The Warrior's Tale

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  Cholla Yi made way as she came up to us, his pirate's wit quickly sniffing out a small hope of survival.

  'Let me speak to them,' she said. 'I'll tell them you rescued us. I won't say a word about The Sarzana. I'll feel like a traitor, but as my father says, sometimes honour requires a lie.'

  I looked at Cholla Yi. 'We don't seem to have any other choice,' he said. 'At least not one that involves a chance at living.'

  So we put down our arms and signalled the rest of our shipmates to surrender as well. A few minutes later Konyan soldiers were swarming on board. At their head was a tall, silver-haired man with the uniform and bearing of a commander. To our relief he instantly recognized Princess Xia and was quite surprised to see her with us.

  'Your ladyship!' he exclaimed. 'Thank the gods you're safe.'

  'I do thank the gods, Admiral Bhzana,' she said. 'I thank them for sending these strangers to my side. They saved our lives.'

  Bhzana's features motded. 'You owe them curses, not thanks, Princess,' he barked. 'These scum freed The Sarzana. He's already mounted his first attacks. And I was sent out to hunt these dogs down!'

  He motioned to his soldiers and they were on us, kicking and hammering us to the deck, despite cries of protest from Xia.

  In minutes all of us were beaten into submission and chained. Actually, we were all too surprised to put up much of a struggle.

  'How did they find out?' Cholla Yi muttered to me as they lined us up to be hurled into the waiting boats.

  My mouth was too full of blood from the beating I'd taken to answer. Even if I could have, I was as bewildered as he.

  I was thrown headlong into a boat, my knees and elbows taking all the shock, so it was a wonder nothing was broken. I looked up in time to see Gamelan being tossed over the side. I did my best to roll under him to soften his fall. It must've worked, because when he hit my ribs were nearly stove in and my breath whooshed out. I fought to draw in air and kept getting his beard in my mouth.

  'Get off me, wizard,' I finally managed to grit out.

  'Is that you, Rali?' he said. He rolled off me and I shuddered in a long breath. 'I feared they'd already killed you.'

  'I think they're saving the honours for the torturers,' I said.

  Gamelan nodded. 'I suppose so,' he said, remarkably mild. 'Still, we're alive. When you get to be my age you'll marvel at that simple fact when you awaken each morning. A good day is when you don't hurt someplace new.'

  'Wizard,' I said.

  'Yes, Rali?'

  'If you please ... just shut up!'

  Seventeen

  The Dungeons of Konya

  ISOLDE CLAIMS TO be the most beautiful and gracious of all the hundreds of islands that make up the kingdom of Konya. Mythmakers say the islands were born from the gardens of the gods when a magical wind scattered flower seeds across the Western Ocean - and Isolde, they say, is the daughter of the loveliest flower of all. Konyans wax most lyrical in praising the charms of the island. Haunting farewells have been created, telling many a tale of Isolde heroes and lovers who've been forced from the land and struggle mightily to return. They sing of perfumed air, bees who make honey headier than any wine, birds whose voices rival the very lyres of the gods, and warm suns and balmy winds that forever bless those shores. Even the seas, whose bounty never ends, according to the balladeers, produce fish whose flesh is sweeter than any milk-fed calf that ever graced a royal table.

  There was a fellow four dank cells down from mine who sang those songs whenever melancholy overtook him - which was frequently, since he was madder than a lead-maker's apprentice. After listening to him for more days than I care to number, I was ready to cut out his tongue. On really bad nights, as we listened to his warblings echo along the dungeon corridors, I would've traded a chance for freedom if they'd only let me wring his neck.

  'It'll almost be a relief when the torturers come to get us,' I told Gamelan. 'There's nothing they can do that's worse than being forced to listen to that son of a poxed alley whore.'

  ‘I must admit,' Gamelan said, 'when we were first shown to our... guest quarters... I thought his voice a delight. And I wondered what manner of men could these Konyans be to punish such talent. So, he was fool enough and drunk enough to compose a song comparing the Council of Purity to nine warts on a crone's behind. In civilized lands they make allowances for artists. We say the gods must, by necessity, leave out common sense from the holy clay they use to form such a person. But I've changed my view. If I ever get my powers back, the first thing I swear I'll do is turn that croaker into a fat toad whose curse it shall be to dwell among eternally hungry cranes who will slowly pick him to pieces each day, and shit him whole again on the morrow so he can make another meal for them.'

