by Allan Cole
Hold still little piggy while I
Give you a whack.
Then I’ll stuff you with dumplings
And fry you in fat.”
I let the coin fall.
There was a mechanical whirl and I jumped up as the door burst open and the farm wife came rushing out waving her toy ax over her head.
Instead of running after the crowing rooster she ran to the end of the toy’s painted platform. She didn’t hesitate at the edge, but leaped off, her tiny legs carrying her toward the battle.
I made a motion and she grew larger.
I motioned again and she became larger still, ballooning bigger and bigger until she was the size of the giants.
She shouted at the brutes and it was like the heavens erupting. But instead of a war cry it was my little rhyme:
“PIGGY, PIGGY, WHAT DID YOU DO?”
The giants were momentarily frozen by the howling apparition.
The huge toy farmwife cackled maniacally, waving an ax the size of a shed. Her voluminous skirts rustled like the winds as she ran. Her eyes bulged huge in that painted face and her fixed grin was so gleeful that it was horrifying.
“PIGGY, PIGGY, SHAME ON YOU!” roared the farmwife.
Then she was in their midst, chopping this way and that.
There was no stopping her relentless, untiring, mechanical fury. The giants squealed in terror like massive pigs. One was split in two. Another had its arm lopped off. I saw a huge, hairy head struck from brawny shoulders.
The farmwife rushed about at blinding speed, leaving a river of gore in her wake.
The slaughter continued down to the longboat, where the giant guards were soon dispatched.
Then we all stood, stunned by the horror of all that spilled blood, as the farmwife leaped into the sea and began churning toward the giants’ ship.
“HOLD STILL LITTLE PIGGY...” she cried, speeding toward the enemy vessel like a ship of war, “...WHILE I GIVE YOU A WHACK!”
I can’t imagine what was going through the minds of the giants aboard the ship when they saw the immense toy coming at them. I prayed that whatever those thoughts were, chaos would reign over all. I felt sorcery crackling in the air and I knew I had them.
A huge ball of magical fire lofted up from the enemy ship. You could smell the sulfur and evil intent from across the distance.
I chanted:
“I summon the summoned,
I curse the becursed.
I cast back the spear.
Mirror into mirrored
And mirrored once more.”
And I shouted:
“Be done!”
The fireball struck the huge toy and all disappeared into a vast steamy mist as the sea boiled and frothed.
The surface suddenly became so calm and so smooth that you’d think nothing had happened - that it’d all been the work of a fevered imagination.
Then the water bulged as a shape rose up like a ship rising from the deep. It was no ship that appeared, but the sister to the fireball that had been hurled. It hissed and steamed and shot off sparks as it broke through.
The fireball hovered for long seconds then blasted back the way it’d come. I heard the giants shout the alarm as they realized what had happened. The alarm echoed into hysterical bellows when the remainder of the crew became dimly aware that all was lost.
Then all the sounds that living things make when they’re desperate to remain in that state were drowned out as the fireball struck and an explosion rocked the ship.
Flames gouted up from the deck, then ran up the masts and the ratlines and then the sails caught fire. Some tried to fight it. Others ran for the sides.
But the inferno cut them off and the air was filled with screams of pain.
Then the screams died and all we could hear was the rumbling of the raging fire. Smoke columned up as the ship burned down to the waterline.
It sank with a long slow hiss that could be heard to the very hills.
And all became still except the whistle of the wind and the low crash of the waves.
A few days later I visited with Daciar in her chamber. She looked frail and weak under the covers, still suffering from the sorcerous blast that had felled her. But I was a most happy woman when I saw the bright gleam in her eyes that showed she was recovering.
She sent her attendants away so we’d be alone. And then we embraced one another, sobbing all those things people say when they’re glad to see their friend still lives after a great catastrophe.
When emotions had settled I wet her lips with a sponge soaked in wine. I’d mixed a restorative remedy of wine and magical herbs and was rewarded by color returning to her cheeks.
“Do you know why this happened, Rali?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I haven’t the vaguest notion,” I admitted. “I’ve thought long enough on it while you were lying abed. But I keep coming up with more questions than I started out with.
“We know the giants carried the banner of the Ice Bear King so he must be responsible. We know the giants came specifically for you. And that they’d been ordered to deliver you to some person or persons. Perhaps even the Ice Bear King himself. We can only speculate. With little to base it on.”
