Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (23 page)

Janela finished for me: “... and so the pirates would have some familiarity with those lands as well.”

“Am I not brilliant, O Lady,” I said, trying to sound as smug as possible.

“Brilliant, lovable and
most
humble, Lord Antero,” she said and there began our plan.

The spell we began with was, I immodestly thought, equally subtle. We assumed any self-respecting sea robber would have some access to sorcery rather than sailing hither and yon hoping for victims to sail blindly into range. Having had, I’ve sometimes felt, more than my share of encounters with pirates over the years, I know that corsairs
never
chance battle with an armed and watchful ship.

Pirates, in spite of the romance of the name and all the ballads, are no more than back alley cutthroats. No footpad will ever consider going after the purse of a man with a sword but will wait for women, cripples and drunkards to batten on.

Even though our three ships weren’t battle craft we still might appear too warlike, so the spell was cast.

Actually there would be two spells, Janela decided. The first spell was intended for the pirate’s seers, if they had any, and the second would ride atop it and was a spell of belief, so no one witnessing the phenomenon we were about to produce could have the slightest doubt. Just as I held the visible weaponry of pirates in contempt, Janela took their sorcerers less than seriously,

“Why,” she said, “would any villainous sorcerer of any talent take up a salt-soaked water-logged trade that generally finishes at the end of a rope when they could practice dry, warm, safe evil as pet wizard for some baron?”

A wide brass bowl was filled with sea water. Into the water Janela sprinkled herbs of vision. The bowl was placed in the center of a circle scribed in blue on the deck and then a red compass rose drawn over it with symbols at each point.

“This is interesting,” Janela said. “I’ve never had occasion to try this, at least not at sea. I did something like this once when I was, shall we say, leaving a certain kingdom posthaste and wished to convince my pursuers I’d taken a sidetrack.”

“Did it work, my Lady?” Quatervals asked — we were both helping prepare her magical necessaries.

Janela waggled a hand. “Mostly. Or somewhat, anyway. The count’s soldiery thundered up a dead-end canyon just as I’d wished, thinking I was trapped. Unfortunately the magic also drew some sort of creature down from the heights who decided I must be his. I
hoped
it was just for dinner but I fear not. It took some interesting... convincements before he allowed me to continue on my way.”

“Got to watch folks who live in the mountains,” Quatervals put in. “Demons or people. Anybody who likes the sort of place where what ain’t straight up is straight down probably don’t look at things same as others.”

“Spoken like a true mountaineer,” I said. “Are we ready?”

“I think so.”

Janela positioned herself over the brass bowl and pointed to the compass points while reciting an incantation under her breath. She beckoned when she finished.

“Careful you don’t step on any of the lines of force,” she warned.

I leaned over and looked down into the bowl.

The water had become mirror-like, and on it sailed three tiny replicas of our ships.

“This is the truth,” she said. “Now for the lie.”

Beside her on the deck were two tiny ships that’d been carved by the ship’s carpenter. They bore no resemblance to ours, but rather to small carracks favored in Vacaan. Janela’d said she had no idea what sort of ships would be favored on the far shores but thought it likely they might be the same as those used by the sailors of Vacaan. The carpenter had cleverly fitted them with tiny masts and sails then, at Janela’s instructions, cut and gouged them.

“They’ll appear to be storm-damaged and near-helpless,” she explained. “We’re using two instead of three so even the most cautious privateer will slaver at the thought of taking us.”

She floated the models on the bowl, then carefully sliced gelatin, made from the sun-dried swimming bladder of a fish and floated that across the water. It dissolved and the image changed, as if waves of heat were rising between us and the bowl. She added more herbs to the water, among them dried bloodroot and rhododendron. Then she chanted:

The eyes reach out

Look far

Look long

See this

Just this

Ships long at sea

Ships off their course

Ships weak and torn

The eyes reach out

The eyes take in

They see your prey

They see it clear

You cannot turn

You must not turn

You wish not to turn

Come to us

Come to us

She beckoned and again I looked into the bowl. Now I saw two battered merchant ships crawling through the sea. I fancied I could see brown, ripped sails, dangling lines and even helpless sailors sprawled on their decks.

“I’ll just seal this,” Janela said, looking quite satisfied with her work, as she should have, “and we can clean up and turn Captain Kele’s deck back to her.”

“Then we wait for the pirates, my Lady?” Quatervals asked.

“Just so.”

“I like this,” Quatervals admired. “First ambush I’ve ever set on the open sea.”

“If it works,” she said. “If it doesn’t... we could sail on until we run out of ocean, or else be ambushed ourselves by a fleet of corsairs determined to seize some rich booty that’s being flaunted.”

“That’s what I love most about you, Janela,” I murmured. “You’re as much a romantic as your great grandfather.”

* * * *

We sailed for another week and a half, seeing no other ships. Kele, the other captains and I kept sharp ears out for discontent. Too often sailors on unknown seas far from land begin to fret. Worry can turn to mutiny in an instant. Again I was proud of our crews, because there was nothing more than the usual grumble about rations, weather, brackish water, not enough wine and the rest, generally led by Pip. I was relieved — if there’d been nothing I would’ve really worried since the only sailor who doesn’t bewail his present condition is either dead or seriously plotting.

I was especially pleased because these waters were so foreign. We saw things I’d never glimpsed before, nor had any of my mariners.

One day we saw a great mass floating nearby and altered course. It looked like some sort of jellyfish but covered almost fifty square yards, bobbing in the low swell, its loathsome translucency motionless.

“Not jellyfish,” Kele opined. “Dead cuttlefish. Kilt by a whale, p’raps an’ floated up from the depths. Never seen one this big, tho’. Most be fair deep around here.”

