Cholla Yi came back, in a circular return, but again his attack was blocked, and then Polillo struck with all her strength from her short-guard position with as much power as I would’ve gained with a full swing of the ax, and the blade smashed into Cholla Yi’s side, crashing through his armor as if he were naked, and blood and entrails spilled.
Cholla Yi shrilled a howl of agony, and fell back, his face black with his last rage.
I came back to myself, and struck at a sailor, but he was dropping his sword, hands coming up bare, imploring mercy, and across the deck there were others, and weapons clattered down and there were shouts of surrender.
There was still red blood before my eyes, as I saw three, no four of my few remaining women down in death, and perhaps I might’ve ordered no quarter, but then I saw Gamelan, standing at the edge of the quarterdeck, flanked by Pamphylia and his other companion, faithful to their orders.
“Stop!” he shouted. “He’s coming! He’s coming! I can see him!”
I had a single second to realize what Gamelan was saying, time enough to look and see his eyes were clear, looking at me, at the world, rather than gazing at that inward blankness as they had for so long.
The seas erupted and the Archon attacked.
We never saw him, though, not in the brief moments of that frenzied nightmare, because he attacked not with pure magic, but with sea-demons and creatures of the dark ocean depths.
The water darkened to black as if dye had been cast into it, and tentacles writhed out, stretched and took a man, then another from the ship next to ours, and take them down to where huge lidless eyes stared and a parrot-beak gaped and snapped closed, and the screams stopped.
There was another creature up from the depths, a scaled salamander, three times the size of a man, its scales black with red stripes, and each time its mouth opened fire spat out. It climbed clumsily up the side of Kidai’s galley, and I saw sailors stabbing at it with spears, and then screaming as they flamed into living torches.
Across the waters, I saw other creatures, some obvious demons not unlike Elam, if smaller than the Demon Lord, as they boarded ships, talons flashing like swords, or simply grabbing sailors by their midsection and ripping into them with their fangs.
Something with tentacles even greater than the kraken I’d seen came out of the sea and took a galley into its embrace and sank back, leaving nothing but some flotsam and a whirling maelstrom.
I suppose all of us went mad in that minute, seeing what no being should ever see, facing deaths no one could imagine in her darkest thoughts. Some of us froze, and died. Others fought bravely, and were taken as well.
The battle wasn’t completely one-sided — the fire-salamander’s mouth opened, and Kidai hurled a spear into it, just as flame gouted and Kidai died as his other seamen did. The salamander roared agony, and rolled in its death-tangle, crushing men as it rolled, smashing the galley’s masts before it rolled off into the black waters, leaving the galley listing, taking on water and sinking.
A demon clambered over the side of our ship, and met Polillo’s ax, as it slashed away the top of its head. But the monster didn’t die, but, blinded, stumbled on across the deck and fell into the sea on the other side.
Another monster slithered out of the depths. It was perhaps twenty feet long, and was like a huge, slime-green snake, except there were no eyes, no airholes, and its mouth was round, ringed with fangs, funnel-shaped. It struck at me, and I slid aside, spotted the halberd that’d belonged to the man I’d slain, dropped my sword and had the spear.
As the beast, whatever it was, bit at me once more I struck with all my power, and the blade impaled the monstrosity to the deck. It flailed like a worm impaled on a fishing hook, then lay still.
There was a monstrous sea-snake rearing above the prow, fangs gleaming blow its horned snout. It darted and took one of my women, then hissed louder than a thousand screams as arrows pincushioned its head and I came from my madness.
Magic brought this cursed brood up, and only magic would send it down. I sought for words, for a spell, and knew I did not have the time and ran toward Gamelan, just as a demon pounced from the sea onto the quarterdeck. It looked like some impossible kind of water-lemur, except streaked like rotting meat, and it had scythes instead of arms.
It struck for Gamelan, but he saw it and slipped out of the way. He scrabbled for a marlinspike from a rack, and the demon attacked once more.
