The Warrior Returns - Anteros 04 Read online

  "Then it occurred to me that the demon I encountered might be a Favorite. A creature operating under a greater wizard's will."

  "Do you think that's the case?" my brother asked.

  "Yes, I do," I said. 'There were small indications, I realize now. Not proof. But the faint spoor of something larger. More deadly. With a mind and purpose that little demon certainly couldn't have."

  "The flag you saw," Amalric said, "rings the chimes of my memory. But I still can't recollect where I've heard of it before."

  "That's another thing," I said. "On our return journey I revisited an old shaman I'd befriended on my last voyage. When I described the flag to him, he became very excited. He said the banner was that of the Ice Bear King. An ice chieftain known only in legend. A piratical tyrant who terrorized the region many years before, but who has been dead for at least a century.

  "The shaman said some enterprising villain must have adopted the Ice Bear King's ancient standard to cow ignorant fools into submission."

  "I think he's probably right, don't you, Rali?" my brother said.

  I nodded. "It's the most likely explanation. But it doesn't diminish whoever that rogue is. He's got more than bluff to back him up. He's got wizardry skills, as well."

  "You're also worried about the trading posts, aren't you?" Amalric asked.

  "I can't help but feel I abandoned them when I turned back," I said.

  "Even though they have more than sufficient arms and soldiers to protect themselves?" "Yes."

  "And don't they also have two of Orissa's most skilled Evocators to guard against a magical attack such as you experienced? Lord Serano and Lord Searbe, if I recall."

  "Even so," I said. "I fear for them. Especially for the people at Antero Bay, where Lord Searbe is posted. Antero Bay isn't that far from where I sighted the pirates."

  "It would be very expensive to make an unscheduled voyage back to those parts," Amalric said. "Especially one that was equipped with enough forces to quickly overwhelm whoever this false Ice Bear King is."

  "I know that," I said. "And I don't have enough proof to urge you take such a risk."

  Amalric thought for a minute. "I'll tell you what," he said. "I'll send a fast scouting ship out. Something small that will go unnoticed but will have a fierce bite if trapped. They can sniff around, then head for the two trading posts to see if all is well."

  I should've been relieved. But I wasn't. My forehead and shoulders were tight and aching with tension.

  My brother, ever sensitive to my mood, grimaced. "You want to head that scouting party, don't you, Rali?" he guessed.

  "I must go, Amalric," I said. "I feel those people are my responsibility."

  "Ever the warrior captain," my brother said, grinning. "You'll never get it out of your blood, will you?"

  "I guess not," I said. "And I'm not sure I ought to. I opened that area up. I put those people down. And I promised to return."

  "But you didn't promise them complete safety," Amalric said. 'They're all experienced people. They know the risk in such savage regions."

  "I'll put it this way, then," I said. "If you were me ... what would you do?"

  Amalric answered without hesitation. "I'd demand to go," he said.

  "Then I suppose that's what I'm doing," I said. "Demanding to go."

  "Then go you shall, sister dear," Amalric said. "Go you shall."

  SOME WEEKS LATER the scouting ship was fitted out and ready to depart. But before I left, I made one short pilgrimage.

  We of the sisterhood have a small temple at Galana, some three days' hard ride from Orissa. It's a simple little stone building set in a graceful wood—no more than a tree lot, really. The surrounding area consists of rolling hills and farmland, cared for by Guardswomen who are no longer able to fight. Some have suffered wounds of the flesh, some of the spirit, some of both. Old warrior women also spend their final days in Galana, and all who are able see to the needs of the farm and their less fortunate sisters.

  It was a hot day, a dry day, a day of crackling leaves and prickly skin when I was escorted through the gates of Galana.

  There were many comfortable barracks to house the women, and I noted with professional interest that the encampment included a low hill with a few cave entrances. The whole region was ringed with hills and mountains, and it seemed to me that Galana was well situated to fend off any threats from those heights.

