The Warrior's Tale

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  But pass on, Without seeing.

  Then he said, in a normal tone: 'That is all, my friend. I'm afraid that most of the protection you'll have tomorrow will be provided by your sword and your sisters.'

  'More than that,' I said, 'no warrior could wish, except the blessing of Maranonia and Te-Date.' I began to rise, and then an idea struck and I reseated myself. 'Gamelan... I am hardly an Evocator. But... you said a few minutes ago the Archon most likely wasn't headed for these seas when he fled, but now hopes to take advantage of something. Would that ... could that... be these volcanoes we're closing on?'

  I could see Gamelan's face pale, even in the flickering light from the tapers. 'Earth magic,' he whispered, more to himself than me. 'Here, where it reaches up from the heart of the world?' He thought long, then shook his head, regaining his calm. 'No, Rali. Even with the arts gained from the Far Kingdoms and fromjanos Greycloak I do not think the Archon capable of that. To touch that power would require not merely a great Evocator, working at the height of his powers, but some sort of sacrifice, a great sacrifice I cannot even imagine ... But for a moment, I was worried. Thank you, Rali. You've given me something tonight. Not only the reminder that my brain is getting as old as my bones, but that I spent too much time delving into my own thoughts and not enough asking others theirs. Please, Rali, bring any other such notions to me, no matter how farfetched you may think them. The Archon may be almost brought to bay, but there is a considerable way between tracking the bear to his den and lying on his skin in front of a roaring winter fire.'

  'You're telling me?' I laughed, remembering my first time with a spear against a great brown bear and how it had ended with me up a tree fortunately thick enough to bear a young girl's weight but not enough to support that of the animal who'd suddenly become the hunter. 'And I will need all the rest I can snatch.' I stood. 'Good luck on the morrow, Gamelan. Good luck to us all.'

  I went out into the reeking night, knowing there would be no sleep for me or anyone else until the Archon was dead.

  Deep in the night, we altered course. Just ahead was the first of the great volcanic cones, rising sheer from the ocean bottom. In the red light from its peak we'd seen breakers crashing against the base of the mountain. There appeared to be no more land other than the volcano, as the man sent forward to sound the depths found no bottom to his castings.

  The night sky was light enough to easily track the nine ships of the Archon. They, too, had changed course, sailing close along the mountain's base. By the time that cone lay to our stern, it was just dawn, and we could see clearly.

  Ahead, spaced evenly in the ocean, were three more volcanoes, these not as high nor as threatening as the one we'd just sailed past. These were not isolated peaks, but were connected by low shoals and bars that ran across the horizon as far as we could see. Finally the Archon was well and truly trapped.

  By full light, the Archon and Symeon had their ships into a line of battle and lowered their sails - either waiting for a signal to attack, or for us to come to them. Full light is hardly a fitting description - the air was as murky and thick as that in the midst of a burning forest. I thought I heard a rumble from the volcano to our rear, but it was most likely the seas on the reefs ahead.

  The seas were grey, tossing, nearly a full storm. The wind had changed once more, no longer coming from abeam, but blowing in our teeth. We'd lowered the masts on our ships, a standard practice when galleys went into combat. It was done not only to keep the oarsmen from being injured if a mast toppled during the fray, but also to ensure we had full advantage from our oars. The benches were fully manned and the war drums were sounding, the heavy thuds carrying from ship to ship above the wind's keening. The rhythm not only set the stroke for the rowers, but also was meant to stir the blood for the coming battle. It might well stiffen the sinews of Cholla Yi's seamen and marines on their ships, but my women hardly needed encouragement - the long pursuit had indeed proven a stern chase is a drear one, on land or sea. Now, at last the long struggle between Lycanth and Orissa would be ended within the day, no matter how mighty a wizard the last Archon was.

  It was hard to make out the other fourteen ships in our squadron, now with their masts sent down, the only protrusion above the fighting decks the small flag-staff on the stern used to send battle signals from ship to ship. Not that there were any signals being sent now - our tactics had been worked out long beforehand. Each galley was to take a target as it presented itself, close with that ship and seize it by boarding. Yi's captains and my own sergeants and warrants in charge of the Guard detachments on the eleven ships so honoured, were to keep close watch for any Orissan in danger and sail to their assistance when possible. If they saw an opportunity to strike at a distressed Lycanthian trying to flee, they were to attack and show no mercy.

