Tournament of Witches Read online

  “Oh, but there is.” Amlina crossed to a dressing table, pulled open the top drawer. Reaching to the back, she extracted a small bone-handled knife with a razor-sharp edge.

  “Cutting yourself is no solution,” Beryl whispered.

  “Begone,” Amlina said, and used the knife to trace a sign of banishment in the air.

  Pulling up the sleeve of her dressing gown, Amlina stared at her forearm. The tiny scars were growing numerous, a pattern like a spider’s web. She used a cosmetic and a cantrip, a mind-trick, to hide the marks from Draven and her friends. How long would that concealment last?

  No matter, she must relieve the pressure. She must balance her energies, restore her equilibrium, so she could make plans to return the Cloak to Larthang.

  Time was running out.

  Deliberately, she sliced the steel edge along the skin above her wrist. Holding her arm over a porcelain basin, she squeezed the spot above the cut and watched the red droplets fall.

  Two

  Three ships ran before the north wind, tilting as they skidded over gleaming ice. Imposing warships, they had fortified hulls and raised forward- and rear-decks suitable for battle. Still, they were elegant vessels, with gilded carvings along the rails and ribbed ice-sails arrayed in fore-and-aft rigging on three tall masts. Indeed, they were among the finest ships the Larthangan navy could put to sea.

  Yet Admiral Shay-Ni Pheng’s mood was sour. Scowling, he stood with hands clasped behind his back, dressed in dark quilted wools and golden cuirass, his booted feet spread wide on the rear deck of his flagship, the Satin Cobra.

  Behind him, the ship’s captain manned the ice-tiller, occasionally calling orders through a megaphone to sailors who manned sheets and stays on the forward decks, keeping the wind to port, the ship balanced on keel and starboard ice-runners. At the rails and gunwales, sea-troopers stood guard in armor and helmets, while on the wide main deck a detachment of the men drilled in unison, stamping and lunging with long pikes, staying battle-ready.

  Pointless exercise. Pheng’s eyes scanned the horizon—desolate ice in all directions.

  Far to the north, he knew, the bulk of the navy was engaged in blockading the island of Gon Fu or skirmishing against the ships of Tathian cities. Perhaps some were already winning glory by invading the Tathian Islands.

  While he, Shay-Ni Pheng, son of one of the noblest military houses in all the Golden Land, had been sent on this fool’s errand. Accompanied by a witch and her aides, his flotilla sailed the bitterly cold South Polar Sea searching for the lost Cloak of the Two Winds.

  Rumors had begun months ago. Seers at the House of the Deepmind perceived that the Cloak might no longer be held by Beryl, the Archimage of the East. In Second Winter, the ice-sailing season, the news was confirmed by mariners returning from abroad. The tyrant queen had fallen and some of her treasures, including the legendary Cloak, had been carried off. Larthangan spies, residing in the Tathian Islands, reported that several of the rival city-states were sending ships to search for the prize. Skillfully used, the Cloak of the Two Winds amounted to a supreme weapon of war. Naturally, the authorities in Minhang arranged their own expeditions. Flotillas were dispatched to Near and Far Nyssan, to Gwales and other remote places.

  Including even the South Polar Sea, Admiral Pheng fretted. Why had the simning cursed him so? No, he could not blame the deities who administered human fates. It was his own uncle, Duke Trem-Dou Pheng, who had chosen him specifically to lead this voyage. The Duke, supreme commander of the Tuan’s Forces, had claimed it was an opportunity for his nephew to win glory by returning one of the great magical treasures to Larthang. Was the Duke sincere in this? Shay-Ni doubted it. No, his uncle either wished to spare him the dangers of combat in hope of preserving his life for some later role in service to the family, or else the Duke despised him and wished to prevent him winning any honors at all. Perhaps Shay-Ni was viewed as a possible rival to the Duke’s own sons. It was hard to tell; Trem-Dou Pheng was an inscrutable man. Indeed, life in the upper echelons of the Larthangan aristocracy was forever a shadow-play of intrigue, deception, and betrayal.

  The admiral’s grim musings were interrupted by the noise of hurried footsteps coming up the deck ladder. A young man appeared, dressed in a loose-sleeved gown and square hat—one of the witch’s servants. He spotted the admiral, hurried toward him, made a deep bow.