  I made polite talk with the silver-haired commander, praising the farm and inspecting the small force she kept ready in case some unforeseen threat arose. I complimented her people and preparations, although I really barely noticed anything or anyone in particular. I was anxious to get to the temple and consult my goddess' oracle.

  I went in alone, put a chit into the box near the entrance— promising a fat bullock for sacrifice—and approached the altar.

  It was cool in the temple, and dust motes played in the single beam of light that peeped down through a glassed-over hole in the peaked roof. It was a gate for the goddess to enter, or exit.

  Old faint frescoes decorated the walls, dramatizing the many trials and triumphs of the Guard over the centuries. To the right of the goddess' idol was a freshly painted picture commemorating my own battle with the Archon not many years before.

  I grimaced when I saw the idealized picture of myself, bloody sword in one hand, the Archon's head dangling from the other. It didn't happen that way, and I wished I were as beautiful as the picture made me, with a waist so slender and breasts so high that it must have made many a woman despair of her own figure when she saw such perfection. I know I certainly did. And it was me, after all.

  On the way to the altar I stopped at a small raised pool. It was enclosed by a low marble wall, and I leaned over the stone to dip my fingers into the water. My image was reflected in the flat, silvery surface and I had to smile at the wavery reminder of just how far I was from being the figure of heroic perfection portrayed in the frieze.

  The image broke when I scooped up the perfumed holy water. I sprinkled myself, feeling instantly cool and refreshed, and went to the altar where the idol of Maranonia waited.

  I knelt on the steps and gazed up at the statue of Maranonia in her ever-watchful, ever-truth-seeking pose. I whispered a prayer urging her blessing for the journey I was about to undertake.

  I'm not certain of my view of the gods at that time. Perhaps I'd grown cynical, as many Evocators do after they've wrought miracles of their own for a time. Regardless, I remember feeling a little foolish as I made my plea. Wondering for just a moment if my prayers and obedience were being offered to nothing more than a lovely image an artist made from dead stone—no more real than the picture of myself on the temple walls.

  But as I knelt there, knees growing numb on the cold, hard steps, the beam of light suddenly broadened and deepened. There was a rush of air, the sound of swishing robes, and the clank of armor.

  Then I saw the statue move. First a hand coming up, then a booted foot coming forward. There was a shimmer and the idol glowed into full life.

  The goddess gestured.

  A sparkling shower rained on her shoulders, and her warrior's garb and weapons vanished, to be replaced by silken robes of translucent purple that swirled about her ivory flesh, clinging to her body's curves and hollows. The robe was cut high on the left, and when she moved, the smooth white limb on that side was tantalizingly revealed from delicate ankle to rounded hip.

  I was stunned by the beauty of the goddess. I must've gaped like a poor thing from the deep trapped in a tide pool.

  Maranonia laughed at the sight of me, and the air was filled with the scent of her violet breath.

  I was frightened and bowed low, my heart vying with my head to knock against the floor. I'd never been visited by a goddess before. In future days, as you shall see, my awe was replaced with less respectful feelings.

  "You ask a boon, Rali," the goddess said.

  "Yes, if you please, my lady," I quavered.

  "What m
akes you think I can grant it?" the goddess asked.

  I'm certain I made a comical sight puzzling up at her like a small child who's just been told her parents were not the ultimate source of power and wisdom. It'd never occurred to me that she couldn't do whatever she wished. She was a goddess, wasn't she? I thought the only question would be—will she? Not, can she?

  The goddess chuckled at my discomfort, and for the first time I thought of the comparison between her laughter and bells sounding the alarm for war.

  Her laugh irritated me. My knees hurt and my temper was starting to get the best of me. "So happy to be such a great source of amusement to you, my lady," I said frostily.

  This only made her laugh harder. I gritted my teeth until the storm of godly humor faded.

  Then she said, "You'll have to watch that temper of yours, Rali. It might cause us both some trouble in the future."

  Although she was smiling, her eyes were so steely that I was once again reduced to a properly trembling state.

