The Warrior's Tale (68 page)

As she turned away, the sailor keeled over in a dead faint.

'Buy you a drink, beautiful?' I said as she dusted off her tunic.

'Best offer I've had all day,' she said, looping her arm through mine as we adjourned to my quarters to sample a pale Konyan liquor that had a kick like a warhorse.

'That was an impressive display of mercy,' I said, after we'd settled into serious drinking.

Polillo shrugged. 'Corais always said my hot temper was my worst fault,' she said. 'Now that's she's gone I have to keep a lid on it myself.' Her eyes misted. 'I guess I depended on her for a lot of things,' she said. 'I'm such a moody bitch. Don't know how she put up with me.' She gave an angry swipe at a tear.

'She loved you, Polillo,' I said. 'We all do. And as for your moods, I've always thought they came hand in hand with the great gifts the gods gave you so you wouldn't be too perfect.'

She snorted. 'Gifts? I'm big and I'm ugly. What kind of gifts are those?'

I was shocked. 'Ugly?' I said. 'Why, Polillo, there isn't a woman in the world who wouldn't be jealous of your looks.'

This was true. As I've said before, Polillo was
perfectly
formed. Not one ounce of fat spoiled the curve of her figure. Her legs were as graceful as a dancer's, and her face, with those huge, glowing eyes, would make the greatest limner itch for paint and linen.

'I don't break mirrors, at least,' she grudged. 'But you have to admit I'm of freakish size and strength.'

'You've been blessed with the strength of heroes, not freaks,' I said. 'And some day, when these times are nothing but distant memories, songs will be sung about you, my dearest friend. The ode-makers will tell the tale of the beautiful woman who had the strength of ten big men. You might as well face it. You were born to be a woman of legend.'

Polillo giggled. 'With a bitch of a temper,' she said.

'With a bitch of a temper,' I agreed.

She took a pull on her drink. 'I guess in my time I
have
cracked a few noggins that needed cracking,' she allowed.

'Undoubtedly,' I said.

'Beginning with my father,' she said.

'You've told me he was a bastard,' I said. 'But you never said why. He was some kind of innkeeper, wasn't her?'

Polillo nodded. 'Part innkeeper, part blacksmith, and all horse's ass. He was a big, strong son of a poxed whore. And if you ever met his mother, you'd know that wasn't an idle insult. My father had a black hole of an inn at the crossroads of our village. Had a forge out back to shoe travellers' horses and such. He drank most of the profits and kept us all in rags and bruises until I got some size. Sometimes I think that's why I grew so big. Ever since I can remember he was beating us. Splintered my older brother's arm - and he was such a sweet thing, a
gentle
soul, it'd break your heart. My mother was always going about with a limp and blackened eyes. He made me so mad that I went after him in his bed with a poker when I was six. He beat the devil out of me, he did. Hurt like the blazes, but I wouldn't cry. Not for him. I decided right then I was going to get so big and strong that he'd be afraid to touch any of us. I started lifting things
...
anything heavy. And running and wrestling. When I was ten I could just manage his anvil. So I waited. But weeks went by before he acted up again. Nearly drove me crazy, waiting. I started worrying that maybe he'd seen the error of his ways. I hated him so much that I prayed he hadn't. That's how badly I wanted to hurt him. But I needed an excuse.'

'And he finally gave you one?' I asked.

Polillo gave me a mirthless grin. 'Does a dog favour carrion? Sure, he did. He went after my mother. And I stopped him cold.' She slammed one big fist into the other. I winced at the bone-breaking sound of it. 'One punch. Smashed his ugly jaw. There were teeth all over the place. Even in the soup. Then I drove him out and told my mother that from now on, the tavern was hers.'

'You never saw him again?'

Polillo laughed. 'Never. How could he show his face with everyone knowing his ten-year-old daughter had flattened him? That's the nice thing about male pride. Once broken, never mended.'

'Like the sailor who pissed his breeches?' I asked.

