Wrath of the White Tigress

by David Alastair Hayden

  ~~~

  As the officers climbed to the aft deck to meet with Jaska, Ohzikar told him, "The men will never trust you."

  "I don't expect them to. I only wish for them to know the truth of whom they serve."

  The truth wouldn't change anything. The ship's crew took pride in their work, and leaving would bring dishonor upon themselves and a reckoning with the gods of the sea. Even more, the sailors feared Jaska's wrath if they should leave, despite his promise otherwise.

  Not a man would quit.

  ~~~

  After meeting with the ship's officers and discussing plans in depth, Jaska huddled in a corner of their cabin, as far from the others as possible. There he studied three scrolls that Zyrella had purchased for him. The charcoal rubbings, inked diagrams, and notes clearly detailed Salima's diagrams. When the others went to sleep, he continued by the light of a single candle. Still awake at dawn, Jaska donned his training outfit and stepped out onto a mist-covered deck. The ocean sloshed at the galley's sides as shipped oars waited on sleeping rowers. Yet the ship moved on, if slowly, powered by a light breeze.

  Jaska climbed onto the small foredeck, stretched, and began his martial katas. Today he introduced subtle changes based on Salima's sigils. At first he felt awkward and clumsy, since the moves were similar yet different from what he had practiced thousands of times before. From time to time he would pause at the end of a strike and ponder the direction of the energies flowing out from him, or he would hold a step longer than he should, contemplating the buildup of power within him. Haltingly, he progressed until he began to understand the katas.

  Once he could perform them in the correct sequence and without error or pauses, he knew the changes were valid, for the katas felt more fluid. Pure, vibrant energies gathered within him, and he felt he could conquer his every weakness and vice.

  Then Jaska performed the katas once again in the familiar way Salahn had taught him. He felt just as much power, but the energy built up in a heavy, seductive way. He wanted more, and he felt he could overpower anyone who stood in his way.

  He aborted a spinning kick at the end of one of the katas, a kick he well remembered Salahn teaching him. Salahn had made these changes to suit his purposes. By changing the forms, Salahn had transformed the way the palymfar trained and thought.

  Jaska feared he would have to relearn everything.

  Jaska continued practicing the older katas. Where Salima's sigils gave him no clear reference, he gave himself over to the movements and trusted his instincts to carry him through the proper motions. He avoided Salahn's katas altogether, no longer wanting their influence in his life.

  Eight mercenaries gathered along the edge of the deck and watched Jaska with wary interest. None had ever witnessed the secret arts of the palymfar. None failed to imagine the terrible result should they ever face such a warrior. Ohzikar joined the mercenaries but stood unobtrusively at the back of the crowd.

  Jaska's first reaction to his audience was to forbid their observation, but he quelled such a notion. These men might soon face palymfar. If they saw the moves practiced, they would feel less awe when facing them. In fact, it wouldn't hurt if he prepared them.

  Jaska led Ohzikar away from the mercenaries. "Do you think they have what it takes to fight palymfar … If it comes to that?"

  "I think so. Your benefactor didn't spare expense. He hired the best available."

  "Do you think they will accept my instruction?"

  "They may not trust you, but no soldier would ever refuse a better sword."

  "Could you join me in the demonstration?"

  "Of course. But I don't know how much help I can be. I have much to learn as well."

  "You are the finest warrior I have ever fought against. That is truth, not flattery."

  "I'm no palymfar."

  "No, your techniques are different. But in a fair fight, you could better most one-on-one."

  Jaska singled out one of the mercenaries. "Summon the rest of your comrades, including your sergeant."

  "Yes, my lord."

  Sergeant Daras and his men arrived on the deck. Jaska explained his intentions. "I'll show you how the palymfar fight and how you might counter their tactics. Don't let these instructions swell your confidence. No single one of you can stand up to a palymfar, but you might survive if you pay close attention and fight against them in teams. We will work on this twice a day throughout our journey. Ohzikar will help me demonstrate."