Pamphylia was between them, serving as she’d been ordered, and took the slash across her body, and fell, even as her blade drove deep into the demon’s chest.
I came up the companionway, but Gamelan held out his hands.
“No, Rali,” he said, calmly, as if we were sitting in his tiny room discussing the theory of magic. “Do not come close.”
I knew I must obey, and stayed where I was.
Gamelan smiled at me, a friendly warm smile that welcomed and said farewell at the same time, then his eyes went beyond, to the black sea.
He reached into his robes, and took out that black onyx box that contained the Archon’s heart.
Gamelan held it above him in both hands and spoke, very quietly, but his voice rang across the ocean louder than the strongest typhoon:
Power take power
Black take black
Dark cannot stand
Flame conquers dark
Fire kills night
There is all
There is all
There is a finish
Power take power
His hands moved oddly, in a series of circles, or as if he were scribing invisible symbols as he chanted. From nowhere came a roar of pain, and a sound I can only describe as a great cracking, like a sheet of ice being smashed.
I don’t quite have the words for what came next, but it looked like a fogbank being blown apart by a wind. They were gray wisps, tendrils, and they swept out from Gamelan across the deck, across the sea, swirling toward the demons, and when they struck the demons shrilled pain and died, or sank beneath the surface. There was the sound of a whirlwind roaring, howling, but our sails hung motionless.
I heard a shout of triumph booming across the heavens and thought it Gamelan’s voice, and then all was still.
The sea was as calm as a millpond.
All of the Archon’s creatures had vanished.
But the blood and the gore still stained our decks, and the corpses still sprawled, and now the wounded began their cries and moans of agony.
Gamelan stood motionless, and now his hands were empty. I started up toward him, and then he slumped. I caught him before he hit the deck, and held him. His eyes were clear, seeing, but looking beyond me.
Once more he smiled.
Then he died.
I felt him go, felt an emptiness in the world that’d been alive, that’d been warm, that’d been good.
I laid him down, and stood, not denying my tears.
Gamelan was gone, and in his great sacrifice he’d taken our only talisman, the heart of the Archon.
But I could feel no sign of the Archon’s presence.
He’d almost destroyed us through treachery and his wizardry. Of our seven ships, only two were still afloat — ours and Cholla Yi’s flagship. The others had been pulled down or sunk.
We bandaged our wounded and buried our dead.
There were many, almost as many as the battle with The Sarzana had cost. Pamphylia. Cliges. Dacis. Others. More sailors than Guardswomen, but what of them?
Sometimes we had a body to say the ceremony over, other times nothing except a scrap of their clothing a jar of scent a favorite weapon or in Cliges’ case her well-loved drinking jack that we could use to keep their ghosts from wandering forever.
We jury-rigged repairs on our ships, and set sail once more, limping on, still to the east.
It was two days later that we sighted the ship from Orissa.
Book Three
Orissa
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
ALL HAIL TH
E HEROES
The closer the ship came, the more certain we were it wasn’t trick of light, or battle-weary mind.
“It’s from home!” Polillo roared, pounding me on the back.
Some of us cheered, some of us wept; but all of us marveled as they hailed us in our own language. Oh, how we loved every inch of that ship — from its familiar shape, to the very wood that made it — cut from the fragrant forests outside our city.
The men who hailed us in that lilting, ever-flowing speech of our beloved river, were equally as familiar. We knew the weavers’ street where their costumes were made; had complained about the smell of the dye vats that gave their clothes all the sunny, Orissan colors. The shape of their beards, the cut of their boots and sandals, even the rings and necklaces they wore — and how they wore them — all sang of home.
Greater joy followed when the captain greeted us and we learned just how far off our charts were — instead of many weeks, we were only a few days from Orissa. A great weight lifted from our shoulders. Now all our burdens, all our worries, all our trials would be shared by our countrymen.