  "Yes, Your Grace," I said.

  The goddess crooked a finger, and the room swirled before my eyes and all became darkness except for her glowing form. She spoke and her voice seemed to come from within me.

  "I can only tell you this, Rali Emilie Antero," she said. "You must make this voyage. It is vital to the future of Orissa—the people I have chosen to support. I cannot openly side with you, although I will do what I can. There are those who have influence among my heavenly cousins who do not favor the Anteros.

  "And I must warn you most severely not to reveal a word about my appearance this day, or what I have said. Your brother, especially, must not be told. His strength must be saved for another time—if and when the final fight comes.

  "So it is up to you, Rali, to see your people through this crisis."

  Her image started to fade.

  "Is that all you can tell me, Goddess?" I cried. "Please. Reveal all you can safely say. I will tell no one." The goddess’s image firmed.

  "Your journey will be fraught with difficulty," she said "Some may die. Some may flee. Whether you are successful or not depends on you, Rali. Not the gods.

  "And I will tell you one thing more...

  "Three ships will mark your fortunes. Three ships will carry your fate. Three ships a-sailing ... one of silver, one of copper, and one of gold."

  Her image vanished and I collapsed unconscious to the floor.

  I'D FULLY RECOVERED by the time we were to depart. When Amalric came to see me off, I was able to display nothing but good cheer. I'd even begun to wonder if the vision had been the result of the sour wine I'd stopped to drink at a tavern near the settlement

  When I thought on it, the whole thing seemed so unlikely, so farfetched.

  Amalric embraced me. "May the trade winds always be at your back, sister dear," he said.

  I kissed him, then drew away to study him closer. In that moment he looked like the solemn little boy I'd once known and left behind when I'd gone marching off to war.

  So I asked of him then what I'd begged from him more than once in those long ago days.

  "Smile for me, little brother," I said. "One smile to carry in my heart while I'm gone."

  And Amalric blessed me with his brightest, sweetest smile.

  I looked at his face, memorizing it. I think he did the same

  with me. In his eyes I saw a question begin to grow. And that question was—would we ever see each other again?

  Ah, by the gods, if I'd known the answer, I'd have kissed him once more.

  BEFORE MY TIME and my brother's time our world was a small dark place surrounded by fearful things. We were like mice in a barn stall burrow, poking our heads out when hunger drove us to it, daring the mighty owl in the rafters as we scampered to feed on animal droppings.

  Amalric's voyages of discovery opened the East as far as the distant peaks of Tyrenia which overlook the barren lands where the demons and the Old Ones had battled for eons. My expedition against the last Archon of Lycanth unveiled the mysterious West—thousands of leagues beyond the fiery reefs that had once marked the end of the known world.

  We'd always traded with the people in the hot regions of the North and had a good idea what they looked like. Although few had personally visited the North, there were detailed maps showing that savage area with reasonable accuracy.

  My father, Paphos Anteros, had explored the ice lands of the South in his youth, but he'd been too overwhelmed by the work of expanding our family fortune to exploit his few discoveries. He was an old-school gentleman with courtly manners and a kind and gentle air that masked his shrewd judgment. He was never one to spare his praise, especially for me. I'd perform some small task for him, such as fetching his favorite bowl—cracked and stained with age—so he could

  pour a little honeyed wine in it and dip his bread for a late night snack. When I'd set the bowl down carefully on his study table, he'd hug me and thank me as if I'd crossed mountains and wild seas to do him this favor.

  "Thank you, daughter," he'd say. "And to those thanks add ten thousand more."

  You see what I mean? Not one thank-you would suffice. Only ten thousand and one would do.

  Although my mother had the greater influence on me—and it was through her that I inherited my magical ability—my father stirred my more noble feelings, forming and cementing my notions of right and wrong and honor. It was also through him that I'd been infected by the Antero family obsession to explore new lands and see new things. And when my mother carried my wishes forward, telling him that above all things I wanted to become a soldier, my father'd made certain I had the chance to achieve my heart's desire.