  Jaska and Ohzikar sparred at half-speed with Jaska explaining the basic palymfar moves as he used them. He kept things simple since it was their first day. Afterward he taught them exercises to improve their speed and flexibility.

  Sergeant Daras thanked Jaska for the instructions. Though his men hesitated to speak to Jaska directly, they stood nearby and nodded quietly, except for Bakulus and Caracyn who discussed something between themselves.

  Jaska said, "I hope that you'll never need these preparations, sergeant."

  "I fear we might, commander. Hareez gathers strength. Rumors of war with city-states in the East circulate. The palymfar number few overall, but a mercenary never knows whom he might face."

  "Well said and true. Send your men through those exercises only once a day until they have grown accustomed. We can't afford fatigued men in an ambush."

  ~~~

  The afternoon sun beat down on the laboring rowers. Strong men with endless stamina earned good money on Pawan Kor's galleys. No slave could rival a professional rower's discipline and eagerness to earn his pay. Nevertheless, many rowers missed the bosun's drumbeats as Jaska stepped into their midst on the starboard side.

  The bosun stopped his drum taps. The captain checked to see what was happening. The bosun pointed to Jaska and shrugged. The rowers shipped their oars while Jaska stripped down to pants and qavra.

  He approached the first rower in the line, the senior oarsman for the starboard bank. "I'm taking over for the next few hours. Go rest. You've earned it."

  "My lord," said the grizzled sea-veteran, "are you certain?"

  "I'm not afraid of hard work, if that's what you mean. I won't ask anything of anyone in my hire that I'm not willing to do myself. Besides, I need the workout."

  The aging man furrowed his bushy eyebrows. "Where should I wait, my lord?"

  "Wherever you wish. The bosun will call for you when you are needed."

  A grin spread across the man's face and creased his eyes. "Yes, my lord."

  While the oarsman's stunned comrades watched in silence, Jaska sat and took hold of his oar. The bosun strolled over while two ship boys carried buckets down the line giving water to the rowers.

  "You've done this before, my lord?"

  "No, but I've watched them work and listened to your commands. I'll catch on. Work us as normal."

  The bosun licked his lips from between his gapped teeth, like a lizard probing the air. Then he half-shrugged and bobbed his head. "Aye, just as you wish, my lord."

  The bosun returned to his station on the foredeck and took up his mallet. "Back to rowing, you dogs!" And he began to beat the rowers' rhythm with many of the men singing chanteys in time.

  Jaska winked at the balding, middle-aged man next to him. His oar-mate nodded, and his large hoop earrings, three in each ear, swayed and tinked together. "A fine day for rowing, my lord. Do you know the chanteys?" Jaska shook his head. "Would you like to learn them?"

  "No, I think I prefer my thoughts."

  "It's the same for me, silence or chanteys, I've sung and heard them for so long. You won't mind if I hum and sing sometimes? My lord."

  "Not at all. And I'm no lord, just Jaska, please, at least while I'm rowing."

  "And after?"

  Jaska frowned. "I'm used to being called master, but I'm not a master of anything anymore."

  "You've got to be called something or men of lesser station won't respect you. And if you don't mind me saying, master is a better title than the Slayer."

  "True enough. Call
me, Kharos then."

  "Old Hareezan is it?"

  "Yes. It means respected teacher."

  "Kharos Bavadi then."

  "Jaska for now, though."

  The man nodded. "Is it true what you said, about being controlled for all these years? It wasn't just a speech to impress us?"

  "It's true."

  "What about the other palymfar? Are they all like that?"

  "Only me. A prophecy said I'd defeat Grandmaster Salahn but he preferred to harness my talents rather than kill me."

  The bulky rower studied him out of the corner of his deep brown eyes. "It'd have been better to kill you, I think."

  That was obvious to a man who worked the oars for his living but apparently not to one who coveted power. Jaska heaved on the oars, working harder than he had expected but enjoying it nonetheless. He toiled for three hours. Sweat dripped into his eyes and ran across muscles still atrophied from injury. Aches dug deep beneath his scars but not with sharp pangs, so he continued to press himself. He needed to rebuild his health, and hard labor cleared his mind in a way palymfar meditation and katas no longer could.

  When finished, he patted his partner on the shoulder. The man smiled back and said, "You did good. Though I pulled more than normal…"

  "In a week, I'll be pulling my fair share. Of course, tomorrow I plan to overwork someone else."

  "Hah! I won't miss you."

  "I don't expect so . . . You never told me your name."

  "Tieros Rowman. The oars are all the men of my family have done for generations." Jaska nodded and then turned to leave but Tieros stopped him. "One thing more, Kharos Bavadi. If you're not used to this, I'd suggest you take tomorrow off. Trust me, you'll want to."

  "I will stretch the muscles tonight, my friend, and work them again tomorrow. Pain gathers strength."

