The Warrior Returns - Anteros 04 (3 page)

His eyebrows arched and he asked me to pray continue.

And so I did.

"The pirates jumped us," I began, "just off Demon's Point. Not far from Antero Bay
..."

on my previous
voyage I'd pressed farther south than anyone had ever gone before. I'd gone beyond the realm of the Iofra, where the parched sands of the desert meet desolate pebbled beaches. Past the farthest point my father sailed in his youth. He'd been the first Orissan to visit the Ice Barbarians. I'd even crossed that mystical divide that seems to girdle the world, where strange starry constellations rule and tornadoes twist in the opposite direction.

In that mission, I'd been concentrating on future trade rather than immediate profit So I'd charmed, cozened, or cowed many a fierce and hairy chieftain into the Antero merchant's fold. I'd established trading posts, watched over by small complements of our private security forces, all former guardsmen of the highest caliber.

My efforts had paid off handsomely on the fourth trading mission, and as we approached Demon's Point, nearing the first of the southern ice fields, all the ships' holds were bursting with goods. There were two trading posts yet to visit, the most remote of the ones I'd established. The first was at Antero Bay, which I'd named after my family.

As we set course around the rocky shoals that edge Demon's Point, I was in the odd position of hoping that business had not gone as well at those two missions as they had at the others.

"If only we'd taken a fifth ship," I moaned to Captain Carale.

Carale was a dark little man, with fierce mustaches and a morose temperament, who saw ill where others saw gold.

"Aye, 'n' that'd be one more t' lose, me lady," he said. "The devil gods mus' be drunk in their hellish taverns t' let us get this far wit' our skins still whole on the bones."

"Oh, pooh, Carale," I replied. "My brother spent a fool's fortune on sacrifices before the voyage began. And I've made every appeasement to every trumped-up local shaman at every thatch-and-wattle temple from Lycanth to Hells Shoals. The only bad days we've seen were a week's becalming off Shatter Island."

"Mark me words, 'n' mark 'em well," Carale said, black brows crossing swords over his small sharp beak of a nose. "We're in fer a spell o' bad times, me lady. We'll be wishin' we'd a stayed home once the gods sober up."

I laughed. "We've had more good luck than is good for us, is that what you're saying?"

"Laugh all ye like, me lady," Carale said. "But the facts o' the matter are well known t' all th't's been fated to sail the salty seas. A bit o' a blow when the voyage begins spells sunny skies at the end."

"With that logic," I said, "the richest trip you ever took must've started with the death of your mother."

"Twas me sister, lady," Carale answered. "Right bitch she was, if n ye'll beg me pardon. I was glad t' see her in her grave. But she was close enough family
-
wise fer her untimely death t' see me through t' the best days o' me life."

Despite his gloomy nature, Carale was one of my brother's best captains, and he was a sight to behold in a fight—a regular little whirlwind with a dagger and a sword for edges.

I wanted to laugh again but feared it'd only draw more dark comments. So instead I made a grim face and sighed. "Well, there's nothing we can do but go on," I said. "They'll be expecting us, and we've letters and supplies to deliver."

"Aye, that be our duty, me lady," he said quite mournfully. " 'N' it'll never be said that the likes o' Cap'n Carale ever shirked 'is duty. 'Sides, they's prob'ly lonely so far from home. Seein' us'11 bring a bit of cheer int' their lives."

And with that he twisted his mustache points to make certain they drooped downward, then stalked away to make someone else's hours miserable. As I watched him slouch across the deck I thought the men at the outposts were likely to contemplate cutting short their lives if they looked too long on Carale's grim features. I decided to make the visit as brief as possible. Perhaps I could get them to cache the less perishable goods they'd traded for and somehow I'd make room for the rest

The first place I considered was my own cabin, which was spacious enough, and I could get the ship's carpenter to knock up a little alcove near the entrance where I could store my Evocator's chests. I'd hang a hammock over them and would sleep comfortably enough on the voyage home.

The lookout shouted and Demon's Point hove into view.

It was a bleak hump of land jutting out from a range of desolate mountains. Two dark-eyed caves marked the highest region, separated by a huge black rocky hook that formed a nose. A twisted gash below made a bleak mouth, and two black spears twisted up from the head like horns.

Demon's Point was well-named, although I do not know who first set eyes on it. An Ice Barbarian, perhaps, sailing out from some distant petty kingdom. A fellow with hairy shoulders and a filthy beard and yellow teeth to chatter with when the sight of that awful land struck fear in his savage heart.

I'd been told by local seafarers that it's rare for the skies to be clear enough to see Demon's Point. The land is usually hidden by boiling storm clouds alive with—according to one old salt—crackling lightning that strikes upward instead of down. The rogue waves in that area are as notorious as the storms, and some say an entire fishing fleet was swallowed by waters that reached as high as the Pillars of Te-Date, which mark the entrance to the Southern Sea.

Storms such as those had obscured any view of the point during the three trips I'd made before, although the blows never reached the fury local legend said was possible. This day, however, was as calm as the innocent brow of a novice priestess. A pale sun hung over the point, making the small white clouds hovering above glow with the softness of a maid. The seas were a placid blue, and as we rounded the point a troop of dolphins came out to greet us, leaping high and shrilling their joy at seeing company in such a lonely place.

I was in a peaceful mood, a reflective mood, and for those reasons I was caught unawares.

First the wind gentled and I heard Carale call to his men to make adjustments in the set of the sails. The echoes the men made as they relayed his orders were pleasant haunting sounds playing above the slow crash of the rolling seas. I smelled moist green plant life on the wind and I found myself wondering idly where that delightful odor could be from.

