The Warrior Returns - Anteros 04 (17 page)

As they skated they hammered on their shields with short swords roaring this chant:

"Magon is coming— The enemy trembles! Magon is coming—

The enemy flees! Magon is coming—

Hearts be glad!"

The soldiers fanned out into an ever-widening phalanx that was soon joined by other warriors, except these men had their swords sheathed, their shields slung over their shoulders. They beat on heavy, scoop-bottomed drums with padded clubs and joined in the thunderous chant
...

"Magon is coming— The enemy trembles! Magon is coming
..."

An ice ship hove into view, then two, then three. They were larger than the first, painted in blinding colors and draped with dyed furs. There were soldiers on the deck who seemed to wear richer costumes and armor than the skaters and who brandished finer weapons, as well. All the ships flew the flag of the Ice Bear King.

Long canoelike craft shot out, all filled with warriors— pikemen and bowmen mostly—and all powered by burly men in ragged furs and gaunt, haunted faces, who skated alongside, pushing at heavy poles protruding from each side of the canoes. Men with whips skated around them, lashing and cursing any miscreants they thought were lagging.

Then the most amazing craft sailed into view. It was an ice galleon, double decked and with a flying bridge jutting above the decks. The wind was quite brisk now and the galleon's sails were straining, carrying the ship swiftly across the ice on its massive runners.

A huge bearded warrior posed on the flying deck, helmet removed and long hair streaming back. He wore a great white bearskin cloak thrown over shining armor of black specked with gold. In his left hand he grasped a long black spear, planted into the deck butt first. In his right, cradled in the crook of a brawny arm, was a woman.

I was startled when I first saw her. Despite the cold, she seemed to be wearing little more than scraps of colorful silk draped across tawny hips and breasts. The wind made the silk flutter, revealing more of that tawny skin. The woman was small and delicately formed. Her hair was gold, like mine. Her bare arms were long and slender, and in one hand she held a staff with a crystal globe mounted on top. The globe was a swirling glow of magical power.

I had no doubt who the warrior was: Magon, the Ice Bear King.

But who, I wondered, was the woman?

There was one other thing that alarmed me.

The ice ship was made of gold.

It took a while for that fact to sink in. I'd been so shaken by the magical assault that my mind felt numb. But when it finally sank in I immediately remembered Maranonia's prophecy of the three metal ships. The thought was fleeting, a mere observation, noted and put away for future consideration. My second reaction was marvel.

The entire galleon seemed to be built of gold, a smooth shimmer of metal from stem to stern. Even the sails seemed to be made of the stuff: a skin of gold that fluttered and billowed in the breeze as if it were cloth. It wasn't the ostentatious display of riches that amazed me. Barbarian kings do things like that. Thrones and palaces and even comic objects like chamber pots are likely to be of gem-encrusted gold in a barbarian court.

What made me goggle was the mechanics of it Even if the ship were gold-plated rather than solid, the weight would be so extreme that the ship would collapse on its golden skis. And even if it didn't, the greatest storm wouldn't be able to move such weight even a foot.

Then the great bell tolled, drawing my attention to the town and the Bear Temple. People poured out of the gates and swarmed to the shore. They were carrying banners and flags, beating on drums and blowing on trumpets. They swarmed to the docks—thousands of people—but in an oddly orderly fashion: forming up in lines, with small knots of richly dressed folk in the front, who I guessed were officials.

We watched for nearly two hours as the crowd greeted King Magon and the mysterious woman I took to be his queen. There were speeches, although we couldn't hear them; there were shouts of praise, which we could.

Big tubs of incense were set on fire, sending out thick clouds of smoke whose perfume eventually drifted over to tickle our noses. Kites with exploding tails swooped through the sky, glowing balloons were lofted, and music blared from the city's savage orchestra, a cacophony of drums and horns and bone rattles.

Carale tried to get my attention, to pull me away so we could discuss the situation with the others. But I shushed him and made signs that no one should speak.

Even in all that noise I could sense something hovering near—listening.

The dockside ceremony ended and the crowd marched back into the Bear Temple, with King Magon and his queen leading the way. His soldiers remained by the ships, some squatting down to rest, others skimming about the ice in squad-size patrols.

A few moments later steam hissed from the Bear Temple's nose and its stone eyes shone fiery red. I had a sudden sense of urgency and signaled my men to withdraw from the hill.

I took one last look before I slid down to join them and saw soldiers break away from the dock. They were headed in our direction.

I skittered down the slope and leaped to my feet. Silence was no longer a factor.

"They're coming," I shouted to the men. And I led them away in a mad dash through the snow and away from the lake.