  ~~~

  Captain Rohl had watched Jaska, trying to discern whether the man had staged that display to earn the trust of the rowers, but he saw no reaction that would lead him to think so. Perhaps his tale of redemption held truth. Rohl sighed. He feared he wouldn't live past this venture. He vowed to quit taking dangerous commissions and promised himself he'd earned enough money already.

  Bakulus and Caracyn had also watched from their nearby posts. They witnessed a tired, silent man lost within his own thoughts and emotional struggles. They saw neither pride nor pleasure at what he had done nor any move to capitalize on the trust he had built.

  "Either he's a master of deception," Bakulus said. "Or he's the one."

  While sitting cross-legged on the foredeck, Jaska initiated the meditative trance he needed to enter the Shadowland. Dark mists surrounded his floating spirit-form as he hovered high over the ship and gazed all around. He took his course farther out until he saw only the grey mists of the Shadowland. Unless their enemies were masked, no immediate danger threatened.

  Jaska returned to the normal world and faced Zyrella. "You waited a long time."

  She tilted her head in admission. "I wanted to talk."

  "About what?"

  "Nothing in particular."

  Jaska frowned as he stood and stretched. He leaned over the gunwale and watched the ship skim through the sea. Zyrella stood beside him. "You have warded the entire ship?" he asked.

  Wind swept her hair across her face and she pushed it out of her eyes. "I have drawn all the wards, but half of them await activation. I will do that after dinner then sleep all day tomorrow. Did you see anything through the Shadowland?"

  "Nothing."

  Zyrella moved closer. He attracted her, drew her to him even when he didn't intend to. She couldn't help but wonder if this was the White Tigress' doing.

  "Have your nightmares improved?"

  "No, and I still remember little. My true past eludes me. Shadows and mist. Nothing more."

  "Do you want it to come back?"

  "Not really, but the alternative is to live with memories that are lies."

  Zyrella watched the far, bleak shore. Swallowing pride and fear, she said, "Jaska, the bond that pulls at us…"

  He looked away. "What would you have me do about it?"

  "I don't know."

  "Then what is there to discuss?"

  "Nothing … Everything."

  "Discussing it only makes it more real. It's already difficult to resist. Nothing good can happen if we give in to these urges."

  "You sound like Ohzi."

  Jaska looked into her sparkling eyes and kept his gaze from wandering down to her lips. "Have you told him?"

  "He understands well enough, I think."

  "What are the two of you?"

  "Once, we were lovers. For two years. But in that way we drifted apart. Our friendship, however, continued to grow."

  "But he seems to love you as a man should love a wife."

  "More."

  "And do you love him?"

  "Just as much."

  "Yet there is no desire?"

  "Desire remains but … there are problems between us. Problems that I don't wish to talk about."

  Jaska slid toward her. Only a few inches separated them. Without thinking, he found himself saying, "You are beautiful, strong, intelligent. Everything about you is perfect."

  Zyrella bit the edge of her lip and leaned toward him. Her breathing quickened, her body trembled.

  He said, "If I had not suffered as I have…"

  "Does it matter?"

  "If you had my nightmares, if you had done what I did to others, you would understand."

  "You are not that man."

  "I disagree, for I carry his burden."

