The Warrior Returns - Anteros 04 (32 page)

She'd tried once but had failed. Betrayed, from her point of view, by a woman. A woman she believed she loved. And that woman had spurned her, then brought her down.

This time Novari would be even angrier and more vengeful than before. And she'd be cannier, I thought. Much cannier. I doubted if she'd go at things so directly. She'd try to come in from the side, weighing her actions and tempering them.

The last time, I'd required all my strength and wit to defeat her. I'd grown in power during my long sleep with Salimar. I could feel an enormous pool of sorcerous energy within easy reach the moment I required it.

But would it be enough?

I
saw no
other mortals for a long time. Encountered no other intelligence as I sailed the icy, storm-swept seas of the far south.

Then one day, some weeks out of Pisidia, I was skirting an enormous iceberg with towering clifflike edges that had been wondrously sculpted by the winds and seas. The iceberg was pale green, and as I sailed by I marveled at the fantastic forms carved into it.

I swept around the 'berg, swinging wide to avoid an outcropping. I adjusted my course and peered north, studying the way ahead. In the distance I saw a waterspout. Then there were other spouts spewing up and I saw long gray shapes and knew it was a pod of whales.

I smiled to myself, then put them out of my mind. But the whales veered toward my ship, curious, no doubt. As they approached I saw one huge, gray animal move away from the others and come closer.

She seemed as old as time itself, with barnacles clinging to her sides and seaweed trailing off in every direction. She moved smoothly alongside my ship, peering at me with a single eye.

I looked closer, saw the glow of intelligence, and felt a vague flush of recollection.

Immediately a warm presence formed about me. A voice came into my mind, rich and deep. /
know you, sister.

And I know you,
I answered, using my thoughts to speak rather than my voice. The ability somehow came naturally in that wise old female presence.

The whale's voice came into my mind again:
You came this way many song seasons ago. When I was in difficulty.

I remember, sister,
I said.
It was a terrible time. You lost a child to Magon's hunters.

The hunters have not come for many song seasons,
she said.
Not since you killed him.

How did you know about that, sister?

We speak to the seals and the sea lions,
she answered.
And they speak to the birds. Who speak to everyone
...
Birds are such a nuisance. They talk too much. Although I was friend to an old albatross for many song seasons. He'd light on me when he passed this way. A wise old bird. But very talkative, like all birds. He became forgetful, alas. And less wary about where he alighted and to whom he spoke. I haven't seen him for some time, now. I fear a shark may have eaten him.

There was a pause. A feeling of slight embarrassment

I'm old,
the whale said.
At least fifty song seasons older than when I saw you last. When you went to slay Magon and the Lyre Bird. Since that time all has been peaceful in these waters. And the land animals say all has been at peace there, as well. Life is good on both the sea and tundra with Magon dead. There are many who praise you for this, sister. Mothers tell their children of the warrior woman who saved us from Magon's savagery.

I said nothing. I sensed the meeting was not accidental. I had a feeling of great distances crossed and mighty currents traversed to bring about this rendezvous.

/ have been seeking you for some time, sister,
the whale said. /
was told you hunted the Lyre Bird again. I came to find you. And tell you that one of my granddaughters saw her not many song seasons ago.

Where was she seen, sister?
I asked.
And when?

I don't know exactly when,
the whale said.
My
granddaughter only recalled it when we heard the news that you hunted the Lyre Bird. It was perhaps seven or eight song seasons ago.

My
granddaughter said she saw her near the black shoals a half season south of here. She said she saw a ship caught on the reefs. The sharks were happy, drunk with blood. So everyone on the ship must have fallen off.

My
granddaughter said there was a big golden bird perched on the highest mast. She said the bird called to her with music. Beautiful music. Almost as beautiful as whale song. But my granddaughter became frightened so she didn 't come close like the bird wanted She left.

I questioned others and found a great-niece who was also near the black shoals during the time of the shipwreck She said she'd been north of the black shoals after the wreck. She didn't know how long after, but said she doubted many tidefalls had passed. She said she saw a ship going north coming out of the area of the wreck. She remembers it because she, too, heard wondrous music. She didn't think it was meant for her, but for the men on board the ship.

And she didn
't
see a golden bird, but she did see a woman playing music on an instrument. There was much excitement in the air. Mating season excitement, she guessed. Although it was her opinion the woman had no intention of mating with any of them—that she found no human bull among them worthy of her.

That certainly sounded like Novari. She'd apparently enticed the sailors to take her off the wreck. She'd have used them to carry her to a place where there were richer and more powerful victims. And from there she'd have leaped up the chain and across the leagues until she reached Orissa.

It might have taken a few years to get there. However, when she did, she'd certainly have found more than enough greedy men of power to feast on.

I questioned the wise old creature for a time, but she knew nothing more that would aid me. Finally I thanked her and wished her farewell.

As I sailed away she sent her blessings after me. And long after I'd lost sight of her and the others in her pod, I could hear their song throbbing in the ship's silver deck.

in not many
weeks I came to Pisidia. It was mid-morning, the sun was bright, the sea surface was small chop, and the wind was steady and brisk. I came on the city without warning, sailing around a coastal bend where all had been forests before.

Pisidia had changed vastly over the years. I almost didn't recognize it, reflexively glancing at my charts to see if I'd somehow made a terrible navigational error. The first great change was the remarkable absence of the smelly atmosphere, that awful odor from the tanneries that in times past had greeted mariners many days before they reached the city. The air was pleasing now, full of the rich scents of a healthy port town. The reason was that the tanneries were gone.

