The Warrior's Tale (49 page)

Ajmer paid them no mind. He finished the song and began another -an ode to a tree that stood alone on a riverbank for a thousand years. The tree, it seemed, had once been a maiden who was so beautiful a god fell in love with her. He spurned the attentions of a goddess to woo this maiden, making the goddess so jealous she turned her into that tree.

Soon, the whole corridor rang with raucous threats. Through it all, Ajmer sang on.

'What barbarians,' I said to Gamelan.

'I was thinking the same thing, myself,' he said. 'There's no accounting for taste.'

Much time passed. Another coin found its way into Oolumph's pockets. Gamelan and I racked our skulls every waking moment, but no solution presented itself. Meanwhile, Ajmer kept singing, stopping only to sleep and eat. And all the songs were of the same sweet love-lost theme. His voice evoked bitter memories of my own lost loves: Tries, who left me for another; Otara, from whose death I'd never fully recovered; and - more maddeningly still - the Princess Xia, who was not my lover, but in my captivity the memory of her haunted me most fiercely.

I began to hate Ajmer as much as the others. To keep ourselves from going mad, Gamelan and I would rate the curses hurled at him. 'I'll rip your heart out if you don't stop,' someone would shout. The wizard and I agreed this was poor and lacked imagination. On the other hand, the fellow who screamed: 'I'll get a poxed whore to piss in your soup!' rated the highest mark of all. We rewarded him with a bowl of rat's stew. So much for our amusements, which, as you can tell, were few.

Through Oolumph, we learned the others were doing as well as could be expected. My Guardswomen were being held in the same area and seemed to have enough valuables to trade to ease the hardships of the dungeon, and I sent word to Corais and Polillo to keep them exercised as much as possible and added a few hopeful lies to boost their spirits. Cholla Yi and his pirates were having little difficulty - none of them, after all, were
exactly
inexperienced when it came to incarceration.

Meanwhile, Gamelan and I were having no luck coming up with an escape plan. The more we investigated, the less likely it seemed such an opportunity would arise. Hovering over all our musings and many debates was the mystery of how the Konyans learned of the part we'd played in freeing The Sarzana.

'The more I keep circling the question,' Gamelan said one day, 'the more it seems to me only The Sarzana himself could have been responsible. Other than him, the only people who knew were with our fleet, and none of them had contact with the Konyans until their ships surprised us.'

'But, that doesn't make sense,' I said. "What did he have to gain? It would've been better for him if his enemies believed he was so powerful he could escape without assistance. It'd make them fear him more when he suddenly showed up in the Cevennes.'

'That's true,' Gamelan said. 'Only a fool would not see such a claim was to his advantage. And The Sarzana, we've sadly learned, is no fool. Still
...
there is no other possibility. And if what I suspect is true, The Sarzana,- or someone close to him - believed it was more important to have us killed than to reap the benefits of secrecy.'

The wizard's logic was flawless, but no matter how hard I pounded my noggin, I couldn't make out what The Sarzana hoped to gain.

The routine of dungeon life moved as slowly and as agonizingly as one of Ajmer's songs. We arose each day - if day it was, since there was no sun to mark it - to the sound of Oolumph bringing the fixings for our meals. By necessity, these always involved some sort of stew. There were a few pitiful vegetables, a few unskinned rat carcasses, and sometimes a lump of an unrecognizable meat-with more fat than flesh. If there were rice, or beans, I'd pick out the stones before putting them in the pot. Any crumbs left over from our daily bread ration went in with them. Then I'd skin the rats, preserving the blood for the pot, scrape all the nourishment I could from the hides, and set the whole thing to simmer in a broth of boiled bones and hide.

We'd make fresh torches when necessary, breaking down the remnants of the others for fire kindling, and then wash as best we could. I exercised
constantly
, bending and stretching and fighting my shadow on the dungeon wall. I ran in place hour after hour, and dangled from the bars of our cell door, raising and lowering myself until my muscles screamed. This way, instead of weakening, I grew stronger each day.

Even with all the exercise, sleep was difficult. It seemed each time I was about to fall into a deep sleep, some force would suck me down with such fearful strength I sensed I'd suffer some great evil if I surrendered. I dozed in snatches - always an easy thing for a soldier-and in this manner remained fresh. Once a week we'd smoke our blankets, mattresses and clothing to rid them of any fleas or lice that had found their way into the seams.

There was no privacy possible between us, but we made do by meditating on other things while the other performed the human necessities.

Gamelan was such an amiable companion that our bonds only grew stronger. He became father, brother and friend to me. I confessed my most secret thoughts, detailed my weaknesses and failings, which he always managed to point out some good in. One night I told him about Otara and her death and how ever since then I could never let myself go completely; even I could see this was the source of my troubles with Tries. I told him how she desperately wanted to adopt a child, which I, for some reason, opposed. Gamelan said he thought it was because I was frightened of the bond that would be form
ed - a bond which I might secretl
y believe was a betrayal of my love for Otara. I wept at this, because I could see he was right, and he embraced me and soothed me as if he were my own father.

'I think Otara was as much a mother as a lover to you, Rali,' he said. 'So your grief is all tangled with your feelings for your mother, whom you admire above all others.'

I told him I thought she sometimes came to me, such as that day in the garden - which seemed so many years ago - when Omyere sang, and the smell of my mother's sandalwood perfume infused the air, and how I'd turned away and refused to accept her presence.

'Let me tell you what I think, Rali,' Gamelan said. 'Do you remember the story you told about the dream you had in which you slew your cousin?' I nodded, wiping my eyes. 'That was no dream, my dear. You know this, or it would not haunt you so. I concluded then your magical talents came from your mother. She passed them to your brother Halab, and in a very small way to Amalric. But it is in you that the greates
t ability dwells - coming directl
y from mother to daughter.'

