The far kingdoms, p.1
The Far Kingdoms, page 1
THE FAR KINGDOMS
Allan Cole and Chris Bunch
For Jason Cole
And Elizabeth Rice Bunch
PART ONE
THE FIRST VOYAGE
CHAPTER ONE
THE COURTESAN
King of Fire.
King of Water.
Queen of the Muse.
I, Amalric Emilie Antero, put quill to linen on this, the second candleday of the Harvest Month, in the tenth year of the Time of Lizard. I swear on the heads of my descendants all I write is true. I beseech thee, My Lords and My Lady, to look with favor upon this journal. Fire, light the way through dim memory. Water, nourish the fruit of my thoughts. Muse, look with kindness on my poor skills and grant me words worthy of the tale I tell. The tale of my travels to the Far Kingdoms.
And what I found.
* * * *
As I re-read those lines I could hear Janos’s laugh. It was a deep drum of a laugh that could warm a cold night, or turn a fool’s words to stone. I heard it loud, as if he sat next to me, instead of from a distance of over forty years. The laughter mocked me. Not for writing this history. He approved of histories and all books of knowledge. He thought them more sacred than any holy cedar grove, more telling than the mirror of any Seer. Yes, he would have approved, even if this account sometimes paints him in an ugly light. Which it shall. It shall. For have I not sworn to tell the truth? Janos was Truth’s most ardent worshipper. Even when he lied... Especially when he lied.
The mockery, I am sure, was for the traditional opening spell I penned, calling on fire, water, and the Muse to assist me in my endeavors.
“It’s a silly custom,” he would have said. “What’s more, it is also a waste of your energies and your substance. It’s like curing a nest of warts, and then not having anything left over for important things like a demon in your skull. A knotted thread’s as good as thrice-blessed toad skin for a wart, and much less expensive, besides.”
Then he would have slapped me on the back and filled our wine glasses to the brim. “Just start the book, Amalric. It’ll come to you as you go.”
Very well, then... It began with a woman.
Her name was Melina and she was the most exquisite courtesan in all Orissa. Even after all these years, my loins stir when I remember her. She had large dark eyes a man could lose his soul in and long perfumed waves of black hair to cover him with if he were accepted into her embrace. She had the form of a goddess, with golden skin, hennaed lips, red-tipped breasts and silken thighs that promised the most welcome harbor any voyager of the flesh could imagine. In short, I was a man of exactly twenty summers, and I lusted for her with all the blind, unreasoning youthmust that hot-blooded age carries. If she had satisfied that lust, I would not be telling this story. Instead she held me transfixed in her professional thrall with nothing more than promises.
I was on a rare bit of business for my father the day I entangled myself in her net. A ship bearing goods from the West had just disgorged its cargo into one of my father’s warehouses and it was my duty to oversee the accounting. This did not mean I was to interfere with my father’s excellent slave clerks. I was there as a “presence of authority” as my father put it. This meant keeping the bribes allocated to the port officer, city tax collector and Evocators’ tithingman to a sensible level. I had a purse of gold and silver coins to slip into greedy fingers, and had been warned if I paid out all of it, profits from this voyage would be slim. The voyage had been long and with much incident, including a storm which had caught and battered our ship just off the mouth of the river that nourishes our city. It was tricky business and I was amazed at the time that he’d entrusted it to me. But my father was trying to encourage me during a time of youthful confusion. He saw merit in me I did not see in myself.
The port officer was green but overly cautious to make up for this failing. As we went from crate to bundle to barrel to jar and toted up the value, I saw a look of craft mar his youthful eyes as he envisioned a bribe equal to a year’s wages. As his appetite sharpened, my mind raced for a solution. My gaze fell on a broken bundle of fabric. I groaned, ripped it open and let the rich cloth spill onto the dusty warehouse floor. I shouted for the ship’s captain, ignoring the startled look on the port officer’s face. He must have thought I’d gone mad. But the look turned to amazement when the captain arrived and I showed him the offending cloth and cursed its poor quality.