They hunted us for hours. We tried every trick we knew to shake them: dodging into boulder-strewn gullies and leaping from rock to rock, dashing across barren lake inlets where we'd leave no tracks on the ice, shifting direction and doubling back over our own prints to add confusion, hiding while patrols passed and then using their tracks to hide our own.

In the end they pinned us against a high ridge. We were on the ice, looking for a way up that ridge when twenty soldiers skated into view. Then twenty more joined them, and as they formed up, so many more swept in to swell their ranks I lost count and knew we were doomed.

They shouted a challenge and skimmed across the ice to meet us, pounding on their shields with their swords. There was no time for sorcery so I drew my blade and rallied my men.

We were few in number but we made a long fight of it. The twins were killed first. They'd charged into a mass of men, breaking their formation and leaving nearly a dozen lying on the ice dead or mortally wounded. But then the men they'd charged had regrouped and overwhelmed them.

I didn't see how Lizard died. But I saw his corpse on the ice, throat slit. That lovely voice stilled forever.

Then only Carale and Donarius and I were left. We were exhausted, but we fought on—elbow-to-elbow, our blades bloody life-taking wands wavering before us.

The enemy made a final charge. A solid wall of armored flesh overwhelmed us. I was on my back, sword ripped away, and a huge figure towered over me. He raised up his sword to strike. Then I heard music. Lovely music. The tones of a heavenly lyre.

And then all was blackness.

CHAPTER NINE

The
Ice
Bear
King

I
awoke to
darkness so impenetrable that for a moment I was seized with fear that I'd been blinded. I remembered how helpless Gamelan had become, his Evocator's powers failing along with his eyesight.

I raised a hand before my face but could see nothing, no matter how close I held it to my face. I touched my eyes, felt the lashes fluttering under my fingertips, but found no wounds. I felt stickiness on one cheek, which I assumed was blood. My head was throbbing, every bone and muscle aching, and I could feel the sting of cuts and scrapes when I moved. But all my injuries seemed minor.

My feet were bare and my parka had been removed and I seemed to be wearing nothing more than my tunic and leggings. I was wet through, my clothes sticking to me uncomfortably. At least it wasn't cold. In fact it was just the opposite: the atmosphere was steamy and I was sweating profusely.

With dim hopes I whispered, "Carale?"

There was no answer.

I was alone.

The stone floor was warm beneath me. The walls were also of stone and warm to the touch. I heard water dripping as if in a pool, and slithered in that direction, hands outstretched for protection. I groped about until I found the pool, nothing more

than a skim of water over a stopped-up drain. I felt around until I found the source of the water—a slow trickle of condensation running down one of the walls and splashing into the pool.

I dipped up water and sniffed it. It seemed musty but not unclean. I tasted it. It had a muddy flavor—not entirely unpleasant Suddenly I felt so thirsty I became sick to my stomach. I scooped up water and drank, to no ill effect

Then I searched my person. All my weapons and other possessions were gone. But I did find an overlooked kerchief tucked into my sleeve. I dipped it into the water and washed myself as best I could.

When I was done I examined the rest of the chamber, inch by blind inch. It was small, made of old stone blocks with crumbling gaps where the mortar had rotted and fallen away. A small door made of thick wood bound with broad bands of metal was set in one wall. I assumed there was a corridor on the other side of the door, although I could hear nothing but the sound of my breathing and the drip, drip, drip of the water. At the bottom of the door was a grated opening just large enough for a food pail to be passed through.

I fell to my hands and knees and tried to look through the grate. Nothing. Only blackness. Flat soul-smothering blackness. I poked my fingers through the grates. They stubbed into wood. A panel had been drawn across the grate.

I searched the room further, carefully examining every crack and rough spot.

There was no bed platform, no blankets, no furniture of any kind. In one corner I found two empty buckets. Their purpose was obvious. One smelled of human waste. The other had the stale scent of old food.

I knew what to do—I'd been in dungeons before. I placed the food pail next to the grate to be exchanged for a full one, if and when the turnkey came to feed me. The other I placed in the most distant corner, to be used when I needed to relieve myself.

I did light exercises to stretch my muscles. They were sore but seemed to work well enough, so I ran in place for a few minutes, inhaling and exhaling as deeply as I could until my nerves calmed and my heart beat a steady rhythm.

Then I crouched, leaning back against one wall, found my Evocator's center and chanted:

"What is dawn?

What is night?

What is day?

What is bright?

What is moon?

What is light?"

I rubbed my hands together briskly, then opened them, palm side up. A faint glow appeared. I could see.

