Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (69 page)

Our ships were much smaller and of a strange design I’d never seen before. They were galleys and single-masted but the foredeck was covered with a curved shield, as was the poop. The oarsmen were shielded by high-curving bulwarks. The only open areas of our ships were amidships. Forward of me were two catapults, behind me two more on a deck raised above the rowers and I stood with Janela, Kele, Quatervals and Otavi on a round open tower that was the quarterdeck. Otavi, I guessed, was our helmsmen, since he stood at what was the ship’s wheel — two vertical poles that came up through slots in the deck that he moved forward and back at Kele’s commands.

I was reminded of the turtleships that Rali had faced in a great sea battle far to the west.

This was strange but still stranger were my sailors. Some of them I could make out and recognize as the Orissans and Tyrenians who’d battled with me. But those were hardly enough to make up a fleet’s complement. There were others but I could not hold my eyes on them. Somehow looking at them hurt and I was glad to let my gaze slide past them, not letting my mind register any of their details.

Janela knelt on the deck, which was chalked with a pentagram inside a circle with a second circle outside of that and symbols drawn around that arc. Empty leather bags — bags that would have held wind — were scattered around her. A candle burnt beside her with a flame that never flickered in the near-gale blowing behind us.

Suddenly the wind died and we began to lose way, almost caught in irons as it suddenly picked up again, blowing directly into our faces. Ba’land’s spell had broken our control of the winds.

“No you don’t,” Janela muttered and held the candle to a nearby brazier. A multi-colored flame blazed up, twice the height of a man, a flame that was barely a handspan across, and her magic was stronger as the wind whipped through half a compass arc and was as before.

“That’s held him,” she said and then geysers rose in the sea around us as the demon catapults found our range.

I had my ships in an arrow formation, striking straight for the heart of the enemy’s fleet, our oarsmen pulling with all their strength, our windspell filling our sails. This would be unexpected for a seabattle should be fought with ships in two lines face to face, the greater seeking to enclose and destroy the lesser.

But I intended to fight differently — my signals were already on the halyards and my captains had their orders.

How I knew this, when and how I told them, I cannot say, although now I wonder if some things my sister had told me years ago when she returned from Konya might have been remembered.

“We’re in range, Lord,” Quatervals said.

I nodded to him and now our own catapults sent heavy stones lofting through the air toward the enemy, long bolts from the catapults behind them.

But this was not our main weapon — that lay hidden just under the water that foamed around our bows.

Each of us had a demon ship as target. My own ship was holding true for the greatest of the enemy, Ba’land’s flagship.

We closed on it and the demons aboard howled in pleasure at our stupidity, our willingness to come alongside a much larger ship and be taken by storm.

But we were not. At the last minute Kele ordered the course shifted slightly and then corrected, until we would strike Ba’land’s craft just off the port bow. Now the demons realized we intended to ram and their helm was put over, the wallowing ship turning slowly.

“Brace for it,” Kele shouted and the oarsmen below went flat and we found handholds.

We struck hard and many of us were knocked down in spite of our being ready for the shock. The demons recovered and raced to their rails high above us, ready to leap down and attack.

Kele shouted orders and the oarsmen pulled hard, one side forward, one back and just as she planned our ship spun and with a great rending sound our ram broke away and we were free, backing off from the stricken flagship.

Quatervals’ catapults were sending their messengers thudding onto the decks of the enemy or smashing through the sides of the crippled ship.

“All hands aft,” Kele shouted and men rushed to the stern bringing our bow slightly up.

This again was as planned and the seamen forward opened hatches, swiftly unbolted the remains of the broken ram and slid a new one into place, tightened the bolts and slammed the hatch shut, taking but little water in the process.

“Hands to their stations,” and our ship sat as before, level in the rolling seas but now with a fresh and deadly beak.

Still at full sail and with the oarsmen pulling hard we struck on, straight through the enemy, almost onto the killer banks. I saw rollers breaking although the bank was hidden, just under the surface, before I ordered Kele to turn and attack their fleet once more, like direwolves cutting apart a flock of sheep.

The rest of my ships were behind me and pivoted like so many trained ponies at a show. I’d lost but a handful in my first attack, as I’d hoped.

This time we struck from the rear, finding another ship and smashing into its stern and then pulling away, leaving it sinking, some of the crew trying to swim for the wreckage that littered the water, some for the boats that had been lowered.

This was not a day for mercy or kindness — we ran down three boats, archers skewering drowning monsters as they clawed at our sides and then we were through the demons’ line of battle once more.

The storm was about to break, wind shrieking, and the demon fleet was being blown down on land to its destruction. Ba’land’s fleet was shattered, each ship now fighting for survival.

I looked around for the flagship, intending to finish it on this approach and...

...We fell, but it seemed to be more slowly...

* * * *

The ground, a pleasant land of lakes, was far below us. Behind us was the rising sun as our twenty ships floated toward the mountains that was the demon king’s stronghold.

I did not know what world or what time we were in, for I had never heard nor thought of a craft such as the ones we flew.

They were huge tubes, eight or nine hundred feet long, pointed at the edges, with a long deck slung below each cylinder. On the decks were my soldiers, armed and waiting for the battle.

But to describe the cylinder and deck as if it appeared simple is a mistake, for on either side of it jutted long masts, fitted with sails and swarming with sailors furling and unfurling the canvas to hold our course in the wind that blew from astern.

