Like most soldiers, I am a fatalist - what will be, will be. I don't like politicians much because they tend to obscure the intentions of the fates. They rail on as if there really were choices, when it would be better to keep your peace, and study what was sure to come. Show me a mountain pass, with a thing of value at the end of it, and I promise you that by and by troops with greedy intentions will march along that path. Point out a good ambush site - no matter how empty the wilderness - and I'll give you a drunken corporal's odds that if blood hasn't already been spilled at that site, it's only a matter of time before it will be.
In my mind the facts of the matter were the Lycanthians were our natural enemies and should be quickly dispatched to the afterlife. We were as different as day and night. Orissa is a merchant city, filled with life, laughter, and a love of the arts. We're a river people, and like all river folk we're dreamers. We see the worth of hard labour against a stiff current to achieve a thing, because we know how easy it'll soon be to lie back and bask in the sun and let that same current carry us swiftly home.
Lycanth, on the other hand, was a creature born on a hard coast from an unruly sea. Its citizens trusted no one and coveted all. They lived willingly under the yoke of two Archons, whose every word - no matter how evil - was strict law. The Lycanthians were dreamers as well, but they dreamed of conquests as they stirred in their sleep on that rocky coast. They dreamed of a vast kingdom, made up of our lands and beyond, where we would work as their happy slaves.
Over the years we'd fought Lycanth many times - our talent as soldiers barely winning the day over their skills as seafaring warriors and willingness to accept the most appalling casualties in massed frontal charges. The last time we'd nearly hammered them into oblivion, but held back from a final obliterating blow. You may think that was wise, agreeing with the politicians who said a weakened Lycanth was better than no Lycanth at all; their presence kept other enemies from our borders. You may not be surprised I disagree. My reasons: (i) Their Archons began conspiring against us from the first day of their defeat; (2) Amalric and the late - unlamented by me -Janos Greycloak were stalked and harried at every turn during their expeditions to find the Far Kingdoms; (3) When Amalric and Janos discovered the land we now know as Irayas, they also uncovered a conspiracy by the Archons and Prince Raveline to betray Orissa and Raveline's own brother, the'King of Irayas.
Is that enough for you? This bloodless thing who poses as my Scribe says no matter what the outcome, the original decision was humane, and, therefore, correct. Let me continue to number the facts that make up my case: (4) My brother returned from the Far Kingdoms with not only rich trading contracts, but tremendous magical knowledge which King Domas had agreed to share with us;
The Archons of Lycanth were immediately seized with envy and especially fear that with this new knowledge they would soon lose all hope of fulfilling their dreams of rising from the ashes to destroy us;
They went immediately to work speeding up their secret rearming. Facts (7) and (8) are less debatable, and had happened very recently and at almost the same time.
Secret patrols our leaders had been wise enough to post just beyond Lycanth's limits - near the neck of the peninsula the city was built on -returned with a shocking report: Lycanth's great wall stood again. It'd been built epochs earlier, even before the Lycanthians began their attempts at empire-building, and reinforced over the eons not only by slave work-gangs but by all the protective magics the Archons could cast. Then, during that last war- which my father, Paphos Antero, had fought in - all Orissa's Evocators combined to birth a great spell, and the wall was cast down in a single night. Now the wall stood once more; a barrier that served as mocking proof the Archons had done more than merely conspire with Prince Raveline - some of his black secrets must have been imparted to the Lycanthian rulers as well.
That would've been enough in itself for war, but the Archons - and this is the last of my reasons - broke every peace agreement between the two cities, and sent out their fleet to harry our merchant ships and those of our allies. It was a deliberate act of war, although I prefer to think of it as no more than piracy and the Lycanthians no better than any other bandit clan.
My Scribe is giving me a grudging nod. If that little rodent has conceded defeat, I feel safe in assuming your added agreement. When Lycanth last fell we should've razed their city, dispersed their people to the ends of the earth so the name Lycanth would be meaningless in a generation, and sowed salt in the ground their cursed city had been built on.