Over the years the city had also grown immensely, spreading its wings wide along the coast, sweeping through the forests to leave clumps of homes and villages in its wake. The port was much larger as well, and quite busy. I looked among the merchant ships and was disappointed when I saw none flying the Antero flag.

But the main reason I could still recognize Pisidia was the imposing temple sitting on the familiar hill overlooking all. The old wooden structure that'd housed Daciar, the Mother Oracle, was gone. The stone temple replacing it was the one that had been under construction when I'd last visited here. It was very old-looking now. An imposing reminder of how many decades had passed since Daciar and I had faced Magon's warrior giants.

I'd hoisted a nondescript Free Merchant's flag and cast a spell to disguise my silver ship so it seemed to be made of normal timbers. I drew no undue attention when I docked, and the port officer was only interested in the size of the bribe I gave him to assure my ship of a good, secure berth.

I'd dressed with care. My tights and tunic and heavy cloak were of fine quality, but quietly so, mixing grays and blacks, and I'd shunned all jewelry except for simple golden loops dangling from my ears. I wore elbow-high gloves to hide my golden hand. The eyepatch gave me a rakish look, so it was easy to fall into the same pose as before: I was a merchant adventurer, scouting for new trading opportunities.

It was no trouble at all to blend into the new Pisidia. There was a business fever in the air, and everyone seemed to be dashing about with much purpose. Most of the homes and shops now catered to a wealthier clientele, and there were many new neighborhoods of middle-class homes for all the artisans and shopkeepers. There were also many graceful homes lining the hillsides. Pisidia had apparently not only become richer, but more mature.

I found a tavern near a popular chandlery where expensively dressed captains seemed to care nothing for the prices they paid to equip their vessels. Younger merchants, many dressed similarly to myself, frequented the tavern, and I noticed with delight that several of them were women.

The tavern was abuzz with sea trader's gossip, and I squeezed myself into an empty space before one of the long, rough oak tables. A pretty tavern maid, flushed from dashing from table to table, finally brought me a jug of good wine and a tasty beef pie. It'd been years since I'd had such fare, and I relished every drop of wine and crumb of gravy-soaked crust.

To tell the truth, I was a bit dazed from being in so much human company. The sounds of the heavy traffic outside, bawling animals, and creaking carts, combined with the loud conversation in the tavern, made me feel oddly alone and out of place. But as I listened to the talk swirling about me, I gradually regained my bearings.

"What's the word on the hide trade?" I asked the neighbor on my right, a ruddy-faced youth with a bristling mustache and a friendly smile.

"Not so good if you're short of investment funds, my friend," Ruddy Face said. "Price per bundle's higher than it's ever been. But there's big profits to be made if your overhead's low and your market's distant."

The young woman on my left heard what he said, shook her head in disagreement, and broke in. "I wouldn't put a nicked copper into hides if I were you, sister," she said. "Quality's off this year. Especially if you're buying in small lots. They'll spoil if you're trading far. Open your hold and find nothing but maggots and stink for your trouble."

"Oh, it's not so bad," Ruddy Face said, defending his views. "You just have to know what you're looking for. You have to know hides."

"Didn't used to be that way," the old portly fellow across from us said. Although his merchant's robes were wine-stained, they were of obviously rich quality, and he had heavy gold chains hanging about his fat neck. "In my day hides was king," he went on. "Highest quality in the world, they was. Prized the world over. Not a green'un in a thousand." He gulped wine, his frown signaling that he believed the days had grown bleaker since his time.

"But then they moved the tanneries outta the city," he said. "Moved 'em all out to New Pisidia. Miles away over the hills. And all quality went to the hells after that. New process, they say. Magical process. Don't need flies and privy water to tan hides, they claim."

He glowered at me. 'Takes a ripe smell to make good leather," he said. "And no one can tell me any different."

My companions laughed at him. "Who cares?" the woman said. She was a small woman, and fierce in her views. "The city stunk something awful then, my granny says. It wasn't worth living in. Now we've got more trade than we can handle. And hides make up only a small part of it. Look about you, old man. The air's fresh. The streets're clean. And there's opportunity for all in Pisidia these days."

She gave me a wink. "Bet your mother was as surprised as mine," she said, "when you went a-merchanting. A woman couldn't do that sort of thing in Pisidia's good old smelly days."

I smiled and nodded in agreement. "I'm not certain where I'll put my money," I said. "I was thinking of consulting your Oracle."

"A wise decision, friend," Ruddy Face said. "Our Oracle is still the best in the world." He glared at the portly man. "No one can dispute that."

'That's true enough," the old man said. "Although the chief priestess ain't anywhere near as good as Mother Daciar." He shook his head. "Died when I was still a lad, she did. We've had two Mother Oracles since then. And this one's a little young for my comfort. And I don't mind saying it for all to hear."

Ruddy Face grinned at me. "Don't pay him any mind," he said. "You go see the Mother Oracle. She's no younger than me and ten times as wise as any man or woman in Pisidia. She'll put you on the right path—whether it's love or profit you're after."

"Or both," the woman chortled. "If you're lucky enough to be able to combine business with pleasure."

A handsome serving lad went by carrying a tray. The woman gave me a bawdy wink and made a pinching motion with her fingers as if testing ripeness.

Times certainly had changed—in Pisidia, at least.

I'd intended to visit the Oracle all along, but I pretended to be persuaded by their advice, consulting them about the custom of making such an approach and getting the price and the Mother Oracle's name, which was Hana.

I was too weary to attempt the visit that day, so I rented good rooms near the tavern. I gave a boy a coin and sent him to the bookstalls to find a copy of my brother's final journey. I'd seen the most crucial segments of his adventures with Janela Greycloak in powerful visions. But I wanted a firmer grounding than that. And what could be better than Amalric's own words?