  “Lord. A message from the Duke.”

  Pheng wasted no time in following the messenger below decks. At the end of a dim passage, they entered a space completely unlike the bright, sparse, military world above. The air in the chamber was warm and close, smelling of incense. Red lamps glowed and magical trinkets hung from beams, leaning with the tilt of the ship. The servant bowed and backed away, joining others who stood in the shadows, their arms folded in sleeves.

  At a table in the center sat the witch Arkasha and her two apprentices, dressed in elaborate robes of different colors. With them was a fourth person, a skinny girl in servant garb, barely out of her teens. Her jaw hung slack, and she stared through glassy eyes. This one was a thrall, a mind-slave.

  Even Pheng, who generally shunned knowledge of witchery, knew that the art of enthrallment was forbidden in Larthang. But he also knew that—among witches and mages, as among the nobility—forbidden practices often flourished when they might give the practitioners some advantage.

  The witches stood at his approach and gave curt bows, eyeing him warily as they always did. Arkasha gestured for him to sit in a broad chair at the head of the table.

  Taking the seat, Shay-Ni allowed his eyes to wander to the young girl across from him. A pretty little thing, despite her vacant mien. What was her body like under that drab apparel? The admiral shook himself and dismissed the thought. He knew himself to be overly prone to lust, especially for girls who were helpless and easily dominated.

  Arkasha spoke in the direction of the thrall.

  “Lady Clorodice, my lord Duke: Admiral Pheng has arrived.”

  Clorodice was a high witch, a member of the Inner Council at the House of the Deepmind. For her own reasons, she had allied herself with Duke Pheng and his militarist faction, the Iron Bloc. She had also enthralled this young woman and now used her as a conduit to communicate across the boundaries of normal space. Thus, seated in some richly-appointed chamber in Minhang, the Celestial Capital, she and the Duke could speak directly to the Admiral and his party.

  The girl’s mouth fell open, and a hollow voice issued from her throat. “Duke Pheng speaks. Nephew, I have two important pieces of news to convey. But first, your report.”

  The Admiral cleared his throat. “Our ships are fit and seaworthy, my lord uncle, we are on course…”

  Through the thrall, the Duke interrupted. “Did you search the Iruk Isles yet?”

  Shay-Ni frowned. “As ordered, lord. We visited each of the main islands, made anchorage and contacted the village elders. As instructed, we made peaceful gestures, offered gifts of iron and oil. Most of their warriors are at sea in this season. We did encounter several groups of Iruk hunting boats. In one case they refused to parlay and attacked us with spears. We answered with crossbows and easily drove them off. In all, we found no one who admitted any knowledge of the Cloak of the Two Winds. Nor did the witches find any trace of it.”

  “That is so, my lord Duke,” Arkasha confirmed. “Our deepseeing found no trace of the Cloak’s emanations in those places.”

  “I am not surprised,” the Duke replied. “This matches new impressions that have reached us through Lady Clorodice’s deepseers. It seems the Cloak is indeed in that region, but to the east of the Iruk Isles. Most likely on the peninsula called Fleevan, where a Tathian colony has existed for some time.”

  “Clorodice speaks now.” The tone of the thrall changed to a higher pitch. “That is so, and the emanations grow clearer. This likely means that our concentrated efforts to weaken the concealments around the Cloak are at last succeeding.”

  Immediately, the thra
ll’s voice dropped again. “Pheng speaks. That is the first important news, nephew. Here is the second: You are no longer alone in seeking the Cloak in that region. The House of the Deepmind has sent its own agent.”

  This was ill news to the Admiral. The controlling interests in the House of the Deepmind were opposed to the Duke’s faction and their policy of military expansion. But the military controlled the navy, and in the icy seasons, Larthangan merchant vessels almost never ventured to these waters.

  “How could they without a ship?” the Admiral demanded.

  “Fool,” the Duke snapped. “By witchery of course. This envoy witch is a drell, one of the winged people. More, she has the gift they call second flight. She can travel outside of normal space.”