“Perhaps the enemy thought that without me, Pisidia would be helpless,” Daciar said. “And that a large army could march in and take over with little resistance.”
“I’ve thought of that,” I said. “It seems the most likely explanation. It wouldn’t be unusual for a pirate to get grand ideas, declare himself king and then set out to seize himself a kingdom to reign over.”
“It’s so obvious,” Daciar said with a smile, “that you don’t think it’s the case.”
“Not entirely,” I said. “Otherwise they’d have tried to kill you instead of take you captive.”
“But what purpose could I serve?” she asked.
“My only guess,” I said, “is that they wanted your power. That somehow they have - or believe they have - the means to tap your abilities to achieve their own aims.”
Daciar snorted. “It can’t be done,” she said. “It’s been tried many times in wizardly history. You can make a spell to reverse a spell. To turn it back on your attacker. Which is what happened to me. And I still feel like a fool.
“But you can’t steal magical power. You can’t even get it as a willing gift.”
“As far as I know,” I agreed, “that is the way of things. But who can say for certain? Magic is old but the laws are new. Only since Greycloak have such things been actually tested.”
Daciar nodded. She could see my point. Before Janos Greycloak all spells and magic were handed down from generation to generation. No one questioned the whys and wherefores. Faith was the rule, not reason.
“Pisidia’s leaders and generals are meeting now,” she said, “to determine what should be done.
“Tomorrow, if I’m well enough, I will add my counsel to the confused hysteria that is going on right now. Tell me, Rali dear, what do you think should be done?”
“I have no right to say,” I answered. “It is your homeland that’s been violated. Only you and your people know how much you’re willing to risk.
“Does revenge need to be exacted? If so, what blood price are you willing to pay for revenge or to make certain others don’t think you’ve grown weak and are open to attack?”
Daciar took this in, then said, “My advice will be to wait and see. To arm ourselves and do all we can to be ready for another invasion. But to seek more information before we act.”
“That sounds the wisest course to me,” I said.
“What will you do, Rali dear?”
“Simple,” I said. “My mission was to see how a great a threat this Ice Bear King was. Now I know. It’s very great. I don’t have to sail all over the southern seas to prove that. But the question remains: is that threat great enough to warrant action from Orissa? From our perspective he’s far away.
“I think, like you, I’ll advise my brother to w
ait and see what develops.”
“So you’ll return home immediately?” she asked.
“Not immediately,” I said. “First I’m going directly to the outposts. I can’t leave my people in such danger. I’ll lift them off, abandon the trading centers to the Ice Bear King if need be and get back to Orissa as fast and safely as I can.”
Daciar smiled. “Such a cautious woman,” she said.
I laughed. “My old sergeant didn’t used to think so,” I said. “She’d lash into me for being such a hot-headed child that some enemy was sure to take it off someday. I didn’t listen.
“Probably because only my head was at stake.”
Daciar asked me the particulars of my confrontation with the giants and the spell I’d used to overcome them.
“When I was told you’d used one of my toys from girlhood,” she said when I was done, “I thought my priestesses had been getting into the wine lockers again. But now I know it’s true. And how fitting an end for those creatures.”
She hugged herself in delight.
Then she asked, “What coin did you use to operate the toy?”
I replied, “I told you. An Antero copper piece.”
“With a ship on it?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” I said. “With a ship on it.”
I was confused, wondering why she was impressing this point on me.
Then I realized... Maranonia had seen three ships in my future. One of gold, one silver and one of... copper! A copper ship. Like the one on the coin.
Daciar grinned, but didn’t press for more, not wanting to endanger my vow of silence. Nothing forbade me from smiling back. She could read into that smile what she liked. And Daciar would read it correctly. Of that I had no doubt.
We talked a little while longer but then I could see she was tiring and needed to rest. I dabbed more of the restorative on her lips and left the bottle with her for future treatment.
Then we kissed goodbye, whispering little endearments and each urging the other to take great care as she goes.
I left the next day.
And I never saw her again.
CHAPTER FIVE
ANTERO BAY
We flew south on fair winds beneath a sky so blue you’d never know there could be misery under it.
I had countless worries to gnaw on, not the least of which was the safety of our friends at the outposts. My mind frothed with foul possibilities of what might be ahead. But for a time the brisk winds and clear skies kept me off those moody reefs.
There were glad tidings to consider. We’d only suffered a few scrapes and bruises in the encounter with the giants and my men were in high spirits, going about their work with such good cheer that it was infectious.