As we sailed past I looked back and saw a single monstrous eye blink open and then the mass silently sink beneath the surface.

We shouted the watch to stand-to and armed ourselves but nothing happened. The beast, whatever it was, evidently had been peaceful.

A day or so later, drifting, our sails lowered until the wind changed again to blow toward the east, we encountered real jellyfish but these were huge, nearly the size of a longboat. They had multi-colored combs rising ten feet or more above the water, sails that sent them constantly moving downwind. I counted at least thirty of them before I gave up.

We sailed close enough so I could see, through the crystalline waters, tendrils hanging down into the depths. Tangled in the closest was some sort of fish, perhaps an albacore, but one almost seven feet long I thought, allowing for the water’s distortion. Somehow those tendrils could catch and kill and so we steered a course well away from them and watched as they sailed on, downwind, west and south toward an undiscovered landfall.

We set out fishing lines, which kept our soldiers happy. The sailors, as always, would only try the most bland of whitefish and that reluctantly. Any sea creature that was ugly or had dark flesh made them shudder. It was more for the rest of us and let the seamen dine on salt beef from the casks.

One ceremony we did perform for all hands was the Gift of Tongues. When I was a boy one thing that made a trader’s life a bit tedious was the constant study of languages. Janos had taught me the least onerous way to learn a new language — find a bed partner gifted in that speech and learning came somewhat joyously, especially when it came to naming body parts.

Vacaan had lessened that pleasure, though, with the magical Gift that was easily given with a small ceremony and a sorcerously-treated clear sponge. One time when I’d done King Domas a particularly good turn which I don’t frankly remember the nature of, I’d begged leave of him for this knowledge. He’d considered well, told me since his people journeyed but little beyond their frontiers he saw no harm and so Orissan knowledge advanced another step.

To make sure the gift would work we Orissans combined their knowledge with the magical elixir Rali had learned to make on her journey to the Kingdom of Konya, which required the addition of some local fruits, meats or grains to work.

The sponges we’d brought with us from Orissa and the local addition was provided by the first strange-looking bit of uptorn vegetation we saw that no one could identify, hence we assumed it came from the further shore.

Then we continued our wait as we traveled on into the east.

* * * *

One thing I missed was my bed companion. Of course, now far from Modin’s leering eyes, Janela slept in her own cabin.

I thought wistfully from time to time of being back in Irayas and drowsing, half awake, in the depths of the night and hearing her soft breathing less than an arms-stretch away and even of her head pillowed on my shoulder. That produced most unsettling dreams, however, and so when those thoughts intruded I did my best to force my mind into other channels.

Once Janela smiled as we were going below for the night, standing in her open door. “Sometimes,” she said softly, “even the most dreadful sorcerer can bring a bit of good, I’ve learned.” She went in and closed the door.

* * * *

Yet another week went by and now we were far into the eastern sea.

It was early in the morning and Quatervals had our handful of soldiery and such sailors as were offwatch turned out on deck. He’d asked Janela for a favor:

“My Lady,” he’d said, “I saw how you fought when that demon’s-tool Palic attacked you in Orissa. Never seen it’s like before. Maybe you’d show some of your tricks to these wretches I’m trying to batter int’a soldiery?”

Janela had hesitated, then agreed.

Now she stood on deck, assorted weapons lying on the deck beside her and she’d picked Quatervals as her sparring opponent. The way she demonstrated her skills was unusual. Rather than the usual clash-clang-lunge of the practice yard she moved very slowly, as if underwater, and asked Quatervals to do the same when he moved.

“It is in the eyes,” she tried to explain. “You’ve got to watch the other man or woman always. Never look away. You’ll see the sword stroke clear out of the corner of your eye and have time to counter. You have to
feel
your attacker coming at you.

“Quatervals, lunge slowly. Now, look you men. See how his eyes widen as he readies himself. See how his right foot lifts slightly and how he shifts his muscles forward? See how his free arm moves automatically to the outside, both to block and to balance? Seeing that, it’s easy to counterstrike or step aside.

“Watch that, learn that, move swiftly and you know all I do.”

“Damned hard,” Maha, another of my crew who called on the demon Senac, muttered.

“
Dying
is a lot harder.”

Otavi looked stubborn, holding his ax in front of him like it was his private amulet. “I’ll let ’em come to me. Man never goes wrong lettin’ someone else go first.”

Janela paid no mind to either comment but picked up a dagger from the deck.

“Quatervals, strike hard and at speed for my heart.”

Quatervals considered, nodded, danced briefly sideways and struck. But just as it’d been on the
Ibis
that night some time ago, Janela simply wasn’t there. She was turning, spinning like a dancer and was just outside Quatervals’ blocking right hand.

She tapped his temple with her free hand, turned once more and the point of the blade touched his neck. Her fist would’ve sent him sprawling, stunned, or her knife would’ve sent him to the Seeker.

“You see,” she said, a bit impatiently, “the weapon
does not matter.
First is not to be there when the attacker lunges. Then you can take whatever measures you wish. You can fight, flee or simply knock your enemy on his ass. Now, Quatervals, put them through the paces. Slowly. I’ll watch.”

She came back and slipped down on the deck beside me.

“Probably not that good an idea,” she said softly to me.

“Why not?”

“I studied this technique for two full years before it began to take me. And I’m afraid Quatervals and the others don’t understand that the importance is to feel what your enemy intends
and move in that instant as he attacks.
I know of no other way to put it and the old one who instructed me in this craft told me I’d have the same trouble teaching others as he was in teaching me.