Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (22 page)

My men and women streamed past to the ships and then Quatervals was beside me, saluting and saying something, but it was buried in Kele’s bellow: “Single up to the stern-rope!” Sailors raced into motion. “We’re ready to sail, Lord!”

I ran for the gangplank and as I stepped onto the
Ibis
’ deck it was pulled aboard. The sweeps were out and double-manned.

“Full right rudder,” Kele shouted. “Port sweeps... pull, damn you,” and one of the
Ibis
’ mates began a rowing chant. The steady motion pulled the bow of our ship away from the dock.

“Cast off the stern line,” Kele ordered and the last mooring fell into the water. We were free and moving. “Hold your rudder, mister... hold it... now midships your helm... all sweeps, pull! Steer for that canal mouth. Correct your course as you see fit.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

Behind us the
Firefly
and
Glowworm
followed in our wake.

“Quatervals,” I began to order. “I’ll want archers...”

His hand swept out, indicating, and I saw armored soldiers on the forecastle. They had bows ready, arrows nocked and more shafts stuffed in their belts. “Is there any change milord wishes in the battle order... poor though it is?”

I managed a smile and wished for just a moment that the
Ibis
was a warship, overmanned with soldiery with no other duties other than battle, a complement no sane merchantman could ever afford.

“No, Quatervals. But get you forward and stand by.” He touched his forehead and hurried off the quarterdeck.

There were two men on each of the sweeps, sweating their guts out as the mate called for ever faster strokes. The quarterdeck held only Kele, her helmsman, Janela and myself. The lake was flat and the breeze light.

We rowed into the mouth of the canal and into the abyss. War, battle is never pretty, but civil war, when men turn against themselves is the ugliest. I once saw a lion taken with a spear in his middle, rolling, snapping in agony at his own entrails as they sagged out, actually devouring them in madness. That was Irayas on that night.

Thank Te-Date the canals from our quarters to the river were broad or else we might well have been drawn in. There was fire and destruction on the banks on either side of us.

We went unnoticed at first. The mobs were too busy killing each other and looting to pay much attention to anything other than themselves. I saw a man stumble out of a store proudly waving a wooden rocking horse aloft as if it were the finest prize imaginable. I saw a row of men outside a dramhouse, in line, handing out bottles of wine as the tavern roared up in flame. Each man would take a swallow of a bottle as it reached him and, when it was empty, the next one it reached would cast it aside.

A naked young girl ran screaming out of the darkness, two bellowing louts in pursuit, stripped to the waist. Quatervals shouted and over the crash and roar two bowstrings twanged and the would-be rapists contorted, graygoose shafts sprouting from their chests. The girl ran on and disappeared, unaware she was no longer pursued. Those were arrows we should have husbanded but thank the gods Quatervals had a soldier’s decency.

The sights grew worse as we sailed on. Citizen had turned against citizen, man against his brother. But the enemy they all combined against were the Wardens. I saw other red-helmeted heads on pikes as we passed and then black-and-red-clad bodies so tormented death would have come as the greatest blessing.

Then we were seen and the chaos reached out to embrace us.

Some that saw us screamed hatred — no one could be allowed to escape this inferno. Rocks, bottles, debris were hurled. There were better-armed men along the banks. The
Glowworm
lost a mate when a spear came from nowhere and pinned her to the deck. One soldier on the
Ibis
took an arrow in the thigh.

We entered a long straight stretch with a high bridge arcing over the canal. There were men who saw us coming. Working in drunken unison they tore away a heavy wooden bench and stumbled toward the bridge, intending to drop it on us as we sailed under. Arrows went out and the bench stood alone, surrounded by bodies.

A small fishing smack pushed out from a dock, propelled by poles. I have no idea what intent the men and women aboard had. We hit it full on with our bow and rolled it under. A man jumped from the craft as it was smashed and clung to our railing until a sailor clubbed him away.

Others wanted rescue we could not give. That brought the most terrible sight of the night. A woman ran to a slight promontory as we passed. She was carrying a bundle in her arms and screaming something. Fires roared close so I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She waved the bundle at us, trying to attract our attention, then, before anyone could do anything, she hurled it at us.

It struck the water and opened and I had a moment to see it was an infant wrapped in blankets. I don’t know what we could have done, should have done, but before the eye’s picture reached the mind the child was gone.

Again the woman screamed and this time I heard her. Then she jumped straight out into the canal, hair floating above her as she fell. She plunged into the water and was gone.

There was more, there were other horrors but then we came out into the basin and the entrance to the river. We were almost free of Irayas. We had but one foe I yet worried about — the river-patrolling Wardens. But my concern vanished when I saw five boatloads of Wardens rowing into the city. They paid us no attention whatsoever. With Irayas in anarchy, a handful of Orissans were of no concern to anyone.

A strong wind came, blowing away from the city, blowing east.

So, with fire, death and treachery behind us we set full sail into the unknown.

We reached the river’s mouth and the open sea without encountering Cligus’ expedition. We set our course east and north toward the tropics as Janela’s many-times-revised chart had suggested.

We made no castings, set out no spells since we didn’t want to leave a spoor for Modin and his sorcerers to follow once the riots were suppressed. Even though Janela hadn’t encountered any emanations from Cligus’ ships showing that magicians were aboard, I knew he would’ve been able to find a few ambitious Evocators willing to sail with him, no matter how strongly Palmeras would have objected.

We were shaken by what had happened in Irayas. To see such a mighty kingdom shattered was almost as great a blow as if the same thing had happened to Orissa itself. It was even harder on me as anyone since I’d known King Domas and had enjoyed the glories of Vacaan many times over the years.