“You are either a fool who has been taken by a great cheat,” I berated him, “or you are that great cheat in the flesh.” I swore the cloth was of substandard quality, and even a dimwit could see it would rot within a week in Orissa’s moist river climate. And if this was so, what of the other goods? “Damme, captain, look at me when I speak!”
The captain was an old hand and caught on quickly. He moaned regret and swore ignorance. I sent him away to contemplate my father’s wrath and turned back to the port officer. His smile was weak when I apologized, and the smile grew weaker still as I expanded on that apology — slipping him a single coin for his bribe — to include the obviously diminished value of the cargo. He did not protest, but gripped the coin tightly and fled before I came to my senses and said it was too much.
The city tax collector took no thought at all — he owed my father many favors — so he was happy with a rare trinket from the West to pleasure his much younger wife.
Believing myself a new master of commerce, I awaited with confidence the tithingman from the Evocators’ Council. But the sorcerer who showed himself quickly pricked that thinly stretched silk. Prevotant was known as one of the fattest, greediest Evocators in Orissa. He was notorious for his poor skills as a wizard, but frightening talent for skinning a merchant of his purse. The moment he saw me he chuckled in glee that one so young and stupid was all that stood between him and fortune. His chuckle was echoed by a shrill chittering from the Favorite clinging to his shoulder. In that time there were still a few, usually older, Evocators who kept a Favorite to assist them in casting spells. Part animal, part demon, they could change their size at will from twice that of a man, to even smaller than the scaly thing curled around Prevotant’s neck. The creature’s chittering grew wilder, as the Favorite stirred itself into a boiling broth of excitement. Most Favorites were high-strung and sometimes difficult to control, but I could see this creature was as hysterical as a much beaten dog. Instead of soothing it with a soft word and stroking its leathery hide, Prevotant cursed and gave it a stinging blow. The Favorite squealed in pain and anger, but subsided. Still, I could see it was brooding, for its skin had turned from black to pulsing red. It worried at a bloody sore with small, sharp teeth.
“Perhaps he’s hungry,” I offered, thinking to ingratiate myself. “I could send for a morsel to tempt him.”
The Favorite chirped, but Prevotant flapped his jowls from side to side: “Never mind him. Let’s get to the business at hand.” He puffed up his girth and fixed me with a fierce stare. “I have reports of sorcerous contraband hidden in your cargo.”
My good sense fled before his charge. It was an old ploy at the docks, especially among the Evocators’ tithingmen. My father would have dismissed it with a laugh. I knew this. My father had always made a point to mention these small confrontations and conquests to aid my education. But, knowing and doing — ah, now, there’s a great divide. My face, that great betrayer of red-headed folk, turned as fiery as my hair.
I sputtered: “ But... But... That’s not possible. We ordered all precautions taken. All precautions!”
Prevotant grimaced and pulled some scribblings from his stained robes. He examined quill scratches, keeping his hand cupped to hide them from my view. He shook his head, gloomy, then replaced his notes. His Favorite snatched at the pocket, receiving another blow. “Nasty beast,” the Evocator hissed, then he shifted his attention back to me. “None the less,” he said, “these charges are serious. Serious indeed.” He gazed lovingly at my father’s goods. “I have no choice, but to... but to...”
But I was gaping, numb. His head gave an impatient jerk and he stared at me, hard. “BUT TO-”
Light belatedly dawned. “Oh. Oh... Right!” I grabbed my belt and gave the purse a great shake. His eyes widened at the rattle and his face glowed as he counted his new wealth. A burst of chatter from the Favorite hinted at the deep emotions at play. He absently pinched the creature in rebuke. As for me, I realized my error the instant I’d acted. Now Prevotant knew what I had, and all I had was his to take. Disaster lay on one side, humiliation on the other, as I groped for wit. And the bargaining began.
“Well, yes,” he said at last, “There are certain things I should do. Some would say, required to do. But I would need assistance. Ten colleagues... or more.”