  The Lycanthian ships were considerably bigger than and different from our own. They were sailing ships rather than sailing galleys and each vessel bulked two or three decks above the waterline, and had three masts and a sail-equipped bowsprit. They were, I'd been told, the pride of Symeon's fleet - fast armed merchantmen, little different from warships except in the luxury of their quarters. Now, with the wind at their backs, they held the weather gauge.

  I saw a great flag dip once, then again, on the tiny pulpit atop one ship's bowsprit, and, in a ragged display, the Lycanthian ships hoisted their sails. I heard a cheer roll across the waters from our fleet.

  'Now,' Stryker said, 'the bastards'll try to ram us, and good luck to them. 'Cause we're too good at bein' Cholla Yi's sharks to hang in the waters waitin' to be struck by a dolphin.'

  I saw oars dip and our galleys gathered headway. I also saw, but did not say anything, those ships containing my Guardswomen moving to the fore, eager to close with the enemy; but some others, the ones with Cholla Yi's marines, appeared willing to hang back and let others win the glory - and shed the blood - of first encounter.

  'Captain Stryker,' I shouted. 'That ship that was signalling. That will be the Archon's. Strike for it!'

  Stryker barked orders and our galley sped across the waters towards our target. We weren't the only ones to have seen the signals and other Orissan ships joined in the attack. First in the fray was Cholla Yi's own galley. Knowing what I do now, and what Cholla Yi became, I'm tempted to ascribe his mettle to what he'd said to me before we made the attack on Lycanth, about how a mercenary chief must lead from the front, or be pulled down by the rest of the pack. But though I hope Cholla Yi's soul is being slowly ripped apart by demons now, I won't diminish his courage. Bravery, I must never forget, is not the exclusive property of heroes.

  I saw two Lycanthian ships cut in front of the Archon's ship, attempting to protect their Wizard-King. The ships seemed able to sail at an unnatural rate of speed. Even though the wind was fierce, blowing directly from their sterns, I knew wind-magic was their real benefactor.

  I was struck by a wave of fear. I knew at that moment I would die -and not nobly, but as a failure, my guts cut out to leave me writhing, while the Archon made good his escape. I heard other women and men cry aloud as the same spell struck them. I struggled to fight it down, looking for reassuring words, but found none as the Archon's second war spell hit - and confusion sent my mind reeling. I no longer knew what orders to give, nor what I should do once we closed with the enemy.

  Then, from our bows, boiled a great green cloud, and both the panic and the mind-tangle vanished and I saw Gamelan, his hands moving in an arabesque as he cast the counterspell. Normally magic does not work well in battle, since both sides spend a vast amount of time spinning spells from personal protection to invincible armour to tactical ones such as the Archon had cast - but it's very seldom Evocators as truly powerful as Gamelan or the Archon are physically present on a battlefield. Without a doubt, this was a historic magical duel.

  I sucked in air, and sulphurous as it was, it felt good to my lungs. I looked to the side at the rest of our ships, just as one of the galleys attempted to skitter out o
f the path of an on-rushing Lycanthian. But either the confusion spell still lingered, or else the oarsmen were not skilful enough, because the Lycanthian ship's ram struck the galley squarely amidships, crushing its bulwarks and spitting it like a game fish speared by a hunter. I heard screams as the galley came clear of the water, hung for a moment, and then the wood ripped free, and the galley rolled sideways, back into the water. The Lycanthian ship's bow smashed into it, and the ship rode up and over the galley, sending it down into the depths - seamen and Guardswomen alike trying to find something to keep them afloat, but being dragged down by their clothes and armour, or dashed down by the frothing waves.

  I had time for no more and ran towards the bow, shouting for my women to make themselves ready. Sergeant Ismet was close behind me. As I ran, I heard another rumble, and this time knew it was not the seas nor the rocks, but the volcano behind us. Erupt and be damned, I thought. There's a sword closer in my future than any lava-flow.