Polillo grimaced. 'Oh, he's not such a bad sort. I've seen him working - and he puts his back in more'n most of the others. And he's not bad in a fight, either. I just surprised him, that's all. He didn't mean to insult me. It just burst out. When I was looking down at him, I thought, Polillo, old girl. How many times have you got yourself in a fix by opening your big mouth when you shouldn't' And then I thought, Corais'd be really angry with me if I killed him. So I didn't.'

She started to take another drink, then stopped. Her brow furrowed in worry. 'You don't suppose people will think I've gone soft, or anything, do you?'

'Do you care?' I asked.

She thought a moment, then: 'Not really.'

As soon as she realized what she'd said, the most marvellous smile lit her features. 'Corais'd really be proud of me, wouldn't she?'

'She would, indeed, my dear,' I said.

After that we spent a wondrous night drinking and giggling and telling lies, just like in the old days, when we were young and guildess and our hopes as bright as the untested steel of our swords.

As we raced east I began making sure I was up before dawn every morning to see the daybreak. It's a sight I never tire of - especially when that pale pink spills across the sky like sugared rosewater. Gamelan had the old man's habit of rising early, so he'd join me and I'd describe the view as he fished.

'When I was a boy I favoured sunsets,' he said one day. 'All the day's petty disappointments vanished and the glow of the skies seemed to speak of the fresh possibilities of the morrow. But when I became old, the setting sun seemed so
...
well, final,
dammit! You don't know if there's even going to be a tomorrow. With a sunrise you can lie to yourself that your future stretches to at least the end of the day.'

'But, you're a wizard,' I said. 'Don't wizards sense their own departure? I'd think with the Seeker about, a wizard would know it'

Gamelan laughed. 'The only wizard I've met who successfully predicted his demise was my old master. But then he swore at the end of every day that we thick-witted acolytes were going to be the death of him. And, guess what* That moment eventually arrived when he was ninety-two.'

'You'll oudive him, my friend,' I said. 'You'd better not disappoint me. I'll speak harshly to you if you do.'

Instead of polite laughter at my mild attempt at humour, Gamelan turned serious.

'I dreamed about the panther last night,' he said.

'Oh?'

'It was nothing noteworthy,' the wizard continued. 'In my dream she was in my cabin and wanted out. She was most anxious - pacing up and down. But when I went to the door - I'm sighted in my dreams, you know -
1
couldn't lift the bar. I called for help, but no one heard me.'

'Then?'

'That was all,' Gamelan said. 'I woke up.' Then he asked: 'Have you dreamed of the panther, Rali?'

I said, 'I haven't dreamed at all. Not since - since I had the vision about the Archon, and first encountered the panther.'

'Do you normally dream?' he asked.

'I
always
do,' I said. 'Even when I don't remember what it was about, I wake up knowing I've dreamed.' Gamelan sighed and shook his head. 'Does it mean anything?' I asked.

'I don't know, Rali,' he said. 'Greycloak speculated that dreams might be real. That when you dream you're actually in another world. And that world is
exactly
like your native place, but with some small detail - or even a large one - that is different. Which, as you experience it, becomes the subject of the dream.'

'That damned Janos never did shut up about anything,' I snarled. 'Why does everything have to be weighed or measured down to the smallest detail? Why can't our dreams just be dreams and to hell with it?'

'Still,' the wizard said, 'there could be something to it. And I was only wondering because of the panther. You've said you've imagined you've seen her sometimes.'

'Just at the edge of my vision,' I said. 'And always in the shadows. Probably my imagination.'

'Yes,' Gamelan said. 'I suppose it is.'

That night I tried to force a dream. I thought of Xia - built her image until she seemed almost alive. Then, just as I drifted off, I tried to hold onto that image. It slipped away as soon as I closed my eyes. I roused myself and tried again, with the same result. I attempted fixing other images, both pleasant and the opposite, but no matter how hard I concentrated, they fled as soon as I began to drop off. Then I couldn't sleep at all, tossing and turning and growing hot and cold by turn.