By the dim light I created I found a large protruding stone in the wall about chest high. I rubbed the wall with my hands, leaving smears of light. I continued to rub until the whole block glowed and only a few particles of magical light were left on my palms. I snapped my fingers and the light brightened. Not much, but enough to make out the stark gray emptiness of the chamber. I snapped them again and the light winked off. Once more, and it returned.

Good. If someone came, I could quickly extinguish the light.

I didn't know how long I'd been unconscious. Hours? Days? Not more than one day, I thought. I dipped a finger into the glowing particles on the stone and made a single mark for that day on the dark space below. Then I made another for this day.

Then I settled back to think and wait and prepare. Someone would come eventually. I wanted to be ready.

* * *

six
more
glowing
marks joined the first two before they came for me. I assumed that meant eight days from my capture, although there was no real way to tell when one day ended and the other began. I had to rely on the number of times the grate was opened and a food pail was passed through to be traded for the empty pail and my slop bucket. So much time seemed to pass between each visit that I assumed each one was a new day. The food was typical dungeon filth and not to be commented on, except to say it was plentiful enough.

The first time I was fed seemed to be a few hours after I'd regained consciousness, although that was a guess. Minutes can sometimes seem like hours when you're alone and confined in a hot dank cell.

There was little warning, no boot heels echoing in an outside corridor, no clank of warder's keys. All I heard was the scrape of the grating being pushed aside, and I quickly snapped my fingers to darken my cell. The glowing stone had barely blinked out when I saw a gleam of dim light at the grate.

I remained crouched in the corner I'd chosen to sleep in, silent I heard breathing, but nothing more. I had the distinct impression that someone was peering through the grate. Then a long, glowing rod was pushed through. It poked this way and that, a brighter beam of light spearing out from the tip like a single eye. It finally pointed at me and became still. I was being observed.

I said nothing and did nothing. Then the rod was withdrawn.

"You want eat?" a voice growled.

"Yes," I said.

"Give to me pail," was the reply.

I complied, fetching the old food pail and pushing it through the opening. My nostrils curled at the sour smell of spoiled meat and then a bucket of food was passed through. I set it aside.

"You go latrine yet?" the voice rasped.

"Yes," I said. "I've done my business."

"Give to me," the voice commanded.

I sent through the bucket I'd used. It was traded for an empty one.

Then the grate closed and that was all.

I knew from my experience in the bowels of the dungeons of Konya that I had to eat no matter how disgusting the meal. But the food smelled spoiled and I didn't want to get sick. I'd learned from my father that in a savage place it's best to eat your food as hot as possible if you want to avoid illness. So I cast a spell to make a little fire and boiled the contents of the food pail. Soon the cell was full of the strong odor of rotted cabbage and butcher's castoffs.

I thought of other things and forced myself to consume all I could. I had no implements, so I had to use my hands. When I was done there seemed enough left over for another meal and I saved it for that purpose.

I fished through the contents of the greasy stew and found a slim sliver of bone. I tried to guess what animal it Came from. It wasn't fowl, of that I was sure. Nor was it from a pig or a cow. Then I became certain it was lizard. I tucked the bone into my sleeve for later use. After my next meal, I examined the empty metal pail in some detail. It was rusted and had a carrying handle. I knew I couldn't use any piece of the pail or handle to make a weapon because my keepers would immediately note anything that was broken off. So I flaked away some of the rust—making a little pile of it—and wrapped it in a scrap I'd torn off from my kerchief. I tucked the packet in my sleeve along with the lizard bone.

I exercised, blanked the light, and slept.

When I awakened I exercised again, then settled down on my haunches to consider my circumstances.

I pushed out with my Evocator's senses, met the wall, pressed through the stone, then was stopped. The blocking spell felt thick and spongy. I pressed harder, but the spongi-ness absorbed all my attempts. I gave up. I was on the home ground of an enemy wizard, which is difficult to overcome in any circumstances, even if that wizard is an ignorant shaman. I cast my own protective spells, however, shielding myself as best I could from a surprise attack.

That attack came soon after I'd fallen asleep.

I was back in the long ago days when I'd pursued the Archon and was lost in the Western Sea. I was in my quarters, swinging in a ship's hammock, soothed by the steady roll of the ship in gentle waves.

Then Gamelan came rapping into my dream with his blindman's stick.

"It's time for another lesson, my friend," he said.

He threw the stick to me and it became a large winged serpent, hissing and dripping venom from its fangs.

I wanted to leap away. Every nerve in my body urged me to jump, to roll out of the hammock and flee those deadly needle points. Instead I caught the serpent behind the neck and turned it toward Gamelan. I squeezed two fingers into the pits on each side of the snake's neck and green poison squirted out.