Where was I? Oh, yes: the politicians were politicking, the Evocators were wizarding, the lads were boasting, the maids were flirting, and Orissa was girding itself for war. And I was off to my brother's place to make peace with my dead mother.
The whole family - except Amalric - was gathered before her garden shrine by the time I arrived. It was during the Holy Hour of Silence, so I got some angry looks from my three other brothers and sniffs of superiority from their wives. But they're a mean-spirited lot and easy to ignore. Sometimes I doubt they're truly Anteros, and believe my father must've made them on the cot of some stingy whore. So when Omyere waved for me to join her, I was grateful to slip through the ranks of brothers, cousins and other chilly kin to a seat by her side.
Omyere leaned close to whisper: 'Amalric is at the palace. He should return soon.'
I nodded - it was no surprise my youngest brother would be at the heart of things. My mind buzzed with arguments I'd put to him later-but soon the silence of the others, and the peaceful scent and colour of the garden, let all those busy thoughts slip away.
My mother, Emilie, was a modest woman, who thought decorated shrines and altars were unseemly. I was just entering womanhood when she died, and my father was too grief-stricken to properly tend her needs for the afterlife. Amalric was still a toddler then, and although my other brothers - especially Porcemus, the oldest - were intent on building an elaborate temple-like thing in her honour, I fought fiercely on her behalf and won. Instead of the temple, a simple stone shrine was set beneath a small rose tree. Instead of an elaborate simulacrum painting of her features - such as the one that graced the shrine to my dead brother, Halab - I demanded the stone remain blank. However, my mother had a love for the sound of gently running water, so I got an Evocator to cast a spell that made a small stream trickle continually down the face of the shrine, to run into a little pool now covered with fallen rose blossoms.
As I looked at the shrine, I felt pride stir from more than twenty years past. It was my first real victory. I'd been a wild child, who loved to run up trees, hurl stones at birds and beat up little boys who called me a girl with sneering lips. Everyone was constantly complaining about the mischief I caused - except my father and mother. My father said I'd grow but of it and would soon be simpering about like any other pretty maid. My mother said nothing either way, but when I was in her company and did something ruffian-like, she only smiled and acted as if it were normal. She encouraged me to learn and made father get me a tutor just like boys of wealthy families. And when I confessed to her one fateful hot night - when we were all alone in her room and the air was thick with mother-daughter secrets - that above all things I wanted to be a soldier, she did not gasp in shock, or weep from imagined failure. Instead she told me there were many things she'd wanted to accomplish in her life, but because of her sex, had never had the chance.
'Oh, why,' I mourned in great youthful passion, 'were we born women, Mother? Why couldn't we have been born men?'
Now, she expressed shock. 'That's not what I meant,' she said. 'I've never wished to grow a man's parts. As far as I've been able to see, a penis does nothing but weaken the brain. No, my dear, don't pray to be a man. Only pray to have the same freedom as men, and if you get it, you will be content. I'll tell you a secret. I think someday our time will come, and when it does, women are much more capable of looking after the world than any man I've ever met.'
'I can't wait that long,' I cried. 'I'll be old, and
they don't let old people be soldiers.'
My mother looked at me for a long time, then nodded. 'If that's what you want,' she said, 'then that's what you shall be.'
A week later my father hired a retired sergeant to teach me to fight. He never said a word to me about it, but only smiled when I complained of bruises after a hard day of getting drubbed by a wooden sword. A year later, that smile cut from ear to ear as I'd bested the sergeant in every skill, and he had to trade him for someone more adept. By the time my mother died I was better than any youth in the city - or at least those willing to test themselves against a warrior girl. I was a young woman of sixteen when I entered the Maranon Guard. I've never looked back.