  Zyrella couldn't stop her desire, couldn't halt whatever sorcery afflicted her with such passion for him. She put her hand on his arm. "We can't resist this forever. I don't know what it is. I have never felt anything like it, have never heard of anything like it, and I'm not certain it should be resisted."

  "Zyrella!" Ohzikar called, climbing onto the foredeck. "There you are." He noticed their expressions: Jaska's tortured, Zyrella's of spurned desire. They had dealt with what must be dealt with, he knew, but he feared the outcome might not be as he hoped. "I finished those tasks you set for me."

  She put on a false smile as he deliberately stepped between them. "Thank you, Ohzi."

  "Of course." He turned to Jaska. "Anything I can do for you? There's little to entertain me on a voyage such as this. A man can practice arms only so much when waiting to be attacked."

  Jaska had been lost in thought. It took him a few moments to catch up and respond. "No, I don't think so. I was about to study Salima's sigils again."

  "I'm going to take dinner early," Zyrella said. "You're both welcome to join me."

  Jaska stepped away. "I'll pass." He paused for a moment and looked back. "Zyrella." She met his gaze, but he said nothing else. He walked away.

  Ohzikar stood with her, watching the sun cast its shimmering reflection across the water. "Anything you want to talk about?"

  She shook her head. Ohzikar placed his arm around her and she nestled deep within his embrace. Her warm scent carried him into a reverie of love and desire, pleasant and comfortable. This was love, or at least all the love he needed.

  ~~~

  Sea spray kicked up by the war galley's ram drenched dark-eyed Adynarh. He cursed the ship's captain and the unseasonably foul weather. He cursed again when the sorcerer Eholar glided toward him, his grey robe skimming across the deck without getting wet. Only a conceited fool would waste his energies on magic to keep himself dry.

  Eholar's pudgy nose lifted high into the air, and with his pig eyes, he gazed at Adynarh.

  Eholar served as the Grandmaster's second understudy, below Mardha. He proudly skulked about the temple grounds, and when the Grandmaster was in a patient mood, he was allowed entry into the inner circles. Adynarh hated Eholar's casual manner toward evil. He neither reveled in it nor held distaste for it. Eholar treated the killing of a sacrificial child as no more special than drinking a cup of water. />
  His frown of distaste hidden by his mask, Adynarh said, "Tell me you have good news."

  "I do, Master Adynarh. I have located our enemies. The priestess is on a ship. It is masked and difficult to track, but it is out there. Your instincts were right."

  "Not my instincts, Eholar. Grandmaster Salahn detected her moving east."

  Eholar's face darkened with jealousy. "Ah, I see."

  "Could you tell whether Jaska was with her?"

  "No, but where else could he be if he's in her enthrallment?"

  "You don't believe him a traitor?"

  "Could you, master?"

  Adynarh stared out at the fog-shrouded sea. "Anything is possible."

  "Do you know the workings of the spell that allows us to track this priestess like none other?"

  "No, I don't. Why?"

  "Curiosity … I was rendered unconscious before undergoing the ritual."

  "It was the same for all of us, even Jaska."

  Eholar raised a crooked eyebrow. "Well, it is no normal sorcery he cast upon us, at least not without the blood of a relative."

  A suspicion struck Adynarh who often heard and saw more than he was supposed to. "The blood of a relative?"

  "That is the only way I know to do it, though doubtless our immortal grandmaster has other means. Still, maybe he once held a relative of the priestess captive."

  When Adynarh had awoken from the ritual, a mark of blood had dotted his forehead. And soon after, he had seen a woman with a fresh wound upon her hand.

  "If we have such a captive, it is a secret we are not meant to know." Adynarh stepped away, paused, and then shook his head. He decided to seek hot wine and food, to sleep for a while. "You're in charge, Eholar. I need some rest."

  The sorcerer bowed. "Of course. I will speak with the captain and alter our course, if it pleases you."

  "Do what you think is best in those regards. When we are close to them, I will help you scout through the Shadowland."