  Corais and Polillo were waiting at the heads of their elements. Corais had the tight grin she always wore, a rictus empty of humour. Polillo was humming a tune, which was one of her characteristics. I'd asked her once, after a fight, what song she found so inspiring, and she looked at me in bewilderment and asked if I were feeling poorly, since she had no ear for music, and only sang when she was comfortably drunk and buried in a chorus of other sponges.

  The two protective Lycanthian ships were only about three bowshots away now. Behind them was the Archon's vessel, and I could clearly distinguish the banner of Symeon and, above it, the twin-headed lion of the Archon. I couldn't see Cholla Yi's ship.

  Three galleys struck from out of the gloom and breaking seas, straight for the Archon's escorts. I saw well-aimed spears and arrows shower the farthest Lycanthian ship's quarterdeck and she veered aside, her helmsman struck down. Two galleys went alongside the second ship and I saw my Guardswomen swarm up and onto their decks, swords lifting and coming down.

  The first galley was about to do the same to its now-drifting enemy and then the Archon pounced. From nowhere, a line of fire ran straight from his ship, on the water itself, as if shot by an invisible archer. The galley's bow burst into flame as if it were dry kindling. Gamelan began shouting a spell and the flames died as rapidly as they'd been born - but the Orissan ship lay dead in the water as crewmen and Guardswomen fought to regain control of the craft. Slowly it took on headway once more, and I found myself holding back a cheer, as the galley, undaunted by the burst of flame, hurled itself once more at the heart of the Lycanthian fleet!

  And now the way was clear for our own attack.

  'Your orders?' Polillo waited.

  I considered. The Archon's ship had great, sagging nets hung from the mast's lower yards to the bulwarks. There were spearsmen poised along the railings, waiting for a chance to drive their weapons through the body of any Guardswoman trapped in the nets. I saw archers lining the sides and there were two trebuchets on the foredeck and a derrick rigged from the mizzen-mast, the rear mast's sail struck for battle. I thought I could distinguish, far back on the quarterdeck, the figures of Nisou Symeon and the Archon.

  One of our other ships had come alongside a Lycanthian, bow to stern, and had cast grapnels across. But the thrust of the magic wind was pulling our galley backwards and it was wallowing out of control. One of the Lycanthian ship's derricks swung out over the side, a huge stone held in its net. The net released and the boulder crashed down through the hull of the Orissan galley. There were screams and a gush of water as the impact crushed the ship. Instantly the grapnels were cut away and the Lycanthian bore on, leaving our galley sinking in its wake.

  The Archon's ship loomed close. They'd seen us, realized their danger and cast a rock from a trebuchet. It splashed down close on our bow, sending a cascade of water over the soldiers in our bows.

  An idea came, and I shouted to Gamelan: 'Wizard! Stop that wind!' He heard, and I saw him begin to weave a new spell. I cupped both hands and cried to Stryker on the quarterdeck: 'Put us under her bows!' I seized a bow and quiver from one of my women and slung them over my shoulder.

  I don't know if he thought me mad, as if I were ordering him to ram the Archon's ship, but Stryker never wavered, and bellowed orders, his voice now coming as a high whine like the sea wind. The man at the helm muscled the tiller and Duban - the rowing master - issued his orders... and the wind died, Gamelan's counterspell working... and the Archon's ship's sails sagged and then flapped in a lull, and the Lycanthian ship began to lose way.

  Our ship arced close alongside the Lycanthian, its side looming high over us and then we were at its bows, our ship's oars on that side feathering. I saw Lycanthian heads above us and spears and arrows arcing down, and we were just under the ship's bows, and I leaped, seeing nothing except one of the ship's anchors hanging from its cathead and I had the corroded metal in my arms, and, nails tearing, brought myself up onto it. I stood on one fluke, the anchor swaying on its chain and then reached down, had Ismet's arm locked in mine and she, too, was on the Lycanthian ship as I saw, beyond her grim helmeted face, our galley fall away, oars thrashing as Stryker fought to bring it alongside once more.