If the Archon threatened us anew, he’d have to contend with Orissans by the tens of thousands. It was no longer solely our burden. We would have the help of our friends, our lovers and our families.
My steps were buoyant as we boarded, battle fatigue falling away as easily as you might shed a light shift on a hot summer night. Our wounded were tenderly administered to; familiar prayers said to ease the passage of our dead, as well as to help heal our own grief over their going.
Although the ship was crowded, there were only twenty of us left, so there was little trouble finding room. Then, without further ado, we immediately set sail for home. Our two ships were taken in tow — smaller and lighter than the Orissan merchant vessel, it was easier than transferring all our treasure to the other ship, although by now I think none of us cared a hang for the gold. Its price had been far too high.
I shared quarters with Polillo and as soon as we were settled, the captain, whose name was Wazanno, came to make sure we were comfortable.
“You’ve been gone so long, Captain Antero,” he said, “we’d given you up for dead.” He poured us each a goblet of the red Orissan wine we’d been without for nearly two years. You could almost taste the sun-drenched vines it came from.
“You were nearly right more times than I like to think,” I said.
“The worst fight of all,” Polillo said, “was just before you got here. Sea monsters and demons and only the gods know what else attacked us.”
“Is that so?” the captain said. “You’ll have to tell me about your adventures when you’ve rested.”
Polillo snorted. “Set aside a goodly amount of time and half a dozen bottles of this wine,” she said. “There’s much to tell. Why, we’ve sailed nearly half around the world and back. Seen things that that’ll freeze your pearlies in the telling.”
Wazanno rose to go. “I’m most anxious to hear your tale,” he said. “If my duties allow it. I’m a captain who likes his own hand at the tiller, so I haven’t much time.”
Then he yawned. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve missed a good deal of sleep on this voyage. We’ve had a lot of trouble getting the ballast right.” He excused himself and was gone.
“That fellow’s got the blood of a fish,” Polillo said. “And half the imagination.”
I sighed. “He’s must be one of the new breed my brother’s always grousing about,” I said. “Since the Far Kingdoms opened up there’s been a shortage of qualified seafarers. He looks competent enough, thank the gods. Amalric has many a horrid tale to tell of the scrapings he’s been forced to take.”
“At least he left the wine,” Polillo said, refilling our goblets.
She toasted me: “Welcome home.”
And I echoed: “Welcome home.”
* * * *
A heroes’ greeting awaited when we docked in Orissa. There was music and dancing in the streets; speeches from the Magistrates and a fiery display of magic from the Evocators.
Soldiers dressed in their most dazzling uniforms paraded before us, led by General Jinnah — yes, that damned Jinnah — and wonders of all wonders, he gave a rousing speech telling all what great and noble warriors we were — especially me!
As I goggled at this cynical twist of fate that’d ended with me being greeted by my greatest mortal enemy, Jinnah finished his speech and the military musicians trumpeted a stirring hurrah for us all. Then, as quickly as they’d turned out, Jinnah and the soldiers quick-marched away.
Then soon as they’d disappeared from sight, the crowds began to melt away and my fellow Orissans wandered off to resume their daily routine.
The whole thing seemed flat, perfunctory. Apparently, as far as my fellow Orissans were concerned, the war had been over long ago and we were only a bit of not very important unfinished business. I could imagine the tavern talk in a few scant weeks: “Captain Antero, is it? Oh, yes. You’re with the Maranon Guard, or something. Jinnah’s girls. Didn’t you do something noble and self-sacrificing? Dashed if I can remember exactly what it was. I’d buy you a glass, but I’m a tad light in the purse, just now. Come around another time, my good Captain, and I’ll treat you to a proper drink.”
I didn’t feel jealous, or sorry for myself, but shrugged it off, chalking it up it to the treatment all soldiers have suffered throughout the ages. We’re the toast of the land when the war drums sound, but they can’t get away from us soon enough when peace is restored. Besides, I was too overwhelmed at being home to dwell on it.