  I brightened at the vision he painted and went back to sucking the marrow out of the rat bone I'd saved from the watery stew we'd cooked up the night before. Gamelan always had a way of cheering a woman up, no matter how low her circumstances.

  Oddly enough, we owed our lives to the very man who'd put them in jeopardy - The Sarzana. He'd broken out of the Cevennes - the large island group that had the misfortune to be his birthplace - and with thousands of berserkers and a steadily growing fleet of warships, was laying waste to everything in his path.

  'The Council of Purity is too bus)' to deal with the likes of you just now,' Admiral Bhzana had said as we were led away in chains. 'But do not fear - they will not forget you. When the time comes you will suffer most horribly for what you have done.'

  The dungeon they put us in was carved out of a small mountain. The main city crawled up that mountain on crowded terraces that narrowed to a sharp pinnacle where the old, red-domed Palace of the Monarchs sat. The palace, we learned, housed the offices of the Council of Purity and their legion of clerks, tax collectors, wardens and petty officials. Over much time the city's sewers had leached through what soil can cling to those rocky slopes, and seeped between countless cracks and other deformities until the filth made its way to us in the form of ever-drizzling walls and ceilings.

  A prisoner - who through stealth and a willingness to engage in any crime or obscenity had managed to live more than forty years in that odoriferous tomb - said the dungeon had been dug by the first men and women sentenced there. New populations had enlarged it to its present great size over the centuries.

  'Mark my words, there'll be more rock crackin' soon,' he chortled. 'Al 'as happens like that wh'n there's a war on. Gotter make room, room, room for alia traitors that get sniffed out. They's th' good times for old Oolumph, they is. 'Cause wi' a traitor, you gots your families that's gotter be locked up's well. 'N old Oolumph gotter show 'em th' ropes, 'n fetch 'em treats, 'n do 'em all sorts of favours, he does. 'Course, I gets me price, but I sees it me duty to alia poor misfortunates what comes down here to get their bones stretched and skin took off.' He exposed stumps of rotted teeth. I suppose it was a smile. 'Last time things was this good, The Sarzana was runnin' things. Pickin's been slim since then. I s'pose old Oolumph's th' only feller in Konya what's got cause to thank you Orissans.'

  Then he eyed my earrings speculatively. 'So, when th' time comes, Sister,' he said, 'I kin put in a word wit th' sergeant what runs th' rack. Price a one a those get yer neck snapped first go. Won't feel a thing a'ter that.'

  I'd been alone in the heavily barred cell for four days by the time Oolumph had come scuttling along the corridor. The guttering torch he held was the first light I'd seen in all that time. I'd also been without food, and the only water I'd been brought was a rusty bucket with more scum than drink. The cell was bare, wet stone, with a hole cut in one corner for me to do my business. So, Oolumph was a welcome sight, indeed.

  I didn't turn away from his ruined face, which looked like it had been melted on the bone. He wore filthy rags, but the cloth had once formed a fine garment, and his toes curled out of the rotted boots of a long-gone nobleman. Other than my weapons, I'd been allowed to keep whatever I had on me at the time of our surrender, inc
luding my jewellery and wide leather belt, which was studded with gold coins struck with Maranonia's face. Oolumph's watery red eyes travelled a slow path to that belt, starting with the earrings, then my breasts, skipping down to my feet and then lingering up my bare legs until the tunic hem blocked further view, and finally to the belt at my waist. I made no protest as he examined me, but only smiled so he'd believe I was no threat.

  His eyes widened when he saw the belt and he forgot his foulest thoughts. I plucked a coin off the belt and held it high for him to see.

  Licking his lips, he came closer to the bars. 'So, what kin old Oolumph do fer th' pretty lady?'

  My other hand shot out and grabbed him by the hair. He howled in pain as I crushed his face through the bars. I bared my teeth and snarled: 'If old Oolumph wants to live to draw another breath of this filthy air, he'll mind his manners.'

  'Sorry, your ladyship,' he groaned. 'So sorry. Please!'

  I abruptly let loose and he nearly fell to the floor. He straightened as much as his rack-hunched spine would let him, watery red eyes simmering in that ruined mask. Before he could speak I tossed the coin through the bars. He snatched it from the air with the reflexes of a market thief. The anger turned to interest.