I didn’t know how we stayed in the air but suddenly recollected when a boy folding small pyramids of paper, holding them over the fire and letting the hot air lift them up the chimney. Perhaps these cylinders held such air, kept heated through sorcery.

Kele shouted a warning and pointed and from the caves and canyons of the brooding mountain range the demons rose to meet us. Some rode on the backs of winged beasts, some as before
were
those beasts. They were armed with lances and long swords.

I heard a humming in the air and then one of my ships of the air gouted flame, twisting, burning and falling, again like one of my paper toys that came too close to the fire.

Janela was working the counterspell, lighting a candle, then as she chanted closing her hands about it, snuffing the flame:

“You cannot burn

You will not burn

I deny you life

I deny you fuel

I command you die

I command your death!”

The humming was gone and the monsters swarmed in on us. I was no longer commander but a common soldier and I worked the crank of a crossbow until the string clicked over the fingers. There were clips on the rails with bolts and I dropped one into the bow’s channel.

A four-winged beast that looked like a heavy-bodied dragonfly soared close, its claws reaching to rip one of our sail-workers from his perch. He screamed, seeing death on him, and I quickly aimed and fired. My shot missed but snapped between the creature and its intended prey, startling it so its claws closed on emptiness. It shrilled anger, banked away and I lost it.

Some of the demons had jumped from their mounts and were on our decks, fighting with claws or weapons. Men closed, wrestled with each other and then someone, monster or man, would fall screaming into the abyss. Not infrequently two bodies went twisting down to doom, still battling, hands clenched around each others’ throats.

It was the time for our flames.

Janela held her palm out with a smear of oil in it, whispered and fire blazed up — a magical fire that did not sear her flesh.

She picked up a paper tube from the deck that was inscribed with symbols, held it next to her palm and blew gently.

A great flame, a finger of fire, shot out and burnt a winged demon to a blackened crisp, sought on across the sky, found others and sent them searing to their deaths.

There was an immense roar and a long snake with three sets of wings along its body whipped toward me and I knew it to be Ba’land. My hands were turning, winding, but far too slow, the creature was almost on me, then I fumbled the bolt, lifted and pulled and the string TWANGED and the bolt went home, burying itself in snake-Ba’land’s body and the monster rolled and convulsed, whipping back and forth as it fell...

* * * *

We were tumbling, drifting, like autumn leaves falling toward the distant ground...

* * * *

There was no land, no sky, no sea.

* * * *

All around was blackness but there was light. I existed but was in no body.

Beside me was Janela, invisible yet visible.

Something smashed past me, sending me skittering to the side, something that if it had been visible might have been flame but here was naught but pure force.

I was terrified, naked, unarmed, but then felt Janela’s strength touch me and her knowledge teach me and I
reached,
found and gathered a force, a power that was my own and sent it lancing out to where Ba’land floated. It struck him hard and this world/notworld shook to his agony.

Then there were others, the other demons, but they also were without body, raw will, evil itself, coiling for a snakestrike... but then the thought, for there was nothing to see, was gone and the world rolled and tore as demon turned against demon.

I sensed the wild demons tearing at their brothers, trying to end this agony, trying to break free from this world and I sensed demons meeting the real death in this strange civil war in the void.

Another shaft came at me, searing my thigh above my knee and then twin bolts were returned, one from each of us and the universe was a shatter of Ba’land’s pain.

* * * *

We stood on the bare rocky plain the silver fire had first sent us to.

There were but three of us. Janela and I were naked and held what might have been swords but were flaring torches of that pure light, pure energy.

Before us crouched Ba’land, holding up his clawed hands in supplication.

“Mercy, Antero. I beg mercy, Greycloak. Your soul was indeed too bitter for me.”

“Mercy?” Janela’s laugh was hard.

“Yes. Leave me... leave us with what remains of our power, our lives and I swear we shall come to your worlds no longer.”

“You expect me to believe you would honor such a pact?” I asked.

“I do,” he said. “Look, here, graven on my chest, here is the sign and you will see why you must believe me, why you must let us live.”

Reflexively I leaned close... and Ba’land’s talons shot out, straight for my heart. But silver flashed and his blow was stricken aside and my own weapon seared across, striking of its own volition and Ba’land’s head rolled on the rocks.

His great eye burnt yellow, then went dark, and I felt his going and something was missing from the world, something dark, something deadly, something that had hung around all of our kind like a leaden weight for ages and generations.

Janela was beside me and for just an instant she was all silver, like the dancer Thalila, and then the force she’d used to save me was gone.

I reached out for her and then we were in the ancient throne room of King Farsun.

Around me clustered the soldiers that had fought the demons for our world and won. Quatervals... Kele... Otavi... Pip... the other Orissans... Tobray and the men of Tyrenia.

There was no one else in the chamber, not Prince Solaros, not any of the other Tyrenians. But there were three bodies: King Ignati’s, the demon Mitel and sprawled headless on his throne, now black and corroded, the corpse of King Ba’land.

My body was unscathed but I felt the agony of each of the wounds I’d suffered in those long battles in many worlds.

Quatervals grinned, began to say something, then he and Kele shimmered and were gone, now far-distant on their trek toward Orissa.

I was suddenly unsure of where I was or if I even existed but I felt Janela’s hand firm in my own and I held her and the world was real and mine.

Then we turned and limped up the long tunnel toward the light of day.