The Casting of the Bones

shrunk under their gaze.

'Perhaps I should give it further study,' Jinnah said nervously. He tossed my report over to Hux. 'I want a staff team on this,' he said, his manner brusque. 'Tell them I need an answer within the week.'

'A week?' I shouted, forgetting myself as I saw everything about to vanish down that familiar paper-shufflers' tunnel. 'There'll be another thousand dead within that time!' My outburst was a mistake. I'd given Jinnah the avenue he needed. His thin lips drew back in a wide smear of satisfaction. -

But before he could strike, Gamelan stepped in again. 'Yes, yes,' he said, rather absently, as if I'd spoken in reasonable terms. 'I fear this must be done now, or not at all.'

He fumbled in a pocket of his black wizard's cloak and as he drew out his hand the acrid stench of sulphur filled the room. Jinnah's eyes widened as the Evocator opened his palm, exposing five ivory knucklebones with mysterious red symbols etched on them. The room crackled with energy. We were looking at the casting bones of a Master Evocator. I heard Cholla Yi whisper a prayer to whatever pirate god he worshipped. Hux and the other aides were so frightened they looked as if they were about to bolt. On the other hand, I was so swept up with my challenge that I felt nothing, not even a tinge of awe.

Gamelan's eyes were now a glowing yellow. He held the bones out to Jinnah. 'Cast them, General,' he said.

Jinnah averted his gaze from the yellow, lion's glare. He licked dry lips. 'But I thought, you ...'

Gamelan shook his head. 'It is upon you, my General, that our fates rest.'

After a long hesitation Jinnah reached with a trembling hand. Gamelan let the bones fall into it. Jinnah reflexively clasped them tight. And Gamelan began to chant:

Bones of Fate

Reveal thy tally:

Who shall win?

Who shall lose?

Who shall greet thee

In the Demon's Pyre?

Jinnah shrieked in pain and flung the casting bones onto the field table. The smell of his burnt flesh fouled our nostrils.

Jinnah sucked on his injured hand. 'I... I... can't,' he croaked.

I heard fearful whispers from the other men. I kept my own feelings frozen in heart and brain. The only comfort I allowed myself was a hand firmly clasping the hilt of my sword. It did my nerve no good, however, when I saw the look of shock on the Master Evocator's face.

'Its happened? he hissed.

'What?' Jinnah said. Fear made it a whisper.

Gamelan shook his head, commanding silence. He turned this way and that, sniffing and listening to every small sound of the night. I felt my skin prickle as his senses ferreted about. Somewhere far off we heard a direwolf pack howl over a fresh kill.

Gamelan whirled to confront Jinnah. The Archons have made some kind of breakthrough,' he said. 'We must act quickly, or all will be lost'

'But what.. .'Jinnah was confounded.

Gamelan ignored him. He grabbed up the bones and thrust them at me. 'Toss them, Captain,' he said.

I only stared at him. Why was I being asked to do this? If the gods were suddenly deserting us, how could I alter their flight?

'Do it, Rali,' Gamelan snarled. 'Before it's too late!'

Numb, I obeyed - barely noting that he'd addressed me so familiarly. I opened my hand and steeled it as Gamelan once again let the bones fall. And I swear by all that we hold true and holy, that time seemed to stand still. It was as if a shadow fell between me and the others. I smelled my mother's sandalwood perfume. My skin seemed to take on a sweet glow, as if I'd just stepped out of a bath of warm milk and honeyed wine. Everything just seemed so ... right... in this shadow-world. The bones nestled in my palm as if they had been specially carved for the fit. They were cool to the touch and for some reason it troubled me that their feeling was quite pleasing.

Once again Gamelan chanted. Once again he prayed for a tally of our common fates. The bones remained cool in my palm; the only change was an increased feeling of tingling pleasure. As he chanted, another voice - a woman's voice - whispered in my ear: 'Rali means hope. Rali means hope.'