'Are you saying my mother was a witch?' I asked. 'Yes.'

'How can that be? She never practised magic, or seemed to pay much attention to spell-casters, or their kind.'

'I think she gave it up,' Gamelan said. 'For the love of your father.'

I thought of the sacrifice Gamelan had been forced to make, how bitter about it he was to this day, and could see the sense in what he said. Then I recalled the myth of my namesake in the small village that was my mother's birthplace. I told Gamelan about it.

He thought for a long time, then said: 'It was no myth, Rali. It happened.'

Understanding flooded in. 'Then the Rali of the tale was—'

'Your ancestor,' Gamelan broke in. 'Now I know myself why I've pressed you so hard. I've sensed from the moment we met that a heavy duty awaited that only you could perform.'

I'll confess, Scribe, that I was crying again. 'My mother always said,' I burbled, 'that Rali means hope.'

'Yes, my friend,' the old wizard said. 'You
are
hope. Our
only
hope.'

Hope, however, seemed in short supply as the days progressed. The war with The Sarzana was going badly for the Council of Purity. All their efforts to stop his depredations were as naught, and only Oolumph seemed happy as the admirals and generals who commanded the forces they threw at him failed in one
battle
after another. Those who survived joined us in the dungeon and Oolumph's purse grew fatter as he tended their needs.

From them we heard reports of The Sarzana's atrocities. He would besiege an island, hammer it with magically raised storms, terrify it with hordes of demons who committed the most unspeakable acts, and when the island finally bowed to the inevitable and surrendered, blood flowed in rivers as his forces moved in for the slaughter, killing and raping and burning. As he advanced his powers seemed to grow stronger, as if all the souls he'd sent to the reaper were fuel for an evil conflagration. The Konyan wizards seemed as helpless as the military forces sent against him. A jailed general told us his defeat came after six of the greatest wizards in the land worked in concert to conjure up a shield for his advancing troops.

'They worked for days on it,' he said, 'and when all was ready I was assured no force known by our gods could penetrate that shield. I led a flanking attack myself. At first, all went well. They came at us, but we beat them back, and were even making some progress. I saw The Sarzana - mounted on a large black steed - directing the
battle
from the hill we were advancing on. I sent word for our archers to shower the hill with arrows, thinking even if they failed to kill him, they might drive him from his command post. But as soon as the arrows were launched a black wind blew up that darkened the sky and the arrows meant for The Sarzana fell on us instead. Then my archers, instead of easing fire, acted as if they were possessed, firing volley after volley. Every arrow was deflected. And every arrow found a mark - except it was my own soldiers who were slain.'

T*he
battle
ended in a rout as the general's troops turned and ran. As they fled, the general said, huge direwolves leaped out of the very ground in pursuit, hamstringing them one after the other, and leaving them where they fell.

'I only survived myself,' the general said, 'because my horse was killed, toppling on me as it died. I was trapped under it all night.'

The general - whose legs were crushed - wept as he told us of how the direwolves came back to feed on the men they'd hamstrung. He listened to his soldiers' screams until dawn.

'A few of my bravest officers returned to rescue me,' the general said, 'but I wish to the gods they'd cut my throat instead.'

The general proved to be a brave man himself. He made no protest when they came for him - in fact, he seemed glad. We heard the torturers working on him and he only cried out a little; but not once did he beg for mercy.

A few days later Oolumph brought word of an even greater disaster.

'I'll be needin' another coin sooner'n usual, Cap'n,' he told me as he doled out our day's rations. 'Thing's are gettin' right dear on th' outside, they is.'

I made some sarcastic reply about the greedy farmers and merchants who afflict people whenever any crisis arises.

'Oh, that's been goin' on from the beginnin',' he said quite cheerfully. 'Way old Oolumph sees it, they's doin' folks a favour, they is. Why, everythin'd disappear right outer the stalls from all th' hoarders ifn they didn't bump up th' prices high 'nough. But when food 'n stuff's real dear, like; there'll al'as be plenty for them that's got the price. It's almos' a duty, ifn yer looks at her right. 'N it's not so bad, really. Th' poor's used to starvin', so they ain't too worst off. 'N it makes th' folks wit' coin to spare spread it around for those of us who're lackin', ifn you sees wha
t ol
Oolumph means.'

I started to get angry, but he was such an unabashed rogue, it seemed
pointless
. I flipped him a coin instead.

'Are you saying things are worse than before?' I asked.

'Indeedy, they is,' Oolumph said. 'Week 'r so ago, I hear tell, a hot wind started blowin'. Blew day 'n night, it did. Sucked th' juice right outter th' crops, it was so hot. 'N it's still blowin'. Even th' old folks say they never seen nothin' like. We don't feel it none down here 'cause we's so deep.'

I nodded, reflexively pulling my blanket coat closer. In the dungeons of Konya it was always winter.

'But it ain't just th' wind,' he continued. 'Folks started gettin' sick. Real sick. Some kinda plague, I guess. They tells me there's gettin' to be so many dead folks, there soon won't be enough of the livin' left to bury 'em.'

'The Sarzana!' Gamelan rasped.

'At's a way they figure,' Oolumph chortled. 'Looks likes he's a conjurin' fool. Hittin' Isolde wit' ever'thin' he's got!'

'It doesn't seem to make any difference to you who wins,' I said.

Ool
umph cackled louder. 'I tol’
yer afore,' he said, 'these be good times for Old Oolumph. But not near so good as when Th' Sarzana was on top. Why, last time they added to th' dungeons was durin' his day. Y
ou'd brand me a liar, if'n I tol’
yer I was sorry that it looks like he's comin' back for good!' He popped the coin I'd given him in his purse, gave it a good, loud rattling, then hobbled off on his dirty business.