ve seen the last of me, huh? When they need me, it’s Admiral this, and Admiral that, and why don’t you go off and die for our cause, sir? But when the war’s done, me and my lads are nothing more than common villains in their view.”

  I’d had enough. He seemed to care little about keeping the peace between us. “You’ve reminded me many a time, sir, that you are a mercenary. That gold is the only banner you sail for. Fine, by me. I’ve found you gold aplenty. You also have my respect — as a fighter — if that counts for anything. But as for the rest — why that’s the life you’ve chosen for yourself, my friend.”

  I swept the dice into the cup and shook. “If you don’t like the toss, you have only yourself to blame.”

  I upended the cup. Cholla Yi reflexively glanced down. He gasped. I looked for myself and saw seven pips — Fortune’s favorite — staring up.

  Cholla Yi seemed pale, shaken. He gulped brandy. Then he said: “Forgive my temper, Captain Antero.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’ve not slept well of late. And my head has been throbbing so fiercely I’d like to rip it off.”

  I didn’t care, but I didn’t want to sound unfeeling. “I’m sorry, myself,” I said. “I should have seen you weren’t well. Is there anything I can do? Perhaps an elixir from our wizard?”

  Cholla Yi shook his head — a firm no. Then he smiled, turning on his roguish charm. “This is all the elixir I need,” he said, indicating the brandy. He upended the goblet, then wiped his beard. “I’ll see to the defense arrangements we discussed,” he said, and the interview was at an end. We chatted a few minutes more and then parted company.

  Just outside I heard the dice cup rattle, then the clatter of the toss. Cholla Yi cursed. The result must not have been good.

  What this all signified, I didn’t know.

  * * * *

  Polillo mourned Corais even more deeply than I. They’d been constant companion for so many years it was hard to imagine one without the other. They were as different in temperament as in coloring and size, but each complemented the other. Polillo gave Corais strength and bull-headed courage; while Corais offered speed, and sharp-witted cunning. Together they made fearsome adversaries against any
one foolish enough to go up against them on a battlefield, or in a tavern fight.

  Polillo didn’t mope about or weep after Corais died. Instead, she threw herself into her work, constantly drilling the women, teaching them new fighting tricks she’d thought up, or just holding their hands and there-there-ing them when their own troubles spilled over. She’d changed in other ways as well.

  One day in practice, as she was dodging the thrust of a wooden sword, I saw her trip over one of the sailors who’d moved too close to watch all the jouncing feminine flesh.

  In pain, he pushed at her, shouting, “Get off me, you great cow!”

  The deck went to instant hush. Polillo climbed slowly to her feet. She loomed over the sailor, who’d gone white as death itself.

  “What did you call me, little man?” Polillo demanded.

  The sailor gulped. I knew he was cursing the demons who’d seized command of his tongue.

  I also remembered a man who’d made a similar insult at a dockside tavern in Orissa. We’d been peacefully drinking and wenching and the man had taken offense because the inn keeper’s daughter preferred Polillo’s company to his. So he’d hit Polillo from behind with a chair, shouting, “Take that, you cow!” Polillo is sensitive about her ample endowments. She took offense.

  Before we knew it, she’d caught the man and had crushed his face against her breasts, shouting “Moo, Moo, you bastard,” as she smothered him.

  If Corais hadn’t intervened she’d have killed him for sure.

  I had visions of the same thing happening here and started to step forward. But, to my amazement, Polillo suddenly grinned, and reached down and ruffled the poor sailor’s hair. Then she sniffed at him, wrinkling her nose.

  “Pissed your breeches, didn’t you?” she said.

  The man only bobbed his head.

  “Better go wash off,” she advised. “Nothing worse than a piss rash.”

  As she turned away, the sailor keeled over in a dead faint.

  “Buy you a drink, beautiful?” I said as she dusted off her tunic.

  “Best offer I’ve had all day,” she said, looping her arm through mine as we adjourned to my quarters to sample a pale Konyan liquor that had a kick like a war-horse.

  “That was an impressive display of mercy,” I said, after we’d settled into serious drinking.

  Polillo shrugged. “Corais always said my hot temper was my worst fault,” she said. “Now that’s she’s gone I have to keep a lid on it myself.” Her eyes misted. “I guess I depended on her for a lot of things,” she said. “I’m such a moody bitch. Don’t know how she put up with me.” She gave an angry swipe at a tear.

  “She loved you, Polillo,” I said. “We all do. And as for your moods, I’ve always thought they came hand in hand with the great gifts the gods gave you so you wouldn’t be too perfect.”

  She snorted. “Gifts? I’m big and I’m ugly. What kind of gifts are those?”

  I was shocked. “Ugly?” I said. “Why, Polillo, there isn’t a woman in world who wouldn’t be jealous of your looks.”

  This was true. As I’ve said before, Polillo was perfectly formed. Not one ounce of fat spoiled the curve of her figure. Her legs were as graceful as a dancer’s, and her face, with those huge, glowing eyes, would make the greatest limner itch for paint and linen.

  “I don’t break mirrors, at least,” she grudged. “But you have to admit I’m of freakish size and strength.”

  “You’ve been blessed with the strength of heroes, not freaks,” I said. “And some day, when these times are nothing but distant memories, songs will be sung about you, my dearest friend. The ode makers will tell the tale of the beautiful woman who had the strength of ten big men. You might as well face it. You were born to be a woman of legend.”

  Polillo giggled. “With a bitch of a temper,” she said.

  “With a bitch of a temper,” I agreed.

