The Warrior's Tale

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  'Then it's only logical we continue west,' I said. Phocas laughed. 'West takes in a lot,' he leered. He gestured across the map. 'Most everything you're lookin' at's west.' 'Mind your manners,' Choila Yi snapped.

  Phocas paled. The admiral was in an angry mood. In the meeting with Jinnah I'd made certain - with the support of Gamelan and the officers sympathetic to me - that Jinnah laid the blame for the Archon's escape squarely on Cholla Yi. He should have had the harbour mouth blockaded. What's more, Jinnah had informed him the agreed victory bonus would not be paid until the expedition was completed. Even worse, he and his crew would not be eligible for any shares of the loot from Lycanth until our return. I'd expected him to explode when he heard the last, but he and Jinnah exchanged odd glances, and it seemed Cholla Yi had bit back his temper. I wondered if some private arrangement had been made. The most likely, it seemed at the time, was that Jinnah had said he'd compensate him for shouldering the full blame of the failure to capture the Archon. By rights, Jinnah - as the commander of us all - deserved the greatest black mark for the failure.

  Gamelan broke through the tension: 'We shall let our enemy resolve our dilemma,' he said.

  He took out the black box that contained the talisman of the Archon's heart.

  Cholla Yi and Phocas stared at the box, nervous. They'd heard rumours of the talisman, but actually seeing a thing of such magical power was more intimidating than whispered speculation.

  'I'll only require a compass from you,' Gamelan said.

  'Pardon?' Cholla Yi gaped like he was just rising from deep waters.

  'A compass, if you please,' Gamelan repeated.

  Hastily, one was found. Gamelan placed the box on the circle Phocas had inscribed, and the compass on top of that. Then he waved for silence - as if there were need of warning for these dumbstruck pirates. There was no prelude to the spell. No chanting - at least not aloud; no calling on the gods for assistance.

  Gamelan stared at the box, his concentration total. His yellow eyes glowed like the sun, and the whole room seemed to be lit by the inner light spilling out. I heard gasps as a low humming noise began to vibrate the box. Then the box itself glowed. The compass needle jolted. It spun wildly about, once, twice, then as it whirled for the third time, it froze in mid-gyration, as if a hand had stopped it.

  Gamelan drew back. The light faded from his eyes until they were merely that odd yellow. He wiped sweat from his brow, then pointed at the compass's arrow. It was quivering, as if ready to move on.

  'Follow that,' Gamelan said, 'and we will find our enemy.' The compass pointed due west.

  I'm not certain what transpired next. Cholla Yi spoke to me, and I answered whatever question he asked. But everything seemed very dim to me - far away. I found myself staring at the compass needle and vast expanse of the map.

  I could see all the familiar places. Here was Tros, a rich city my family had traded with for generations; then Savia, renowned for its wines; Thurgan, masters of fine blades; and Luangu, with its famous cattle-pens that ladder the shore for miles. Beyond was Jeypur, a barbaric coastal port, where caravans spill in daily, carrying silks and spices and magical rarities from places that would only exist in legend, if we did not know them from their goods; next was Laosia, where the J'hana family controls the market in ivory and that beautiful black wood that's so hard it can turn aside steel.

  On the opposite coast, I saw Redond, and then the nearly impassable mountains of the kingdom of Valaroi that girdle the shore; across those mountains is the great desert where wild tribes of horsemen rage. We know them only for their rich carpets and sweet-smelling oils that we burn in our lamps on festive occasions. Still further west was Tiger Bay, named not for the beasts, but for the colour and markings of the gems of the shellfish that dwell there and are collected to make the finest fire beads. I knew all those places well, as does any Orissan schoolchild. But past that point, beyond the Jasmine Islands, the Coral Sea, the Ginger River, and the Lemon Coast - all was unknown.

  There is an exhilarating moment, my brother has often said, when all journeys begin in earnest. Before that moment all is foolish speculation; afterwards, the journey lapses into mere progress to be marked each day. My brother is a man to be listened to about such things, for there is no one in our history who has travelled farther; although now I may rival him.