  'Do I have your attention, now?' I said.

  'Oh, yes indeedy yer does, your ladyship,' he said.

  'That's Captain,' I corrected. 'Captain Antero, if you please.'

  'Well, Cap'n Antero it is, then. Or, General, if yer like. Makes no never mind to th' likes a me.'

  'To start with,' I said, 'I'm not too fond of these quarters.'

  Oolumph nodded, eager. 'Better kin be had your -I mean, Cap'n.'

  'I also want company,' I said. 'I have a friend. An old blind man. Goes by the name of Gamelan.'

  More nods from Oolumph. 'I knows where they keeps him, I does,' he said.

  'Then get about your business,' I said. 'I want quarters large enough for the two of us, and blankets, lots of blankets. Food, of course. And ...'

  'Old Oolumph knows what th' Cap'n needs,' he broke in. He held up the coin. 'Yer needn't worry I'll cheat yer. This'll buy a lot. 'N I'll let's yer know when more'll be due.' He gave my belt another long look. 'From what I hears,' he said, 'you Orissans ain't long for this life. So that belt'll more'n last yer.' And he scuttled away.

  I don't know how much time passed before the guards came. It was impossible to count the hours much less the days in that foul blackness. The new cell was a royal chamber compared to the last. It was fairly large, not quite so damp, and had two stone shelves on either side for beds. There was a musty straw mattress on each shelf, and - thanks be the gods - a large pile of mouldy blankets that were nearly vermin-free. And to add to these delights, there was even a supply of fuel to burn to keep warm - with a nearly rat-free hole above to carry away the smoke - and material to make torches.

  I was busy smoking the vermin from the blankets when they brought Gamelan. His hair was stringy, his flesh grey, but he had a spring to his walk that let me know he was as well as could be expected.

  'Welcome to your new home, wizard,' I said. 'Come warm yourself by the fire.'

  Gamelan whooshed relief. 'Thank the gods it's you, Rali,' he said. 'I thought I was being taken to have my bones bent, or worse.'

  He carefully made his way to the fire - he'd have taken offence if I'd led him there - and squatted down. He sniffed at the bubbling stew Oolumph had provided. 'Is that meat, I detect? Real meat?'

  'It's rat,' I said, ladling out a bowl with a nice plump thigh in it.

  'I could learn to like rat,' he said. He sipped the weak broth. 'Not bad.' The thigh bumped against his lips. Gamelan fished it out and gnawed on it with vigour.

  'There's more where that came from,' I said. 'I know the innkeeper.'

  I shook out the blanket and put it around his thin shoulders. He hugged it close, a smile of great bliss gleaming through his dirty beard.

  'Oh, to be warm again,' he said. 'I didn't mind the thought of dying. As for the pain our hosts promised, I'm too old to pleasure them long. But the idea of going to my grave half-starved and chilled through to my backbone did not please me.'

  'You've been speaking of death too much, wizard,' I said. 'Eat your fill. And warm those old bones to the marrow. I need your wisdom to get us out of here, my friend.'

  'I doubt escape is possible, Rali,' he answered. 'We're so deep in the bowels of these dungeons you'd need a full year's production of a pipe-maker just to get the sunlight to us. And magic is no good. The Konyan wizards have so many layers of spells on this place that even the great Janos Greycloak would've had trouble raising a boil on a pox victim's hide.'

  I didn't quarrel with him. I'd encountered the block with the very first spell I'd tried when I was dumped into that Konyan hole.

  'Still, there must be some way,' I said. 'I've no intention of giving up without an effort. My brother escaped from a place much worse than this, and he was up against the Archons, to boot. Besides, I have my soldiers to think of. I got them into this mess. It's up to me to get them out.'

  It was then that the singing started. A plaintive ballad in a remarkably sweet voice echoed along the dungeon corridors. It was a love story - the tale of a young woman who died tragically, and her lover who slew himself so they could be joined together as ghosts.

  I was about to remark on its beauty when another voice rang out: 'Shut yer gob, Ajmer!'

  I was shocked at the crass treatment the singer drew, as was Gamelan. But the song continued without interruption.

  'You heard 'im, Ajmer!' rang out still another critic. 'I swear I kills yer if'n yer don't stop.'