'Cast them,' Gamelan said.

Awkwardly, I threw the bones. The shadow-world feeling - and those are the only words I can think of to describe it - left me as the bones bounced and rolled across the table.

As they struck the tent was lit by a lightning bolt striking close by. Thunder followed - so loud we clutched our ears in pain. Gamelan didn't seem to notice. Instead, he gave a gleeful cackle and jumped forward like a cat to peer at the knuckles. Another cackle and he swept them up. But as he returned them to his cloak pocket he gave me an odd look. I made no effort to read the look. To be quite honest, I consciously avoided any reflection on what the wizard might be thinking.

He turned to Jinnah, who stood staring, gaping like a pond fish. 'She is our only hope, General,' he said. 'I don't know the why of it. I just know it is so.'

Still, Jinnah hesitated. He looked at me and in that brief moment the veil was lifted and I saw the hatred in his eyes. It was cold and black and deep. I was rocked back. At first, wonder leaped into my mind. Why should I be the object of such hatred? Then my wonder grew deeper still as I saw that beneath his look was fear. Before I could reflect further, I felt my own hatred stir. It became an intense flame and I was so caught in it I nearly leaped the table to kill him where he stood.

Then the tent glowed as another spear of lightning pierced the night. We all jumped as a second volley of thunder blasted us to our boots.

Jinnah grabbed a tumbler of brandy and drank it down to steady his nerves.

'Well, General?' Gamelan pressed.

Jinnah nodded, weak. His voice rasped through the tension when he answered: 'We attack tomorrow. At dusk.'

At dawn we made a sacrifice, or rather three sacrifices, which suggested not just how important, but how dangerous that coming night's mission might be. First, we sent Maranonia a sheep. It should have been a fat ram, but, as I've said, the land around us was combed bare and the poor scrawny ewe we found would have to suffice. After the battle was won proper homage could be made. Maranonia was a soldiers' goddess and would understand sometimes the idea must satisfy more than the reality. Someone suggested a Lycanthian prisoner should be given to Maranonia, but that idea was quickly rejected since it doesn't make much sense to seek a goddess's approval by sending someone whose blood-drenched soul would make the strongest argument against what we desired. Next, we made a smaller sacrifice of fish to Orissa's gods and each of us made a private offering to her own hearth god. I hoped those gifts in particular would be found satisfying and few of us would have to make personal obeisance by the next dawn.

The rest of the morning was spent in final preparation. Just as the ballads of battle seldom mention the sweating smiths ensuring the cavalry mounts are well shod before the charge; or the armourers and spark-shooting grindstones putting the final edges to the killing blades, no one ever realizes that soldiers - at least soldiers who succeed - almost never spy an objective and, bellowing mightily, rush to attack.

Our camp was a haze of activity from dawn until midday. Each woman's kit was checked by her sergeant, double-checked by her section officer and then finally inspected by Polillo and Corais. At noon we ate heartily - a traditional before-battle meal of roast beef and eggs. I'd had to send a victualling mission composed of my most skilled thieves far out into the countryside to procure it.

A sudden shower - invoked by two medium-level Evocators - sent us scurrying in mock-surprise for our tents. Out of sight, we changed into battle gear - drab clothing and blackened armour. The rain whipped a breeze through the open door of my tent and I shivered. But it was not from the chill wind.

I'd had cast too much of my capital on this single spin of the top. The cold logic of war dictated a complete unit should never be committed to a single battle, particularly if the odds were high. Soldiers could, and did, shrug when only a handful returned from battle; but when a unit was completely destroyed, death fingers went down all our backbones.

But only a handful of my Guardswomen were to remain behind. A few of them were sick or injured and the reset were a fresh draft of untrained recruits from Orissa who'd arrived under an eager young ensign the day before. She was the only officer left, besides Corais, Polillo and myself. Since the Guards' officers led from the front and by example, the death rate had been catastrophic and there'd been no time for officer's boards or field promotions.