  She took a pull on her drink. “I guess in my time I have cracked a few noggins that need cracking,” she allowed.

  “Undoubtedly,” I said.

  “Beginning with my father,” she said.

  “You’ve told me he was a bastard,” I said. “But you never explained. He was some kind of innkeeper, wasn’t he?”

  Polillo nodded. ”Part innkeeper, part blacksmith, and all horse’s ass. He was a big, strong son of a poxed whore. And if you ever met his mother, you’d know that wasn’t an idle insult. My father had a black hole of an inn at the crossroads of our village. Had a forge out back to shoe traveler’s horses and such. He drank most of the profits and kept us all in rags and bruises until I got some size. Sometimes I think that’s why I grew so big.

  “Ever since I can remember he was beating on us. Splintered my older brother’s arm — and he was such a sweet thing, a gentle soul, it’d break your heart. My mother was always going about with a limp and blackened eyes. He made me so mad that I went after him in his bed with a poker when I was six. He beat the devil out of me, he did. Hurt like the blazes, but I wouldn’t cry. Not for him. I decided right then I was going to get so big and strong that he’d be afraid to touch any of us. I started lifting things . . . anything heavy. And running and wrestling.

  “When I was ten I could just manage his anvil. So I waited. But weeks went by before he acted up again. Nearly drove me crazy, waiting. I started worrying that maybe he’d seen the error in his ways. I hated him so much that I prayed he hadn’t. That’s how badly I wanted to hurt him. But I needed an excuse.”

  “And he finally gave you one?” I asked.

  Polillo gave me a mirthless grin. “Does a dog favor carrion? Sure, he did. He went after my mother. And I stopped him cold.” She slammed one big fist into the other. I winced at the bone-breaking sound of it. “One punch. Smashed his ugly jaw. There were teeth all over the place. Even in the soup. Then I drove him out and told my mother that from now on, the tavern was hers.”

  “You never saw him again?”

  Polillo laughed. “Never. How could he show his face with everyone knowing his ten-year-old daughter had flattened him? That’s the nice thing about male pride. Once broken, never mended.”

  “Like the sailor who pissed his breeches?” I asked.

  Polillo grimaced. “Oh, he’s not such a bad sort. I’ve seen him working — and he puts his back in more’n most of the others. And he’s not bad in a fight, either. I just surprised him, that’s all. He didn’t mean to insult me. It just burst out. When I was looking down at him, I thought, ‘Polillo, old girl. How many times have you gotten yourself in a fix by opening your big mouth when you shouldn’t?’

  “And then I thought, Corais’d be really angry with me if I killed him. So I didn’t.”

  She started to take another drink, then stopped. Her brow furrowed in worry. “You don’t suppose people will think I’ve gone soft, or anything, do you?”

  “Do you care?” I asked.

  She thought a moment, then: “Not really.”

  As soon as she realized what she’d said, the most marvelous smile lit her features. “Corais’d really be proud of me, wouldn’t she?”

  “She would, indeed, my dear,” I said.

  After that we spent a wondrous night drinking and giggling and telling lies, just like in the old days, when we were young and guiltless and our hopes as bright as the untested steel of our swords.

  * * * *

  As we raced east I began making sure I was up before dawn every morning to see the daybreak. It’s a sight I never tired of — especially when that pale pink spills across the sky like sugared rose water. Gamelan had the old man’s habit of rising early, so he’d join me and I’d describe the view as he fished.

  “When I was a boy I favored sunsets,” he said one day. “All the day’s petty disappointments vanished and the glow of the skies seemed to speak of the fresh possibilities of the morrow. But when I became old, the setting sun seemed so . . . well, final, dammit! You don’t know if there’s even going to be a tomorrow. With a sunrise you can lie
to yourself that your future stretches to at least the end of the day.”

  “But, you’re a wizard,” I said. “Don’t wizards sense their own departure? I’d think with the Seeker about, a wizard would know it.”

  Gamelan laughed. “The only wizard I’ve met who successfully predicted his demise was my old master. But then he swore at the end of every day that we thick-witted acolytes were going to be the death of him. And, guess what? That moment eventually arrived when he was 92.”

  “You’ll live longer than him, my friend,” I said. “You’d better not disappoint me. I’ll speak harshly to you if you do.”

  Instead of polite laughter at my mild attempt at humor, Gamelan turned serious.

  “I dreamed about the panther last night,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “It was nothing noteworthy,” the wizard continued. “In my dream she was in my cabin and wanted out. She was most anxious — pacing up and down. But when I went to the door — I’m sighted in my dreams, you know — I couldn’t lift the bar. I called for help, but no one heard me.”

  “Then?”

  “That was all,” Gamelan said. “I woke up.” Then he asked: “have you dreamed of the panther, Rali?”

  I said, “I haven’t dreamed at all. Not since — since I had the vision about the Archon, and first encountered the panther.”

  “Do you normally dream?” he asked.

  “I always do,” I said. “Even when I don’t remember what it was about, I wake up knowing I’ve dreamed.”

  Gamelan sighed and shook his head.

  “Does it mean anything?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, Rali,” he said. “Greycloak speculated that dreams might be real. That when you dream you’re actually in another world. And that world is exactly like your native place, but with some small detail — or even a large one — that is different. Which, as you experience it, becomes the subject of the dream.”

  “That damned Janos never did shut up about anything,” I snarled. “Why does everything have to be weighed, or measured down to the smallest detail? Why can’t our dreams just be dreams and to hell with it?”