  Ajmer paid them no mind. He finished the song and began another -an ode to a tree that stood alone on a riverbank for a thousand years. The tree, it seemed, had once been a maiden who was so beautiful a god fell in love with her. He spurned the attentions of a goddess to woo this maiden, making the goddess so jealous she turned her into that tree.

  Soon, the whole corridor rang with raucous threats. Through it all, Ajmer sang on.

  'What barbarians,' I said to Gamelan.

  'I was thinking the same thing, myself,' he said. 'There's no accounting for taste.'

  Much time passed. Another coin found its way into Oolumph's pockets. Gamelan and I racked our skulls every waking moment, but no solution presented itself. Meanwhile, Ajmer kept singing, stopping only to sleep and eat. And all the songs were of the same sweet love-lost theme. His voice evoked bitter memories of my own lost loves: Tries, who left me for another; Otara, from whose death I'd never fully recovered; and - more maddeningly still - the Princess Xia, who was not my lover, but in my captivity the memory of her haunted me most fiercely.

  I began to hate Ajmer as much as the others. To keep ourselves from going mad, Gamelan and I would rate the curses hurled at him. 'I'll rip your heart out if you don't stop,' someone would shout. The wizard and I agreed this was poor and lacked imagination. On the other hand, the fellow who screamed: 'I'll get a poxed whore to piss in your soup!' rated the highest mark of all. We rewarded him with a bowl of rat's stew. So much for our amusements, which, as you can tell, were few.

  Through Oolumph, we learned the others were doing as well as could be expected. My Guardswomen were being held in the same area and seemed to have enough valuables to trade to ease the hardships of the dungeon, and I sent word to Corais and Polillo to keep them exercised as much as possible and added a few hopeful lies to boost their spirits. Cholla Yi and his pirates were having little difficulty - none of them, after all, were exactly inexperienced when it came to incarceration.

  Meanwhile, Gamelan and I were having no luck coming up with an escape plan. The more we investigated, the less likely it seemed such an opportunity would arise. Hovering over all our musings and many debates was the mystery of how the Konyans learned of the part we'd played in freeing The Sarzana.

  'The more I keep circling the question,' Gamelan said one day, 'the more it seems to me only The Sarzana
himself could have been responsible. Other than him, the only people who knew were with our fleet, and none of them had contact with the Konyans until their ships surprised us.'

  'But, that doesn't make sense,' I said. "What did he have to gain? It would've been better for him if his enemies believed he was so powerful he could escape without assistance. It'd make them fear him more when he suddenly showed up in the Cevennes.'

  'That's true,' Gamelan said. 'Only a fool would not see such a claim was to his advantage. And The Sarzana, we've sadly learned, is no fool. Still... there is no other possibility. And if what I suspect is true, The Sarzana,- or someone close to him - believed it was more important to have us killed than to reap the benefits of secrecy.'

  The wizard's logic was flawless, but no matter how hard I pounded my noggin, I couldn't make out what The Sarzana hoped to gain.

  The routine of dungeon life moved as slowly and as agonizingly as one of Ajmer's songs. We arose each day - if day it was, since there was no sun to mark it - to the sound of Oolumph bringing the fixings for our meals. By necessity, these always involved some sort of stew. There were a few pitiful vegetables, a few unskinned rat carcasses, and sometimes a lump of an unrecognizable meat-with more fat than flesh. If there were rice, or beans, I'd pick out the stones before putting them in the pot. Any crumbs left over from our daily bread ration went in with them. Then I'd skin the rats, preserving the blood for the pot, scrape all the nourishment I could from the hides, and set the whole thing to simmer in a broth of boiled bones and hide.

  We'd make fresh torches when necessary, breaking down the remnants of the others for fire kindling, and then wash as best we could. I exercised constantly, bending and stretching and fighting my shadow on the dungeon wall. I ran in place hour after hour, and dangled from the bars of our cell door, raising and lowering myself until my muscles screamed. This way, instead of weakening, I grew stronger each day.

  Even with all the exercise, sleep was difficult. It seemed each time I was about to fall into a deep sleep, some force would suck me down with such fearful strength I sensed I'd suffer some great evil if I surrendered. I dozed in snatches - always an easy thing for a soldier-and in this manner remained fresh. Once a week we'd smoke our blankets, mattresses and clothing to rid them of any fleas or lice that had found their way into the seams.