  We were a boarding party of two and there were shouts above and an archer in the bowsprit's pulpit loosed a shaft that went wild and I had my own bow in hand, an arrow nocked and it hummed away; and the archer flung back his hands as the arrow buried itself in his chest and he fell into the sea. There were two other archers beside him, each aiming more carefully than his dead brother, but time was something they'd run out of, as Ismet dropped one, and I, moving in that dreamtime underwater battle sense, had no need to hurry, found a shaft, saw as I nocked it the fletchings were perfect, drew and as I had learned, felt the moment when the arrow and bow whispered 'loose me' to my soul and that arrow buried itself in the Lycanthian's throat, and there was no one left in the pulpit and for a moment we were safe - until the Lycanthians on the deck above us found a way to wiggle onto the bulwarks through the netting that now gave us a moment's cover.

  Stryker's galley was coming up on us now and then I saw Cholla Yi's ship coming in at full speed. We'd need all the reinforcements we could get to seize this flagship. I slung the bow and went hand-overhand up the cable, and found a solid wooden hold and pulled myself up onto the bowsprit.

  Scribe, I will take a moment to mention that here is yet another part of real battle that's not found in the sagas. The handhold was one of those ports cut in the bow to serve as a jakes. I will make a wager – one of your tunic buttons against all the Antero estates that I stand to inherit - that none of the heroic paintings that have been or will be done of that moment will depict me as I stood, hands covered in shit, Ismet beside me.

  But that didn't matter, then or later, because leading up from the bowsprit was a heavy cable, the forestay running up about halfway on the forward mast. I had but seconds, as I saw, through the boarding net's meshes, soldiers swarming towards me, spears ready.

  I shouted down to our galley for fire support, but my voice was lost in the wind as it came up once more, Gamelan's counterspell broken against the Archon's wind-casting; but there'd been no need, as arrows spat from both Cholla Yi's and Stryker's galleys and the soldiers wailed and fell back, their attention diverted.

  We were climbing again, upside-down and monkeying up that huge rope towards the mast. The forestay ended just at a tiny platform on the mast which I later learned was called a top, just above the fore yard, and Maranonia was aiding us, for the platform was empty of enemy soldiers. Our swords were out and we spotted the lines holding that boarding net aloft. We edged out on the yard, the great beam that held up the sail, and slashed and slashed again, and the net collapsed on the deck, burying in its folds a handful of archers who'd been aiming up at us. Now the way-was open for boarders.

  Stryker's galley was nosing alongside, tossing in the stormy seas and grapnels were coming up and my women swarming onto the Lycanthian ship. Behind it was Cholla Yi's galley, its bo
w full of archers into the Archon's ship.

  Ismet and I took a moment to catch our breath and an arrow whipped past, missing my head by a whisper - its broadhead slashed Ismet's arm as it buried itself in the mast we clung to. She started to jump, but caught herself even before I could grab her.

  'This is no more a safe haven,' she managed, wiping blood from the shallow gash on her arm, then forgetting her wound. 'Yet I can't see the archer who fired this. Let's move! We'll setde his account later.'

  Yes, I thought, but where? Below, the foredeck was a swarm of fighting men and women and I heard screams and battle-cries. I spotted Polillo by the flash of her axe as she parried a spearthrust, and, with her immense strength sent the axe back on a counterstroke, its beak burying in the side of the spearman. No one flinched on either side, nor did anyone cry for nor give quarter. The Lycanthians may have been evil, but by the gods they were brave. I felt in my bones - that this day's fighting, even if it were not for the ultimate fate of our city, would live long in legend. There is no glory in battle if your enemy is craven.

  Over the battlesounds I heard that terrible rumbling once more from the nearby volcanoes.

  We could have gone down the shroud lines into the battle, but there was more that should be done. There was a solid wall of soldiery across the deck, just back of the mainmast, keeping our boarders from reaching the ultimate target. On the quarterdeck, the last Archon stood in plain view, just behind the Lycanthian helmsman. Until he was taken, we were but killing cubs and leaving the wolf unharmed.

  In front of the Archon were two open, dull black chests, and he was taking things from them and casting them to the winds, sending a frenzy of spells against us. It hurt my eyes to look at him and I forced them away, to see Nisou Symeon. I knew him well, even though we'd never met before, from his slender form to the blond hair that fell in waves to his shoulders to the slender blade in his hand to the scars that Janos Greycloak's sorcery had marked his once-beautiful face for the monster's countenance it truly was.