The sweet strings of a lyre coaxed me out of my reverie. It was Omyere - who'd left my side unnoticed - and was now sitting on a stool by the shrine playing that wonderful instrument of hers. She looked at me across the others as she played, and began to sing a gentle song I knew was meant for me. I saw the soft fall of her red hair - as bright red as Amalric's - and thought my brother a lucky man to find such a woman. I had a lover once, I thought, who'd touched me like Omyere must touch my brother. Not Tries - but Otara, she of the throaty laugh, soft arms, and fingers that could stroke the demons from my head. She was my lover for many years before she died and I suppose in many ways she'd replaced my mother.
Forgive me, if I weep, Scribe. But do not smirk, as if to say that is the nature of a woman. If you dare do such a thing - or even think it-I'll forget my vow and you'll not leave this room to smirk at another. Otara is close to my heart, and when I swore I'd speak only the truth, I knew very well I'd have to reveal things that are against my nature to uncover. There may be more weeping before this book is done - so beware, lest some of the tears that fall become yours. Now, let me wipe my eyes and gather my thoughts ...
As Omyere sang, I mourned Otara - just as she'd meant. The song changed and I felt cleansed. The lyre took up a playful tune. It made me think of my mother's laugh and I reflexively looked at the shrine. I watched the water running along the moss that clung to the stone and imagined the shape formed by moss, water and rose-petal shadows to be my mother's face. It seemed to come alive and I saw her eyes open and her lips move. There was the heady scent of sandalwood - my mother's favourite perfume. I felt a warm hand touch my neck and thought I heard a whisper - my mother's voice. It was so low I couldn't make out what she said, but I knew if I listened closer I could hear quite easily. I think I became afraid ... Actually, I'm sure of it, for I suddenly thought, This is nonsense. It's the hangover still at work. Your mother was an ordinary mortal, like yourself. Certainly not the kind to play at ghosts. I snatched my head back, and the whisper broke off. The scent was gone and when I looked at the shrine, so was the face. Omyere had stopped playing. I saw her frown, and shake her head. I felt like I'd missed something very important - and the loss was painful.
Then all thoughts of loss, lovers and ghosts vanished in a thundering of hooves outside the villa walls. Amalric was back from the Evocators' Palace.
He'd returned with news that war had been declared. The remainder of my mother's feast day collapsed in a babble of fright and excitement. Every citizen of Orissa was expected to gather at the Great Amphitheatre that night to hear the public announcement, undoubtedly to be accompanied by various morale-boosting displays.
My brother soothed everyone as best he could and tried to keep his temper as they deluged him with stupid questions: how long did he think the war would last; what kind of financial suffering did the family face; what goods did he think would become scarce, so they could begin their hoarding now with an eye to black-marketeering in the future. Although Amalric is the youngest of my father's children, he's the unquestioned head of family. My father had wisely passed over my other brothers - all as weak and lazy as they were foolish - to bequeath his merchant empire to Amalric. Obviously, a lot of jealousy and hard feelings were stirred up, but my brother's force of personality, plus his fame as the discoverer of the Far Kingdoms, kept the weasels cowed in their dens. Eventually, he caught my eye and motioned to meet him in his study. Then he shooed them all home with reminders to attend the great meeting.
As I took a seat near his writing desk a few minutes later, I could see from the grim set of his mouth and high colour of his skin, there was more news than just the declaration of war.
'What are you hiding, Brother dear?' I asked. 'Go ahead... tell me the worst.'
He laughed, but the sound was harsh. 'I can't ever keep anything from you, can I, Big Sister?'
'It comes from long practice, my dear,' I replied. 'Before you became a grown man and such a - dare I say it - responsible sort, I caught you with lizards in your pockets, and a little later, doxies in your bed.'
My brother had been so young when our mother died, I'd practically raised him. We'd always been close, sharing secrets we'd never dream of mentioning even to our loved ones.
'So, out with it, Amalric,' I said. 'Tell your wise sister what those fools at the palace are in such a panic about.'
Amalric made a wry grin. 'Even though we have had plenty of notice,' he said, 'our troops are hardly prepared for a real war.'