  Shay-Ni was appalled. The earlier news had led him to hope he might actually succeed in bringing the prize back to Larthang. But now— “Then how can we hope to thwart this drell witch?”

  “You must not fail!” The girl’s head shook as she shouted the Duke’s command. “You have deepshapers of your own on board, as well as Lady Clorodice’s retinue here. Failure is unacceptable. The Cloak must come to us and not the obstructionalists in the House of the Deepmind. Do you understand?”

  Shay-Ni bowed his head, cowed. “Yes, lord uncle.”

  “Be prepared,” the Duke continued. “Whoever holds the Cloak will likely defend it with force—unless you are lucky enough to take them by surprise. They might even use its magic against your troops. In that contingency, assault the enemy with crossbows, striking from a distance. Lives may be lost, but that is of no consequence.”

  “I understand,” the Admiral muttered, trying to keep anger from his tone. His uncle did not need to advise him on these tactics. They had been over these points before.

  “As for the drell witch,” the Duke went on. “If you encounter her, treat her with all deference. But you must insist on the military’s rights to the Cloak, as it is a weapon of war. Kill her if you have to, but do not let her take the Cloak!”

  

  Lady with wings

  Lady with wings

  Where did she fly

  The bright lady?

  The haphazard lyric drifted through Eben’s mind as he wandered the streets of Fleevanport. It was his habit, when some question troubled him, to compose a verse or two. Once he had loved the chants and story-songs of his people, had been deemed to have some talent as a drummer and song-maker.

  But that was before he and his klarn voyaged north and saw so much more of the world. That voyage had changed everything.

  Twilight was settling over the waterfront, the air chilling, the faint polar sunlight gone, leaving only the witchlight of the harbor with its blue, frosty glow. Eben had just left the hostelry where he rented a small room in the attic. All day he had lain in bed, sleeping some, otherwise staring at the ceiling, brooding.

  With this latest robbery, his money was running low. He would have to pay a visit to the farmstead where some of his former klarnmates still lived with the witch, Amlina. Eben had left his remaining share of treasure in their keeping. He didn’t even know how much was left.

  Of course, it would be pleasant to see his mates again. And Eben found it interesting sometimes to converse with the scholar Kizier, and even Buroof, the foul-tempered talking book. But it would also be embarrassing to see Lonn and Draven and Glyssa. The Iruks would not discuss it openly, but Eben knew they worried about him, disapproved of how he was wasting his loot and his life in Fleevanport.

  No doubt, they had a point.

  After resting and feasting for a time in Fleevan, the klarnmates had gone their separate ways. The sisters, Karrol and Brinda, had returned to their home island and joined a new klarn, determined to resume the Iruk way of life. Wilhaven the bard had sailed north, to fulfill his promise to sing Queen Meghild’s saga in all the halls of Gwales. Glyssa had stayed with Amlina, to continue studying the magic of Larthang. Lonn and Draven had also chosen to stay, Lonn because he loved Glyssa, Draven because he was in love with Amlina.

  That left only Eben at loose ends. He had no wish of joining a new klarn, of resuming the hard Iruk life of hunting and raiding. With his share of the treasure of Tallyba, he had thought to live at ease, drinking and feasting and sleeping with tavern girls. That was how he had always spent his gold in the past, when he’d been lucky enough to gain any.

  But after many drunken nights and bleary, head-sore days, that life palled. Over Second and Third Winter, he had wandered back to the farmstead twice, stayed and hunted a bit with Lonn and Draven, told tales over the fire to Kizier, who was writing a scholarly work on the Iruk people. But soon boredom stirred again in Eben and sent him marching back down through the woods to the taverns and brothels.

  Lady with wings

  Lady with wings

  Will you fly me away

  Bright lady?

  Eben grunted at the silliness of the thought. He had to find something worthwhile to do with his life, to occupy his mind and satisfy his restless heart. Sooner or later, his money would be gone. Then, like Karrol and Brinda, he supposed he would have to join a new klarn and hunt again. The notion held little appeal.

  Coming to the waterfront, he noticed a dozen or so dojuks, Iruk hunting boats, tied up at the docks along with the fishing craft of the Fleevaners. At this time of year, the klarns sailed into port with cargoes of hides, frozen meat, and rendered yulugg oil to trade. These dojuks were among the first arrivals.