  It was that day in Cholla Yi's stateroom when my adventures truly began. At that instant I knew for certain that before I was through I would see for myself the places on that map. My eyes were drawn to the edge, where all beyond was unknown. And it came to me I would see those places as well. I was not frightened by this vision, Scribe. And as I have promised absolute truth, I must confess that for a short time I had no thought of the Archon and the threat he represented. Instead,

  I was filled with a great yearning. I wanted to know, I had to know the answer to the riddle the map posed - which was, what lies beyond?

  For the first time I understood the blessing - and the curse - of seekers like Janos Greycloak, and yes, my brother, although he will not as yet admit it.

  Confused by the realization of a new side of me - a side I had never expected to exist -I looked at Gamelan. I could not see him clearly for a moment: a shadow seemed to fall between us. It was a familiar shadow, and I smelled a familiar scent. I thought I heard a woman whisper. I shook my head and my vision cleared as the shadow was swept away. I saw that Cholla Yi and Phocas were absorbed in planning. But the old wizard was watching me intently.

  'You had a vision?' Gamelan asked.

  I shook my head, no. But there was a smell of sandalwood in the room, and I knew I'd lied.

  We sailed after the Archon, always keeping close watch on the magical compass. When it veered, we changed course. When it came back to the heading, we aped the motion. We didn't know if the changes were made because our enemy knew we were on his heel, or if it was only the vagaries of his flight. But none doubted the chase was for real. The Archon was out there - that was certain; a few leagues, or a few days ahead.

  The excitement of the chase waned as one day bled into the next, and we got down to the routine of our new lives at sea.

  As time passed, I slowly realized these ships were to be our new battlefield and I knew as little about them as I would, say, about fighting on ice. I set out to become expert, then to see to it my women became the same. Any hour or day - if Te-Date pleases - we might sight the Archon's ships. I found the most boring man aboard ship, who carried the title of master's mate, which I soon found meant he was a seagoing version of a quartermaster. Except where a quartermaster could send you to sleep prattling about tent ropes and kettles, this man had the opportunity to natter about anything, from ropes to cudasses, everything, in fact, except the salt water around us.

  For those who wish to know a bit about the world we found ourselves in, the world we would spend far too long in, some of us the remainder of our lives in fact, here are some details:

  Our galleys were of the type known as 'long runners', and were

  intended, the mate told me pridefully, for anything from going up a river to harrying and conquering a merchant vessel, to raiding a seaport, to making long sea passages out of sight of land. 'Course,' he confessed, which we'd already found out, 'bein' shallow draft the ship rolls a bit in any sort of wind or seaway. Matter of fact, a long runner'll pitch some tied up to a dock, which is why any good galleyman had best have a solid-cast stomach. Or else not need to hold vittles down longer'n the next wave.' For some reason, men seem to find the cramps of seasickness hilariously funny, but only if it's shown by someone else. Corais wondered if they'd find the sensation so risible if they underwent something much the same every twenty-eight days as we did. But I made no response to the mate's chortles.

  Each galley was about one hundred feet long, and twenty feet wide. It drew only about three feet of water, which accounted for what the mate called its liveliness. There were three officers to each ship, the master, sailing master and rowing
master. Under them were other men, also called mates, but they were not considered officers, but rather like our sergeants. Mate was also the title given the ship's artisans, such as carpenter, sailmaker and so on. Each galley was crewed by fifty rowers, who also doubled as seamen when the captain shouted for all hands to turn to. There were, in addition, fifteen able seamen, who considered themselves elite, and wouldn't touch an oar if the ship was being driven onto the rocks. Almost any number of soldiers could be carried for a day or so, but under normal peacetime conditions (which I knew meant for Cholla Yi piracy) some twenty-five marines - soldiers with a modicum of sailor's training - would be on board as a shock force.