I shook the belt again, angry that I had no choice but to plunge on. “But, you..., “ I said, wearily joining his game, “BUT YOU-”
“... Don’t necessarily have to go by the book,” he answered. “I’ve learned to trust my sweet nature in these matters.” He eyed the purse, but I kept my hand in place.
“I could do it myself,” he said, willing that hand to free the gold. “Except that would require...” He looked over the cargo again. “... My masters wouldn’t permit me to tithe you less than... three coppers for every tenth weight?”
I sighed. “Then I must depart at once to my father’s house to bring news of his ruin.” I patted the purse. “The tithing you ask will take all this... and more.”
Prevotant looked pained. His jowls sagged. But I saw the e
“I have it,” he said. “I’ll perform a simple purification. But to be safe, it must include the whole warehouse. The tithe for that is set at one copper per hundred weight.”
He lifted a hand. “However... there’s still only my Favorite and myself to perform the enchantment. There’s a great deal of work and prep-” I slipped the purse from my belt and gave it to him. The Favorite hooted greedily as his master swiftly tucked it away. “I’ll have it done in no time,” he said, briskly. “No time at all.”
I sent a slave to fetch his things from his litter and in a few moments he’d set up a tripod, a brass bowl of hot coals dangling beneath it and was tossing pinches of various dusts and molds and powders into the bowl. A ghastly smell arose, but there was no smoke. His Favorite leaped to the floor, jumping about and shrieking protests at what lay ahead. I’m sure it would have fled if not for the long, slim chain Prevotant clutched in his fist.
The Evocator had chosen a narrow aisle between crates of wooden toys to place the tripod. It was to help direct the force of the enchantment, he said. He waddled down it, dragging the Favorite behind. It fought all the way, squalling like a child and choking itself on the chain. “Stop,” Prevotant hissed. “You’ll only make it worse.”
He eased himself to one knee and scrawled a circle on the floor, then a square encompassing that. He shortened his grip on the chain and pulled the Favorite to him. Its little teeth snapped frantically at his fingers, but he finally got it by the neck and hurled into the circle. The creature was still for a few moments, stunned by the fall. Prevotant nodded.” Good. And if you give me any more trouble I’ll have you skinned for shoes.” The Evocator puffed back to his feet and strode to the tripod. He motioned for me to join him and I complied.
“I need the presence of an owner,” he explained, “or the purity spell will not be lasting.”
He dug out another pouch from his kit. “I want to make it good and strong,” he said. “I like to see a satisfied client.”
There were people scattered about the warehouse. Clerks and loaders, and prospective customers getting an early look at the goods. “Shall I clear the place?” I asked.
“No need. There’s little danger.” He dropped a fat fistful of what appeared to be brown shavings into the bowl. There was a wet hiss as they fell on the coals. I looked closer and once again noted there was no smoke.
He began, abrupt: “Oh, demons who dwell in darkness,” he intoned. “Beware! Be-ware!” A hiss as he shook more brown stuff on the coals. And I saw the coals begin to lose their glow, as if the heat were being sucked from them.
“Fire to Cold. Cold to Fire. I summon flames to seek you out. Beware, demons! Be-ware!”
He emptied the rest of the pouch into the bowl. There was a flash and the pile of coals collapsed in the center, gray and dead. A ghastly howl came from the creature in the chalk prison. The circle was alive with leaping flames. The Favorite gibbered in pain, dancing and jerking about as the fire seared him through. The fire’s touch left no mark on his hide, but there was no question he felt it. His howls of anguish were very real. The creature suddenly shrank until he was the size of a pebble, even though his screams resounded as loudly as before. I jumped back as the pebble became dog size, then bulked until the Favorite towered out of the circle that enclosed him; small teeth now big, glistening fangs gnashing in agony. But size was no escape, for the flames leaped even higher, enveloping all but the howl. Prevotant shouted: “Begone!”
The Favorite was stricken mute, mouth gaping and ghostly through the flames. Silence settled. But I soon heard a ticking, then another. Then it was as if the roof opened and it stormed insects. Whole clouds fell dead from the rafters and walls: Winged things; boring things; crawling things. The thick, dry rain stung my flesh as they fell. I heard another stirring, which became a scurry and a scratch that doubled, then doubled again and the floor became a sea of fur and scales as rats and lizards fled the warehouse. There were cries of alarm and disgust from the men and women scattered about the place.