These were not good days for Orissa or any of the lands I knew. However, I kept this thought to myself, not wanting to sound like one of those dotards of my own youth, forever going on about how everything was going into the jakes and that itself needed cleaning and painting.

Quatervals came to me, worried, but I needed no advice from a soldier on what should be done. All three captains were ordered to set continual strenuous drills, from man overboard to fire in the chain locker, day and night, giving no one any time to brood or sulk. Quatervals himself put our soldiery to hard drilling.

I took part as much as I could and slowly began to feel real strength coming back, strength such as I hadn’t felt for years.

Janela noted an unusual thing when we were about a week out from Vacaan. It was a golden day with a crisp wind less than two points off our stern so all our crew had to do was bend on full sail and loll about, hoping Kele, Towra and Beran would find a little mercy and let them pass the day in ease. I was on the quarterdeck stripped to a loincloth, trying to convince myself to get up and stretch my muscles but watching the cabin boy check the glasses against each other and playing the old game of... well, when this minute glass is turned... perhaps this quarter-hour glass... and was about to fall asleep.

Janela was sprawled a few feet away waiting to see if the dolphin that’d been following us for some hours would surface. She rolled on her side, yawning, and then she said, softly, “Well bless me. Amalric, I thought your hair was all white.”

“And so it is,” I murmured, not ready to be brought back from my sopor. “Good thing, too. Makes everybody listen closely to my infinitely sagacious prattlings. One of the privileges of my years.”

“I’m serious.”

“Must be the light. Or the salt air. Makes everybody look younger.”

Janela growled, pulled her bag over and took a small mirror out.

“Look for yourself, grandfather.”

I did, squinting against the glare. It took a moment for me to note since Janela’s eyes were sharper than mine but by Te-Date, she was right. Along the sides of my head and above my temples my hair was starting to redden. Not the brilliant crimson of my youth but it was slowly changing. I scratched my head in some perplexity and felt, along the scalp, stubble. New hair was growing in. I asked Janela to look at it closely and she said it too was red.

“Now I’m really worried,” I said, trying to make light of the matter. “Someone’s put a spell of youth on us and soon I’ll have to be finding swaddling clothes for you.”

“No such spell exists,” Janela snorted. “If it did no one would give a rat’s nose for gold, much less be seeking the Kingdoms of the Night, would they?”

“Actually yes, they would, finding no customer in me,” I said, thinking about the matter. “What a horrible fate that would be. I remember the way I was when I was young, ecstatic one day, downcast the next, with never a cause for either state.”

“I’ll stay close,” she said, “to make sure you don’t embarrass us with youthful follies.”

I truly thought we were imagining things but my rejuvenation continued as the days passed. Eventually it was noticed by Kele, Quatervals and then even everyone. Don’t mistake me — I hadn’t suddenly become the stripling who was about to set out on his Finding, his first trading voyage. Rather I looked, I thought as I had ten perhaps fifteen years earlier. Or perhaps as I had just before Omerye died, not yet two years gone.

I had aged quickly since that time, I realized, because I’d given up, had decided my only place was beside the fire, wrapped in a blanket with nothing better to do but growl about the present, mourn the past and wait for the Dark Seeker.

A bleak thought crossed my mind — I remembered the dancer that Janos had showed me, a childhood gift. It’d been tarnished and broken at first but the farther we journeyed east and the closer we came to even the remnants of the Far Kingdoms, the more the statue renewed itself until it appeared quite new. I also remembered the last time I’d seen it, tarnished and broken, in the last minutes before swords replaced words between us. Perhaps, I thought, this could be a warning to me as well. At one time in my youth, I’d felt incorruptible and so I had heard some call me. I knew men and myself better and was certain that all of us have a price and the honest man perhaps has only not been offered what he considers a proper figure.

For Janos it had been knowledge and perhaps the power that would go with it. For me? I didn’t know. I wondered just for a moment and hoped I was merely being cynical, if Janela’s heritage included that sinister side of Janos Greycloak, then put the thought away as unworthy. Blood, in spite of the cautions of the priests and fabler, does
not
often run true.

We voyaged on, holding our course. Two weeks out of Vacaan I asked Janela to cast a certain spell. I thought we might be approaching our fishing grounds. This had been one of the few additions I’d been able to make to Janela’s plans. At first she’d intended to sail east until she struck land. Then she’d use her sorcery and the various disconnected bits of legend she’d put on her chart to decide whether we should turn north or south until we struck signs of some civilization. If any existed they might guide us in our search for a mountain range shaped like a fist. If we found the ruins of past greatness that might prove an even better clue with less likelihood of hostility.

All that sounded vague to me, although Te-Date knows I’ve pushed off on trading voyages with less information and more hopes for rich spices and silks than even Janela had for her Kingdoms.

I remembered something she’d told me and asked: “You said you set sail once for the far shore but were turned back by the coast guard.”

“I was,” she said.

“I know the people of Vacaan are terribly superstitious about what lies to the east — I saw enough dread of the subject to know for myself over the years. But does this coast guard exist
just
to turn back foolhardy explorers?”

“No,” she said. “They also stop fishermen who are intent on finding new grounds to the east but mainly to suppress the pirates.”

“Pirates, eh? I find it hard to believe there are pirates, unless we’re talking about a few scoundrels who need no booty but the occasional wanderer or fisherman they can snap up. Such a freebooter, I think, would be
very
thin and hungry.”

Janela thought, then got it, grinning.

“If there’s pirates,” I went on, “there must be victims, just as sharks must have schools of fish to feed on. These victims must live to the east...”