It was an easy affliction for me to catch. I don’t tend to be a brooder. I take life in stride - chart my course for the worst but pray for the best and let the casting bones fall as they may. For who can really say what the heavens have in store for us? Beware of any Evocator who claims otherwise.
As a wise woman once said, “You want to hear the Gods laugh? Tell them your plans.”
Life can be good at sea. It’s on land where human troubles dwell: a quarrelsome mate, disobedient children, idle relatives and nagging debt. At sea those troubles are either behind you or ahead of you and there’s naught you can do about them until you hail the next port, so what’s the point of worrying?
I remember one day in particular during that voyage when the sea was as clear as the skies. It was like sailing through air with only the fish below and the birds above to give you any sense of which way was which. We’d shaken out the kinks of land, stowed all that was to be stowed and had a good fish dinner tucked under our ribs to steady us.
I broke out the grog, a hearty broth made in the SweetCaneIslands in the West, and passed a good measure around.
A drink or so later Donarius got out his pipes and the twins entertained us with a jig while he played a merry tune. I clapped in time with the rest, delighted to find myself so much at ease in their company.
But the great surprise came when Lizard burst into song. Now as far as looks go Lizard was not the most pleasing of Te Date’s creations.
I’d always imagined Our Lord Te Date’s attention must’ve wandered when Lizard was squeezed from the common clay. And He kept squeezing and squeezing until He had something so long and skinny there was little room to attach legs and arms - and so smooth that hair wouldn’t stick.
But as strange as Lizard looked, stranger still was his voice, which proved to be the most melodious baritone I’d ever heard in my life.
I remember my surprise as well as I remember the words of Lizard’s bawdy sailor’s song:
“She was the fairest young maid in Orissa.
So heave, heave me boys, heave.
She charged a copper each time that I kissed her.
She said, heave, heave me boy, heave.
I kissed her high…
I kissed her low…
Heave, heave me boys, heave.
I kissed her tits, I kissed her toes..
Kissed her where she said go...
Crying, heave, heave me boy, heave...”
Startled as we were by his rich voice, we all laughed at the song. Not to be outdone, Donarius belted out his own favorite sea ballad in high-wavering tones:
“They sailed upon a boozy sea, my lads
At the Tavern By The Glade.
They sampled all the joys, my lads.
At the Tavern By the Glade.
They danced and sang
‘Til the kettles rang
Then diddled all the maids...”
The song went on like that for a time, each verse descending into another level of obscenity. Some of the men shot me a look as Donarius sang, wondering, no doubt, if their Lady Evocator was offended. But I’d heard much fouler things from my sisters in the barracks and had even sung a drunken ode or three to fornication myself in my younger days. So I clapped along to Donarius’ rhyme with the rest of them, thoroughly enjoying myself.
It turned out that Lizard had an even greater entertainment in store. He’d oiled his voice with grog while Donarius sang and when the first mate was done Lizard held up a hand for silence.
He cleared his throat and then he sang a lovely old ballad in tones as deep as the sea and clear as the skies above:
“There was a lad, a lad so fair,
And he was the blacksmith’s son.
He loved the inkeep’s daughter dear,
Who dwelt in Castledon.
Who dwelt in Castledon.
But she was cruel and she was cold
And did not believe his boast:
That of all the girls in all the world
That he loved her most.
Yes, that he loved her most.
His father took great alarm,
For his mother it was worse.
They feared their lad would come to harm,
He mourned ‘til his heart near burst.
Mourned ‘til his poor heart near burst.
They sent him to Orissa town
And for six long years he stayed
And many a tear came down
And many a prayer was prayed.
And many a prayer was prayed.
But then that lad, that lad so fair,
Took him to the river and drowned.
For his sorrow he could not bear.
And he died for the maid in Castledon.
Yes, he died for the maid in Castledon...”
The tale went on, telling of the maid’s sorrow when she heard the news of the lad’s demise. Realizing the depths of the love she’d spurned, the maid goes mad and wanders the land until she comes to a tragic end.
When it was done I cried a little. We all cried a little. And it was most comforting.
It was an old song, a sad sweet melody that carried us away to the days of our youth when it seemed the greatest ill that could befall a maid or lad was unrequited love. It cl
eansed our spirits more than any spell I could’ve cast to heal the memory of the battle we’d fought and what it might portend.