And the whole time I thought I could hear the scrape of a large animal's claws. I knew it was the panther - pacing, pacing, pacing.

Finally I went on deck. The night was quiet, the seas calm. I went to Gamelan's cabin and pressed my ear against the door. I could hear the click of claws inside.

I tugged at the latch string. It was stuck. I pulled harder, and the bar lifted. I carefully opened the door. The wizard was sleeping peacefully.

I felt a hot rush of air and I stepped back as something pushed past, me. It had no form, in fact, I couldn't swear there was anyth
ing there at all. But I distinctl
y felt fur brush my skin and smelled the powerful odour of a big cat. I looked around and didn't see anything. I checked Gamelan again, then shut the door and returned to my bed. Instandy, I fell asleep.

I dreamed that night. I dreamed of the black panther. She was speeding through a great forest and I was riding on her back.

Twenty-Three

The Demon Seas

A
s
the days
passed, the wind held true from the west or west-southwest, carrying us steadily into what the maps said would be home waters and eventually to Orissa.

The weather continued balmy, and the tensions of our long chase began to ebb, and our ships could almost be described as happy. My women sat yarning, trying to figure out what they'd do with all their riches, even after the city of Orissa and the Evocators took their legal shares. Two of them even sought me out, and wondered, oh so carefully, if someone as honey-tongued as I might consider appearing before the Council and asking for a boon - since so many of us had given our all for the city, the least Orissa could do was forswear its unearned portion of our gold. I gave them both the same answer: greed ill becomes a soldier. One, Pamphylia, said
impudentl
y that fighting for gold didn't seem to slow the sword-hand of Cholla Yi or his men. She'd obviously been around Gamelan too long, and he'd tolerated her flippery. I told her to report to Flag Sergeant Ismet and ask for a particularly smelly task of Ismet's choice tha
t suited insubordination. Secretl
y, though, I was a bit pleased my women still had spirit left, after the long death
-
lists and months of hardship.

The other, Gerasa, had the same request, but when I answered as I had to Pamphylia she looked at me intendy and, after asking my permission to speak, wondered what made me think she had any intent of remaining in the Guard once we returned.

I made no response to that, but dismissed her after saying the law was the law, and it wasn't for her, or me, to question what Orissa did with its gold.

She'd made me wonder, though. I'd never thought much about the future, I realized. I always assumed I'd soldier on with the Guard, eventually be given a medal, a wine-drenched banquet and pro
moted to a distinctl
y honorary, since I was a woman, generalship and retire to my family's estates. Either that or, more likely, fall in some nameless border skirmish. I'd never much thought of a life beyond the Guard. It had been my mother, father, lover and home since I was a girl, as much or sometimes more than anyone named Antero, Otara or even Tries, as much as I loved them all.

I tried to set those thoughts aside - it isn't healthy for a soldier to think about the future, because while she's walking her post, dreaming of warm taverns and supple bed partners to come, it's most likely someone with eyes only on today is slipping up behind her with a bared dagger. But it didn't work.

Besides, I knew very well what would come next. We still had the Archon to deal with. My first duty when I returned home would be to join Gamelan before the Magistrates and Evocators and tell them what we feared.

All this made me somewhat bleak, although I tried not to show it. My sleep was uneasy, and I woke often. I was hot, then cold. I know I dreamed, and the dreams were not pleasant, but I couldn't remember them when I woke.

One of those nightmares saved my life.

I'd lurched awake, sitting upright in my hammock, trying to come fully alert, my body wanting me to lie back, and I was resisting, knowing if I didn't get up, pace about and collect my wits I'd return to that awful dream, whatever it had been. I vaguely knew it wasn't far from dawn. Over the creaking of the ship's beams, and the rush of the sea beyond them, I heard a low rustling, as if someone were trying the slipstring of my door latch. The door opened, and a shadow oudined itself and came forward, sliding across the deck towards me. From its dark bulk emerged an arm, holding a weapon, a long double-edged dagger, and the knife plunged down towards where I lay.