'That goes without saying,' I replied. 'Although my women are ready enough. We've doubled our training schedule and have remained on full alert since we heard the first rattlings of Lycanthians' swords. I've even, without orders, put extra recruiters out around the girls' lycees and marketplaces, paying their expenses from one of my discretionary funds, for which initiative I could probably be relieved.'
My undisguised tone alerted him to my bitter feelings. He gave me an odd look, then moved on.
'Well, the rest of our troops will be doing the same now,' he said. 'Especially after the Magistrates were done spanking our incompetent commanders.'
'They'll be up to the mark, soon enough,' I said, grudgingly admitting my brother soldiers were not totally without worth. 'Which means that problem will be quickly solved and everyone knows it. So if the Magistrates and Evocators are still shitting their breeches, then the trouble must be really big.'
Amalric sighed. 'It's magical in nature,' he said.
'I should have known,' I replied. 'But they're all panicky fools. Haven't they any faith in their own spells? Or have they been lazing about and ignoring the secrets you brought back from Irayas?'
'Of course not. But the Archons have been hard at work, too,' Amalric said. 'And it seems they got more dark knowledge from Prince Raveline than we suspected. Our Evocators fear they'll match us spell for spell. Look at that damned wall they restored across the peninsula. One of the Evocators told me no one in the palace, even Gamelan, could cast a spell like that overnight.'
'Who cares?' I scoffed. 'In the end, hard steel always decides a fight. So their Archons have worked up some new spells to protect them from our weapons? That'll mean our wizards will find a counterspell, and so on and so forth, until finally it's up to us common soldiers to win the old-fashioned way - with blades, axes, clubs and bows. Don't worry. We've always beaten them in the past. Magic isn't going to change anything.'
'Normally, I'd agree,' Amalric said. 'For I learned as much about magic in battle from Janos Greycloak. He might have been a great sorcerer, but he was always a practical-minded warrior first.'
He poured himself a goblet of wine. I waved him off when he offered me some and took some cold water instead.
'This time, however,' he continued, 'there are foul tales of some terrible weapon the Archons are working up. I know rumours are more plentiful than beetles in pigswill when war threatens. However, Gamelan reports strange disturbances in the magical ethers, which leads him to lend credence to the whispers.'
I was silent. Gamelan was not only the Chief Evocator - and our most powerful wizard - but an old man who had seen much and was noted for his cool appraisal. If Gamelan was worried, there was good cause to fear.
'What else?' I asked, for I sensed more bad news.
'The Archons are t
rying to win favour with King Domas,' my brother said. 'He is a cunning monarch, so I doubt they'll have much success. Unless ... they convince him our cause is hopeless. Then he'll do the same as any sensible ruler - he'll support the apparent victor.'
If that happened, we didn't stand a chance. The Far Kingdoms are superior to us all in the practice of magic. They were our allies, thanks to Amalric. But would they remain so?
'We'll just have to face that when it comes,' I said, returning to the safety of fatalism. 'If it comes at all.'
'Preventing it will be my sole labour until the war is over,' my brother said. 'The Magistrates have ordered me to Irayas. I'm to keep King Domas sweet for the duration.'
I didn't have to look at his gloomy face to know this was upsetting. He would not only miss the fight, but would be forced to live among strangers for as many years as the war took.
'When do you leave?' I asked.
'In a few days,' he said. 'As soon as I get my things together and a ship is readied.'
Both of us considered what the future might hold. My own thinking was there was little time for my brother to help me in my own task.
'Before you go,' I said, 'I want you to speak to the Magistrates. Every person is going to be needed for this fight. The Maranon Guard must not be kept home!'
Amalric shook his head. 'I already brought the subject up,' he said. 'And despite all my arguments ... it was rejected.'
My heart plunged. I was stunned to have lost so quickly.
'But, why?' I cried, although - as I said before - I knew the answer.
The Warrior's Tale Page 2