I hadn't seen a speck of vegetation in several days. Only a cold black coastline so thick with rocks and washed by brine that no self-respecting tree or bush would ever consider setting down roots in such a place. I knew a wide desert lay some distance inland. Beyond that were high pine forests and a few valleys where savage farmers might poke the ground with sticks to plant a tuber which they'd leave for chance to rear.

According to some the southern coastline continued like this for many a league. I found later that these claims were mostly true. And furthermore, there is a passage many leagues distant that leads to a great Eastern Sea that no one previously had known existed.

While I stood there on the deck, marveling at the magical scent the winds had borne up, I suddenly heard music.

A delicate strumming of marvelous strings ghosted on the air. They warmed me, beckoned me, reminded me of the hearthfires of home.

It was suddenly most important to see who was playing so sweetly. I turned to ask Carale to set a course that would carry us closer to the point when I heard him order his men to perform the same actions I was about to utter.

His cry stirred a warning in my mind, but my heart had assumed the throne, and for a long time I ignored my mind's pleadings that danger lurked ahead.

It's just music, my heart said, lovely music. Only gentle people could play such music. Civilized people with love in their hearts for all.

My Evocator's senses pounced scant seconds before I saw the first ship.

It was a wide, high galleon of archaic design. But there was nothing primitive about its deadly speed. Triple banks of oars plunged into the sea, hauling the big ship out to meet us at an alarming pace. I heard the oarmaster's drums boom over the mysterious strings. I even imagined I could hear the crack of his assistants' whips as they strode along the benches urging still more speed.

I saw all this as if in a dream. It was a vivid dream, I'll say that. Complete with crouching archers in the galleon's bows and naked swordsmen swarming to the sides.

An immense banner fluttered over the ship. On a field of black a huge silver bear was rising up, fangs bared, claws outstretched to take its enemy.

I broke free from the spell just as two other galleons hauled into sight I shouted a warning to Carale. But as I did so I knew the warning would fall on spell-stopped ears.

I looked wildly about for a means to fight the magical assault. The first galleon was nearly on us, and I could hear my men shout warm greetings, oblivious to the obscene growls from the pirates preparing to board us.

Battle vision and battle time descended on me, and I saw everything in the most minute detail and all action slowed to a slug's pace. But my mind was racing ahead like a war chariot's desperate drive to force a break in the enemy line.

A shower of arrows fell, miraculously missing all but a ship's boy standing transfixed with a bucket of slops in his hand. A bolt caught him in the throat and he gasped, crumpling to the deck. By an odd quirk the slop bucket fell upright spilling only a little of its contents.

In my heightened state of awareness a foul whiff of the offal made my nostrils lift, and a mad solution leaped into my brain.

I raced toward the boy and the bucket dodging another flight of arrows, sixth sense urging me to suddenly step aside, and just as I did, a spear flashed by so closely it plucked my sleeve.

I grabbed the bucket by the handle, swiveled like a hammer thrower, and hurled it high into the air toward the enemy galleon.

As it sailed up and up—pushed higher still by my will—I chanted:

"Fair be foul. Sweet be cursed. Foul be fouler still. Till all is
...
shit!"

I admit it wasn't a very elegant chant. Sometimes my barracks manners and tongue elbow through my wizard's pose. But it was the best I could come up with under the circumstances.

More importantly
...
it worked.

A blast of cold damp wind chilled us, and I saw the offal bucket swell up like a boar's bladder. Then it exploded and the wind sheeted brown and purple filth into our enemies' faces.

We were enveloped in a stench so retching that I nearly fell gagging to my knees. All around me I heard my men coughing and cursing. The pirates suffered the most, and I heard them shrieking in pain and calling on the gods to deliver them from such evil.

I forced air into my lungs, fighting the poisons I drew in. Then I blew out, sending not a spell, but a prayer to any gods who might be listening to rescue us all from my foolishness. I doubt I shall ever duplicate what came next
.
My breath huffed out and at the same instant a blast of wind struck my back. The ship heeled over as a sudden squall buffeted us.

It was gone by the time we'd righted ourselves, but as I struggled to my feet I saw that the galleon had been driven back.

Confusion vanished from our ships as all became fully aware of what was happening. Officers shouted; Orissan warriors rushed to obey and mount first a defense, then an offense of our own.

In times past I would have been hastening to meet our foes with a sword in my hand and fire in my eyes. My arms and legs twitched to join the fray. But I had heavier responsibilities now. The physical fight must be left to others.

I called forth all my resources and cast out my senses. I soon found what I sought. It was a foul, prickly little presence with needle-sharp teeth and claws. It smelled of hot sulfur, like spoiled roasted eggs at a Cheapside market stall.

The creature tried to bolt away and scamper off into the Otherworlds when I approached. But I cornered it. It struck back and my spiritual self felt a nip of sharp teeth. I quickly saw it was only a puffed-up little thing—a demon of some sort.

I called up the image of a large broom and crushed it

As soon as it squeaked its last, I snapped back to the real world. I saw that my men had won the upper hand and the galleons were fleeing. Carale was poised to order a chase to hunt the pirates down and punish them. He was only waiting for my approval.

I shook my head and told him to leave off. We were too overladen to contemplate a chase. And if our enemy was wily enough to use a small demon to nearly overwhelm us, I didn't want to underestimate him once more.

Then we learned that one of our ships had been heavily damaged in the fray. A boulder fired by a catapult from one of the enemy ships had carried off the main mast. Repairs would need to be made. And with an enemy force so near we'd have to find a safe place to make them. This meant we'd have to cut short our voyage, skip Antero Bay and the other trading post, and retire to a safe position to fix our sister ship.

And when that was done, we sailed home immediately.

"as you said
," my brother commented when I was done, "it was a small incident. You dealt with it successfully, and from what I can gather you did everything properly afterward."