The new woman's name was Dica and she seemed even younger than I'd been when I enlisted. I took her aside and told her if I didn't return on the morrow, she was the new commander of the Maranon Guard. She paled, but her lips firmed. I made note - such resolve indicated a worthy soldier in embryo.

'Should we fall,' I ordered, 'it will be your task to return to Orissa and rebuild the Guard. Maranonia requires no less of you and there are enough pensioners of the Guard left in Orissa to assist you. Your first duty, however, will be to recover the colours - which we'll be carrying tonight. If we don't return, the colours will be where all the Maranon Guard lie - inside the citadel of the Archons.'

I dismissed her and turned to Corais, who'd waited until Dica left the tent before smiling wryly, knowing full well why I'd spoken as dramatically as I had: 'Very good, my Captain,' she said. 'If we must die this night, your words will help build our legend. Polillo, were she present, would be in tears.' Then she sighed. 'Isn't it a pity this legend business can be so damned painful?

While the storm still continued our tents were taken over by a small detachment of men. It had been arranged for them to light cooking fires, move from tent to tent, mount guard and, in short, suggest to any observer, magical or physical, that the Maranon Guard was still being held in reserve.

We girded ourselves for battle and moved quickly along the rear of the Orissan encampment to the bluffs that led to the shore beyond Lycanth where Cholla Yi had his galleys beached on rollers. The night before I'd attempted to suggest what craft we might need for our attack in my stumbling landswoman's way. Cholla Yi had snickered in a pretended friendly manner, as if our near-duel hadn't occurred, and said I needn't continue.

'It isn't uncommon, Captain Antero,' he'd said, 'that we sailors also prefer silence and secrecy on occasion. Each of my galleys carries one or two boats of a design so perfect you yourself might have worked with the builders. I'd hoped to use them for cutting-out expeditions against the Lycanthian merchantmen bottled up in the harbour -once we'd found a way to cut that great damned locket-chain keeping us out. But none of us should dream, for the gods love disappointment.'

He went on briskly: 'Each boat can carry ten men, and is crewed by a coxswain, with four seamen to work the paddles. You might have your soldiers' and he couldn't but put sarcastic emphasis on that word, 'told off in teams accordingly so our debarkation won't sound like a goosegirl calling her flock.'

I'd merely nodded. The admiral was what he was and we were what we were. I thought then, one way or another, the night's purpose would be the last I'd see of him, so his behaviour was unimportant. So much for my talents as a seer!

Once we reached the mercenaries' camp I dispersed my Guard under cover and put them under the charge of Flag Sergeant Ismet, who was one of the great oddities in the already strange group of women who made up the Guard. As soon as I saw her my confidence rose. With women like this, how could we fail?

Ismet, you see, was an example for us all: from the green recruit, to her fellow non-commissioned officers and finally to the officers themselves. She was a constant reminder - to use the hackneyed phrase - of the spirit of the Guard we served. Some whispered Ismet might be an incarnate of Maranonia herself, especially since she hadn't seemed to age in all the years she'd served. Ismet's dark complexion - darker even than the tropical natives of the north -added to her mystery. Where she came from, no one knew. She'd merely appeared one day and announced her intent to enlist. When questioned about her background she made no attempt to answer -only vowed she'd become a Guardswoman or else starve herself to death. There was a hubbub, but no one doubted her determination. The details of the tale are a bit foggy - perhaps my predecessor of long ago was soft-hearted, perhaps there hadn't been enough recruits to fill the ranks. More likely someone looked into the woman's eyes and simply blew. Ismet showed familiarity with all forms of arms. She was sworn in as a recruit, but spent less than a month in the rear ranks. She was promoted again and again, until she reached the highest rank of non-commissioned officer. She refused further promotion, in spite of wheedlings, blandishments and threats. That was two generations ago. Ismet never took a leave, but only passes. She never sought to live outside the barracks, nor made a pairing that lasted beyond a week or so. She often said that a soldier should concern herself with but three entities - herself, her squad and the Guard.