  I was always his darling daughter no matter how rough or boyish my play. When I was a child, I'd sit on his knee night after late night, winding and unwinding my fingers in his beard while he regaled me with tales of his early adventures in the lands of the South.

  He told me of the oyster beds along the Straits of Madacar, where the pearls were plump and glowing. He showed me one rare pearl he'd found that was as big as my childish fist and black as the deeps of the deepest sea. He had a little fertility idol, a fat little woman with great breasts and an oversized pudendum, that he prized above all his treasures. He said it came through many hands from the true end of the world and was a goddess to the People of the Edge who lived on the bottom of the earth. It had been his lifelong desire to go to that place, but he'd never had the time to undertake such a journey.

  I've been there since those days of pigtails and scraped knees. I've seen what my father ached to see. I remember gazing out on those wild and lovely wastelands for the first time and thinking if things had been different, Paphos Antero would've been the first great Orissan explorer instead of

  Amalric. Who knows what the world would be like if that had happened?

  And how much larger it would be.

  I suppose it was because of his dreams and tales that I'd concentrated on southern exploration and trade since I left the Maranon Guard and joined my brother. Perhaps the threat I sensed from the false Ice Bear King made me more anxious to secure those regions for Orissan trade.

  As I viewed the matter, any losses suffered to that pirate devil would be as much a blow against my father as myself.

  When I set out to investigate the extent of the danger, if danger existed at all, I did so with more resolve than someone seeking mere profit. I'd be damned if I'd let some barbarian upstart interfere with my plans. And if he'd harmed any of my people, I'd hunt him down and rid the earth of his flea-riddled carcass.

  I was a warrior in wizard's robes, and by the sweet eyes of Maranonia, I swore to have my will in this matter.

  WE MADE A fast run south. We flew no flags. We used sails dyed a tawny blue so as not to stand out on the horizon. And we avoided even the most innocent traffic.

  My ship was the Tern, a single-masted, shallow-drafted vessel built for speed in any waters, from stormy seas to placid river currents. I carried a crew of ten, w
hich was more than I needed to sail her, but all were skilled fighters as well, so we'd make a nasty little force to be crossed. There was a short single bank of oars on either side to get us out of trouble if we were becalmed. And I'd fitted her out with all the most modern devices, such as the small pump just out of our Evocator's shops, that'd keep her dry and light in any weather.

  The pump ran on a mild spell of perpetuation, so it never needed manning, other than someone to clear the hose if oakum or some other debris clogged it. The pump was only one of many useful devices Orissans had devised in recent years, combining the magical knowledge my brother brought back from the Far Kingdoms with our native ingenuity for mechanics.

  Once again the captain was Carale, whom I was delighted to sail with again. The first mate was Donarius, a big blustery fellow with a bad temper and keen weather eye. He also swung a two-handed sword with impressive and ferocious ease, and although he grumbled some, he always followed orders exactly.

  One of the practices I'd instituted since joining my brother was building a stable of men and women trained both as sailors and warriors. In my expedition against the Archon, I'd seen the need for such a thing. Most sailors must engage in combat from time to time. But their seamanship is valued over their fighting ability. Anyone who has been in even the mildest storm at sea would never quarrel with the wisdom of this practice.

  It seemed to me both things could be achieved, and at a high level of skill if the scale were kept small. And it seemed to be the perfect solution for a commercial enterprise such as ours. My brother had always maintained a crack security force composed of former soldiers or members of elite units. With Amalric's approval, I'd launched the plan and combed near and far for the best people.

  I'd promised hard training, high wages, and a clean life that might very well be short. To that end I'd established a handsome fund for those who were maimed or became too old, or died and left family behind. I'd been deluged with volunteers, so I had my pick. To my delight, many were women, although I'd had to be especially careful not to impede the rebuilding of the Maranon Guard, which had been decimated in the war against Lycanth.