The venom splashed against a shimmering surface just in front of Gamelan. He cried out and the sound of his pain made my heart wrench for doing such a thing to my mentor and friend.

Then his image melted, streaming down the shimmering surface like heated paint running down a mirror.

I jolted awake, pulse hammering, every tendon quivering like strummed wire. My mouth was parchment dry, my lips thick and crusted from thirst. I snapped my fingers to make light and went to the corner where the water dripped into the small pool. I scooped up water and drank. The muddy taste of it coated my tongue, but my thirst was eased. I returned to my corner and crouched there for a long time until I had myself under control. Then I went to sleep again.

The warder came. Pails were exchanged. I made another mark, exercised until I was exhausted, then slept.

I dreamed I was in Amalric's garden. Omerye was playing on her pipes. My brother was pouring me a goblet of wine.

"I love you, sister dear," he said. "You know I do. And I've always admired your courage. But I think you're beaten. Admit it. Then we'll have a drink and you can go home."

I took the goblet from his hand. It held good Antero wine, the very best vintage from our very best orchards. Its perfume made me long for Orissa. I was suddenly so homesick that a sob boiled up and nearly burst forth.

Amalric spread his arms wide. "Come embrace me, Rali," he said. "I miss you so."

I smashed the goblet on the garden bench and was left holding a long crooked shard of crystal. Amalric held out his hand as if pleading with me. I slashed the hand with the shard. He cried out and blood streamed from the wound. I came up from the bench and he tried to run, but I caught him before he'd taken more than a few steps. I slashed out with the glass dagger.

And he fell to the floor dead before a weeping Omerye.

Tears were streaming down my own face when I returned to wakefulness. I stifled my sobs, wiped away the tears, and went to the pool to once again quench that sudden, awful thirst. I quelled all feeling, all emotion, and made my mind blank as a lazy schoolgirl's slate.

Time passed. The warder came and went. More glowing marks were made on the stone. My dreams were untroubled. But I knew my opponent would return.

I made several more marks on the wall before the next attack.

Once again I was in Amalric's garden. Omerye was weeping over my brother's body. My hands were covered with his blood and my white tunic was drenched with it.

Suddenly my mother appeared and I was a small girl, dripping blood, wrenched by guilt so strong that I wanted to die myself.

"What have you done,
Rali
?" she cried. "How could you kill your own brother?"

I still had the crystal in my hand.

I did what I had to.

Quickly.

And when she was dead, I killed Omerye, too. The blood flowed over the garden path and flooded the roses.

I shuddered out of the dream. I had to run to the slop pail to vomit.

It took me hours to recover. And when I had, I knew I'd suffered the last assault from afar.

I made ready for what I thought might come next. I got out the lizard bone and sharpened it against the stone, honing the tip into a needle point. I used a bit of my food to smear over the bone and make it sticky. Then I sprinkled the rust particles over it until the bone was coated. I made a spell, then hid the bone in my sleeve.

Before I slept again I washed as thoroughly as I could. I untangled the knots in my hair and clawed it into some kind of shape.

It's not good to be left alone with your private ghosts. All the old sins and failures gather to humiliate you. Compulsions you gave in to, petty acts you committed, forgiveness you refused to grant. You trot them out one by one. Examine them, weep for yourself, lash yourself, then put them carefully away—all unresolved and unsolved—so they'll be ready when the next time for self-torment comes. I suffered those things, crouched in my corner until I became hollow-eyed and empty-hearted.

The warder came with the food pail one more time. I made yet another mark and dully wondered how many more light smears would be added to that crude calendar of my imprisonment.

I was eating, trying to think of other things, when the cell door was suddenly flung open. Light flooded in, and as I shielded my eyes from the glare, two large shadows burst through that light and rushed down on me. They bore a net of shimmering gold between them, and as they came at me they spread the net wide.

I had my plan, such as it was, and I made no resistance. They flung the net over me and I was enveloped in the glittering mesh. It clung like the web of a great spider, trapping my arms and legs so tight I couldn't have hurled it off if I'd tried. I slipped the lizard bone from my sleeve as they rolled me up in the net as if it were a carpet. I gripped it tight in my fist, but made no other motion—lying absolutely still.

Then the men grabbed either end of the net and unceremoniously lifted me up and carried me away.

No one said a word as I was rushed along dungeon corridors and up dungeon stairs. I saw barred cell doors, hulking guards as slovenly as swamp beasts, naked prisoners hanging by chains from corridor walls, and the huffing bellows and spark-spewing furnace of a torturer at work. I was relieved as they swept past that room, but then my chest tightened when I heard someone scream. I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman—as if that mattered.