After my women were sited, I went with my legates and a squad of four, to the admiral's tent. Gamelan was waiting. He told Cholla Yi he wanted to speak to us alone. Cholla Yi grumbled menacingly, but Gamelan only gazed steadily at him. The Evocator's eyes changed from placid, deep pools of wisdom to the yellow stare of a great cat about to pounce. Cholla Yi's mouth snapped closed and without another word he bulked out towards the beached ships, shouting pointless orders to his men.

Gamelan had the materials for his spell ready. He'd quizzed Polillo closely about her axe left buried in the sill of that sea-tower window. Now he held up a small model of her weapon. He lit a brazier and said we should kneel in front of it. Herbs long known to be good for the eyes were cast onto the embers: rosemary, hyssop, rock rose, white willow. He whispered as he scattered the herbs and plumes of sweet smoke rose, split in three and blew across our faces. Instead of burning our eyes, the smoke felt soothing, comforting. I saw a fourth plume move back towards his open palms where he held the tiny axe exactly as if it were the full-size murderer's tool cast by Polillo. He softly chanted:

The axe that was blind

Could still see to find.

Let the gift of the blade

Pass on to the maid

And sharpen, not fade

The eyes they shall see

All that can be.

As he chanted he moved around the brazier, gently touching the tiny axe to each of our eyelids. Polillo flinched involuntarily - she was as leery of magic as anyone I'd ever met. Once she confessed to me that she'd dreamed that sorcery, somehow, some way, would be the death of her.

'There,' Gamelan announced. 'You should feel nothing at present, except perhaps that the world looks a bit... sharper,' and he smiled at his mild jest. 'This is a nice, simple spell,' he explained. 'It should be of use at the proper time, but is not strong enough to attract... shall we say, attention from the wrong quarters at an inappropriate moment.'

My legates rose, saluted and I dismissed them. Gamelan stretched. 'Now, all we have to do, my good Captain, is wait. I will allow myself a single glass of Admiral Cholla Yi's wine while we do so. Perhaps you might join me?'

'I don't usually drink before a fight,' I said. 'However... I'll gladly keep you company, especially since I wish to ask a favour.'

'You have only to request,' he said. 'I could prattle on about how our hopes are with you and how much rides on this, but I believe speeches are best suited for those who can be stirred by them. After the signals of the bones last night, any words would be redundant. I only wish that I could go with you, at the point of the spear. But my age, and...' He gestured down at his robes. I nodded in understanding. The presence of such a powerful Evocator on our hopefully silent assault might well send magical signals to the Archons as clearly as if we wore full parade armour and were attacking at midday with pipes blaring.

That led naturally into my request, which startled him. He stroked his beard. 'I am very surprised, Captain, or Rali, if I may. I don't know if you're being extraordinarily cynical about your own tactics, or what.'

‘I’d like to think I'm merely planning for all eventualities,' I said. I was not telling the truth at that moment. 'Could it damage my main plan in any way?'

'Possibly, possibly,' he said. 'Yet another piece of magic riding with your soldiers does increase the likelihood of the Archons or their minions scenting you. But... wait. I know of a spell. Very old. Very simple. It was used by witch smellers in my father's father's time. Such a primitive conjuration might be beneath the senses of sophisticated wizards such as the Archons. I can cast it in a few minutes. If you were an Evocator, I could teach you the spell for your own use. But since you are not... hmm. An amulet, perhaps?' He nodded, finding favour with his idea. 'Very good, indeed. And I could scrape my casting bones for a bit of detritus. What they sensed last night from the Archons' own magic ... that could serve as a trigger for you. Hmm. Not at all improbable or difficult.