  Each galley had a weather, or main-deck, which was open, and a deck below for sleeping and for bad weather. It took very rough seas to go below, since this deck was dark and cramped. Anyone over five feet walked in a stoop, or rang her skull against the deck overhead like it was a bell. We slept in hammocks, which were taken down each day and stowed, then hung each night wherever we chose, which was on deck for the most part. The upper deck could be shaded in hot weather under canvas awnings, and it was most pleasant to loll under such a brighdy striped tent when the sea breezes blew, and required real effort to get up and go through yet another set of exercises or sword- or spear-drill.

  Up forward, above the knife-bow, was a raised deck, from which an attack would be launched in battle. In the stowage spaces under it were weapons, spare sails, ropes, barrels of water and rations, and the like.

  At the stern was another raised deck, the quarterdeck. From here the galley was commanded and steered with a long tiller, connected to the rudder along one side. Under this deck was the one bit of luxury the galley had - separate cabins for the ship's officers.

  A-long, narrow deck, about three feet wide ran just above the weather deck fore and aft and connected the two raised decks. This was called a storming bridge, and served not only as a passageway when seas broke over the main deck, but to strengthen the hull.

  Each galley had two masts and a lateen sail on each, which was how the ship normally moved. In the face of a wind, or when speed was required, the sails would be lowered and the oars manned.

  For cooking, there was a sanded built-up area on the lower deck. One man cooked, in great kettles, whatever was to be eaten, then these roughly cooked viands were handed out to 'messes', for further distribution. Each mess comprised ten sailors, whose utensils and plates were kept in a chest, along with whatever condiments they'd chosen to purchase from their own pockets. A sailor was free to join -or quit - a mess, just as his messmates had equal freedom to accept or reject him.

  For a jakes, there was a framework pushed out over the stern when someone had the need. For bathing-well, as the mate said, 'A sharp bow means speed, but you'll think you're swimming half the time.'

  That was all. Each galley was exactly as it appeared - a machine dedicated for only two purposes - speed and war. Everything else had been discarded. I spent time walking, and then drawing the ship, until I knew its every dimension without thinking. Then I began studying another aspect - how this ship was sailed and brought into battle. And that was a study that lasted until the end of the voyage.

  I assembled my officers, and we began discussing how battle should be joined from these galleys. Cholla Yi and one of his marine officers gave a speech, not that there was much to be learned. A sea battle was fought as if each ship were a wagon full of infantry, attacking other wagons, or perhaps a better image would be a group of small enemy forts, each surrounded by a swamp. First we would wreak as much damage as possible while we closed with our enemy, using spears, catapults, magic if there were Evocators aboard, and other weapons. Then we would close with our opponent and, at a signal, our Guardswomen would leap onto his ship, and attempt to slay all his soldiers. One side or another would triumph, the winners would have the ship if it were undamaged enough to be afloat, and the losers would be dinner for the sharks that even now trailed in our wake.

  There were subtleties

  , from ramming to the crow's-beak to boarding nets, all of which I'll explain when necessary. But, basically, there was not much difference between storming a castle, and storming a ship. Infantry was infantry, whether on land or sea.

  Corais and I quietly discussed afterwards what we had learned. To both of us, it seemed there was something missing, something wrong. This style of battle had all the subdety of two blindfolded drunkards with clubs in a small room. There must be something more, or another way. But neither of us had any ideas then.

  We were right, but that, too, is part of my story to learn in the telling.

  If it weren't for the piratical looks of the crew, and my soldiers at constant hard practice with their arms, our voyage would have appeared as a pleasure jaunt to any outside observer. The seas were sparkling, the air alternately bracing and languid, the days all clear blue skies, and the nights as starlit as the most romantic dream. Fast winds made the rowing easy and the days pleasantly long. We neither gained, nor lost ground to our foe, and it soon became apparent the fight was a duel of wills between the pursuer and the pursued. And whoever made the first mistake would lose. Even Gamelan and the Archon had lapsed into a truce in their magical fight. It had proved pointless, with every spell cast being countered by the other - and at such distances no one even had the diversion of watching a magical show. Both wizards had apparently decided to save their energies for a close-up battle. Gamelan, however, stayed alert for a surprise attack-and he assured me the Archon was doing the same. We believed, however, we held the edge, because not only did we outnumber Symeon and the Archon in both ships and soldiers, we knew we were much better supplied; and that the day would soon come when they would be forced to stop for water, or food.