  Eben’s steps quickened, his boots crunching on the hard-packed snow, his mood brightening. He headed for the Sea Lion, an inn and hostelry frequented by Iruks. Perhaps he would meet Karrol and Brinda, or other of his neighbors from Ilga. If so, they would talk and laugh, and he would buy drinks for everyone. He still possessed enough coin for one good night of carousing.

  The Sea Lion stood on a narrow street one block from the harbor. Approaching the lamp-lit doors, Eben heard loud talking and raucous laughter. Three Iruks in hunting garb and fur capes leaned on the outside walls, drinking from tankards. Not recognizing the man and two women, Eben nodded and stepped past them.

  The main room was wide, low-ceilinged, and noisy. Lamps hung from black iron chandeliers and a wood-fire blazed in a hearth along one wall. The long bar and tables spread over the floor were crowded with Fleevaners, Tathians, and Iruks, their nationalities immediately apparent by their different clothing styles. The air smelled of smoke and spilled liquor.

  Eben wound his way to the bar, where a party of broad-shouldered Iruks stood drinking. But when he spotted their faces he paused, then sidestepped toward the far end of the bar. Two of the men glanced up. But they were already well into their cups, and Eben could not tell if they had noticed him.

  Casually, Eben moved to the end of the bar and ordered a tankard of mead. The man he had spotted was Harful, a klarn leader from Ilga. Bad blood simmered between them. When Eben and his mates first joined Amlina’s crew, they had been forced to defend the Larthangan ship from the Iruk hunting party that they had left a few days earlier. Harful and the other boat skippers assumed Lonn’s klarn had captured the ship and refused to share their loot, as required by Iruk law. Lonn and the mates bluffed them away, but not before Harful and the other captains vowed reprisal. When Lonn’s klarn was away in the north, these vengeful neighbors ransacked their lodge house on Ilga. Later, after returning from their adventure in Tallyba, Lonn and his klarn had visited Ilga, met with the island’s elders, and paid restitution for the infraction. But several of the klarn leaders had declared the payment inadequate. Harful in particular seemed humiliated that Lonn and his five klarnmates had faced down twenty boats and turned them away. He made no secret that he still nursed a grudge.

  Now, Eben quietly sipped his mead and avoided looking at Harful or his companions. Instead he strained his ears to listen, picking up snatches of conversations. It seemed three Larthangan ships were in the region and had recently sailed around the Iruk Isles. This was rare news, as Larthangan
ships seldom plied these water—and especially not in the icy seasons. Eben wondered if those ships might have some connection with his lady of the wings. It seemed a logical conjecture.

  A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder.

  “Here’s one who is a friend to Larthangans!” A surly voice roared.

  Eben spun around and stared up into the besotted face of Harful.

  “He’s sailed on their vessels, made friends with one of their witches. Maybe he knows why they’ve come.”

  Angrily, Eben flung up an arm to disengage Harful’s grip. The taller Iruk grimaced. He was backed by two of his mates, all staring belligerently.

  “Actually, I know nothing about it,” Eben said calmly. “I’ve not been sailing this season.”

  “Ooo. I’ve not been sailing this season.” Harful repeated his works in a mocking, childlike voice. “I should have known that. You and your outlaw klarn have no need for plying the seas and hunting. Not with all your Larthangan treasure—loot that you cheated your own neighbors out of.”

  Eben clenched his lips. After a judicious pause, he answered quietly. “We cheated no one. The witch’s ship at that time held no treasure, as we said. The loot we won came long after we parted from the hunting fleet. And we are not outlaws, since we paid fair shares to the village, as judged by the elders of the island.” With a mild nod to Harful’s companions, he turned back to the bar.

  But Harful gripped his shoulder again and angrily spun him around.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, you little sea worm! I say you are a liar and a cheat.”

  The area nearby had grown quiet, everyone watching the dispute between two Iruks. Eben glanced at Harful and his two bulky mates. His wits told him this was not a battle he could win.

  “I don’t want to fight,” he murmured, and reached to pick up his tankard.

  “Ha!” Harful roared. “So he is not only a liar and cheat, but a coward.”