I brought the Guard to attention, and, adhering to protocol, turned the formation over to Flag Sergeant Ismet, eager as any of my women to away from this clangor of armor and death, and be welcomed home. But as she leather-lunged the dismissal, and the Guards stamped their boots twice and broke toward the waiting crowd, I called Ismet to me.
“Sergeant,” I said, “you don’t have any family that I’m aware of.”
“I have the Guard, Captain. What more could a woman want?”
Again, I had that flash of wonderment — could this black woman truly be the embodiment of Maranonia? I chose my words carefully:
“I merely thought the barracks might be lonely, with everyone off on leave. Would you care to join me as my guest? There’s more than enough room, and we Anteros don’t seem happy without at least six or seven friends staying with us.”
Ismet looked uncomfortable, and I realized she was having trouble finding words that applied to a situation beyond the military.
“Begging the Captain’s pardon, but I’m not sure what loneliness is. Being by myself in the barracks, why, I look forward to it. It gives me a chance to relax, a time to remember who I am, and build up my strength. If I need to talk to someone, there’s taverns a-plenty outside the gate. When I get tired, I can come back and listen to the silence, although there’s always the clatter of arms, the chatter of sentries and the crying of the watch. I wouldn’t know what to do, I guess, without that around me.
“The Guard is my family. I guess other women need something more. I don’t. Maybe . . . maybe it’s because of what I came from.” Her lips firmed, and I knew that was the only time I’d ever hear Ismet admit there had been a past before the Guard, let alone what it might’ve been.
I sought for words to end what was becoming embarrassing for both of us. But before I found the right ones, she said, “Thanks, Captain, for the invitation. But you don’t need an old soldier hanging about when you’ve got more important things to take care of. Maybe we’ll get together and have some drinks and talk about this campaign, if you want. I’ve some thoughts as to what went wrong, and what we need to do before they send us out again.”
That was Ismet. I said of course I’d see her, and she saluted and was gone.
Polillo and the other Guardswomen were being swept off by friends and relatives to enjoy their long, well-deserved leaves. I searched the melting crowd for my own people, but my heart
sank when I couldn’t find Amalric.
A knot of self-pitying disappointment stuck in my throat. Then I saw Porcemus and my other brothers and their wives coming forward. Dreading their usual cold dislike, I dragged myself to them.
Imagine my surprise when Porcemus threw his arms around me, crying, “Thank the gods you’ve returned to us, Rali!” Then he kissed me. I pulled back and saw he was so full of emotion, his eyes were welling with tears.
Then the others crowded in, saying I’d made them so proud, and other inanities — all obviously heartfelt just the same.
My brothers embraced me and pounded me on the back and their wives wept and said they’d never known another woman so brave. I was overcome by it all and wept in return, getting all blubbery and snotty.
“Where is Amalric?” I finally managed to get out.
“He’ll be so sorry he missed you,” Porcemus said. “And Omyere as well. They set sail once more for the Far Kingdoms not two days ago. We must get a message to them immediately. He’s been as worried as the rest of us.”
I had more than my own selfish reasons for wanting to see Amalric. Something had to be done about the Archon — immediately! With Gamelan dead, I lacked a sympathetic ear in high places. Then I spotted a familiar, jaunty figure moving down the street away from us. It was Malaren, one of Amalric’s best friends, as well as mine. He’d succeeded his father as a Magistrate not long before I’d marched to Lycanth.
Excusing myself, I broke free of my family’s sticky embrace and ran after him. I caught him just before he rounded the corner.
“Malaren,” I shouted. “Please wait!”
When he saw me, he stopped. A dim smile twisted one corner of his foppishly handsome face.
“My dear Captain Antero,” he said. “What a joy it is to see you safe after all these long months.” He stuck out his hand to greet me.
The Warrior's Tale (The Far Kingdoms, Book 2) Page 55