  Among my women, morale was better than I could have hoped. Those who longed for home and lovers and family, were caught up by all the new things they saw, and the new skills they learned. Friends became faster friends, new lovers were found for those who were seeking them, and beds remained chaste and untroubled for those who could make love's memory suffice. Among the most trusted members of my staff, Ismet continued to keep her own company, which she preferred; Corais played the field in the smooth way she had of keeping dalliances to nothing more than a lovely tickle, no harm done, no promises expected, or made; while Polillo fell in huge sighing love with a little blonde legate, Neustria, who stirred her to white heat by playing coy, then satisfying her in a memorable two-day tryst filled with much mooning, and thrashing about wherever they could find privacy, and finally a glorious fight where each swore they had never been such a fool as to fall for the other. Polillo was as happy as I'd seen her since she cut two Lycanthian throats in the space of five minutes. As for me, I do not dally where I command. And even if I did, Tries would have come between me and any woman of my fascination.

  So the seas remained friendly for many a day, each morning brought an empty horizon that beckoned us onward, and each night fell to a gloriously red sun the sailors claimed was the gods' promise of an equally pleasant tomorrow.

  Six

  The Wizard's Tale

  As THE DAYS drew on, I found myself more and more in the company of Gamelan. At first I was quite uncomfortable, for I still harboured bitterness against the Evocators for their part in the murder of my brother Halab. True, Amalric made peace with the wizards of Orissa, and freed us all from the tyranny of magic with the gift of knowledge he brought back from the Far Kingdoms. But I had not, and doubt I ever would have if it hadn't been for Gamelan. I am not one who easily forgives, especially when blood has been shed.

  But that began to change the day we sighted the floating field of ice. It's rare to see such things in die Western Ocean, but sometimes, travellers say, currents pull them from their home in the frozen south, and turn them into these seas. It was an enormous thing, perhaps the size of a farm village. It was peaked and jagged, with a great pink cavern bored in one side by the warm waters. We all marvelled, and a part
y ventured to it in a small boat and returned with a big chunk of pink ice. I put some of it in a cup of wine and it fizzled and bubbled mostpleasandy.

  As our ship passed, I strolled along the deck, to study the ice field. I was so absorbed I almost bowled over Gamelan, who was busy doing something at the rail. After we'd made apologies for mutual clumsiness, I saw two large buckets of seawater with several fat fish inside. In his hand, Gamelan had a strong line with several nasty hooks attached. The wizard ducked his head when I saw them, but continued baiting the hooks.

  I laughed. 'You, a fisherman? And a fair one at that! I'd have thought that when wizards fished - and it never occurred to me they might - they'd cast a spell on the sea. Or dump some evil podon in the water to kill the fish.'

  'As an acolyte,' Gamelan replied, 'I was taught the first rule of magic is never to use it unnecessarily.'

  'Eating is necessary,' I pointed out.

  Gamelan actually blushed. Even with his long white beard and gnarly features, he looked definitely boyish. And if I had any inclination of mothering - which I definitely do not, to Tries's great anger - I'd have clutched him to my bosom. Then he shrugged. 'I wouldn't want this generally known.' he said, 'but I enjoy fishing. If truth be known, I was once a fisherman. My family always said that when I grew, I would be the finest fisherman in all Orissa.'

  I was as astounded as if he'd plucked a demon from his sleeve and called it 'Sister, dear'. 'A fisherman? You?'

  He smiled and cast his line. 'Is it really so strange?' he asked. 'I come from a place, like anyone else - complete with both sets of parents and a family.'

  'But how does a fisherman become a wizard? Much less Chief Evocator of all Orissa?'

  He was silent for a long time. I watched him let his line play near the ice field. Then he said: 'My watery friends have taken refuge under there. As soon as I saw it, I knew the fishing would be good.'