“Nothing to fear,” the Evocator said in a normal voice. “The spell is perhaps a bit strong, but at least you’ll be rid of vermin as well.” Before I could answer, he flung up his hands, shouting: “Finit!” A whoosh, and the fire vanished. With a start, I saw the coals in the tripod glow into renewed life.
The Evocator hauled on the chain, dragging his Favorite across the chalk boundaries. It was normal sized. but still furious from its treatment. “Now, there’s a good job done,” he said to me, jerking viciously on the chain. “I only need to-” Both of us jumped as the Favorite snarled and shot up to half man-size. It jerked on the chain, and Prevotant yelped as the leash slipped from his grasp, cutting soft flesh.
“Hear now,” he thundered, “what’s this all about? Stop it at once.” He waddled forward, fist raised. The Favorite snarled again and the snarl became a snap, snap, snapping of hysterical teeth. It cowered as Prevotant approached, but its size did not diminish and its skin flashed with angry colors. The Evocator gave it a furious kick, and that was all the beast would take. It shrieked and leaped over its master. The Evocator whirled, cursing and shouting for it to come back. But the Favorite closed its ears and bounded across the warehouse, like a dog dosed under the tail with pepper oil. A richly-dressed woman screamed and leapt back into the company of her slave retainers. But her scream drew attention and the Favorite veered and shot through them, scattering the woman’s slaves and leaving a bloody bite on the woman’s arm.
Prevotant’s anger turned to panic. “Come back to daddy,” he pleaded in high soprano. “Daddy has some tasty treats... Please come back.” But the Favorite ravaged on, shredding bundled goods with its teeth, ripping crates open with its claws. My men tried to pin it in a corner, but it drove them back, growing even larger and charging forward. Then it was ravaging through the cargo again. The chaos must have sharpened my wits, for I saw the damage was minimal, but in that damage was my own escape from the Evocator.
“Ah, ha!” Prevotant shouted, as it turned and raced back toward us. “No, you’ll listen to reason.” But it shrank and dodged between us. I saw my chance and quickly tipped the tripod over. The smoking coals tumbled among the crates of wooden toys. Now it was the Evocator’s turn for hysteria. He rushed over and began beating at the small flames with the hem of his robe. “Help me,” he cried, “or all is lost.” He had visions of this warehouse... and then the whole river front... going up in smoke. I strode casually up, gentled him aside, and stamped the fire out.
I left him there, mumbling stunned apologies, while I fetched the warehouse overseer, got a net, some long sticks and a few husky slaves. It wasn’t long before we netted the Favorite, who was now tired and frightened, and brought him to his master. Prevotant looked at me with sheep’s eyes. I ignored him, gazing coldly about at the ruin.
“Please let me set it right,” he said.
I held out my hand. “You can start with my father’s gold,” I retorted.
This shocked him. “So much?” It was barely a whisper. But he gave me back the pouch just the same.
“And, that’s just to start with,” I continued. “Once I’ve tallied the score of this day’s work...” I shook my head. “I doubt you have the means for repayment. I’ll advise my father to seek recompense from the Council.” I only meant to put the fear of the gods in him. I really didn’t expect to collect more. I figured the debt my father’s bookkeepers would conjure up would keep him humble for years to come. I was about to go into my own dance of “Buts,” and “on the other hands,” when he raised a finger for silence. He looked about to see if anyone is watching.
“Perhaps I have something here that will soothe the young gentleman,” he said, all oiled charm. He dipped into his robes and plucked something out. He gave me a leer. “You will see it’s very special,” he said.
He handed me a card. It was white and bordered in rich red. In the center was the seal of the hetaerae guild: the blatantly naked form of Butala, the harvest goddess, with exaggerated breasts and pudenda. Beneath it, in gold leaf: Melina will dance tonight for her special friends and benefactors.