'Yes, yes,' he went on, becoming excited. 'I think there is merit. I must set aside what has become, if you will forgive the confession, a growing sense of friendship for you, Rali. I must now consider you as nothing more... nor less... than the best hope of Orissa; a warrior, not a friend, without considering if I am sending you further into harm's way.'

'If risk wasn't my chosen companion,' I said, 'I'd be in Orissa surrounded by husband fools and babes, worried about the next meal and a new gown.'

Gamelan half-smiled. 'If I give you that amulet, not only might it lead to those you desire ... but also to the centre of their power.'

I said: 'If you're right, and they are plotting some great stroke of magic against Orissa, won't that have to be destroyed as well?'

'Destroyed, perhaps, or possibly, if the taint is not monstrous, the knowledge brought back to Orissa to be put to better use.' Gamelan shook his head. 'Although I am reminded of what Janos Greycloak once told your brother about magic - that sorcery is only dark or light depending on the observer, a cynical thought I am still not sure I understand completely.' He drank his wine. Then: 'Very well, Captain. I shall give you something that can turn you into a little ferret seeking evil - and, if you choose to use it, you shall be pulled inexorably down those dark shafts after your prey.'

At this, I managed a smile. 'Ferrets,' I said, 'have always been lucky for my family. My brother swears the ghost of such a creature he owned as a boy saved him in his fight with Raveline.'

'That is an omen indeed,' Gamelan said, brightening. 'I feel less like I am sending someone out on a mission they will not return from.'

A smile was on his lips, but it didn't light his eyes. And I knew he was merely trying to reassure himself as well as me.

As the sun dipped towards the horizon, the galleys were pushed down rollers into the low surfbreak and, once launched, rowed to a crude floating dock leading out from the beach to deeper water where we boarded. Since we wouldn't be journeying far or long, we crammed into three of Cholla Yi's ships. The eighteen small boats, seventeen plus one spare, he'd spoken of were towed close to the stern of the ships so they couldn't be spotted from the Archons' castle. We sailed east - as if setting course to Orissa. The oarsmen, twenty-five to a side, rowed easily - as if for a long journey that required no haste and our sails held firm in the wind.

I was on the lead ship - Cholla Yi's own craft - and as we slipped through the waves, I tried to relax with Corais and Polillo on the quarterdeck. The sea was calm, and glittered gold and red in the dying sun. I tried to think about the calm waters and the sharp cry of a gull hanging in the calm air beside the ship rather than what lay ahead of us. A dolphin sported in our bow wave, then was gone. Cholla Yi joined us. I'm afraid I didn't try very hard to disguise my distaste for him when I asked why he'd decided to accompany this expedition. Wasn't it beneath the dignity of an admiral?

Cholla Yi's gaze flickered - he'd caught my tone - then he became a jovial patriarch: 'Ah, Captain, you don't understand the problems of we poor souls who choose to soldier for a more material goal than glory. If we don't make certain to be at the final triumph of the war we enlisted for, all too often our employers attempt to economize in the settling of accounts. Which leads to all sorts of unpleasantness.' Then he became serious. 'Besides, with sailors like mine, a leader is only allowed the quarterdeck so long as he remains in the battle's van. By accompanying you, I therefore accomplish a double task.'

He bowed and walked down the companionway - to the main-deck, where the rowers sat along the bulwarks on their slightly raised benches.

'If he happens to get too near the railing,' Polillo said, 'I might accidentally bump into him. I've heard many sailors never learn how to swim.'

Corais showed her sharp fox's teeth. 'Afterwards, dear woman, afterwards. When we're safe on dry land we'll invite him to a cliff, promising to indulge his most horrid fantasies in private and I'll kneel down behind him and then you can bump to your heart's desire.'

When the sun was down, sails were furled and masts and yards struck, as if we'd disappeared over the horizon. In the gathering dark, with little to see above the deckline, the ships were almost invisible. The small boats were let out on their tow-lines so as not to impede the oarsmen, and the galleys turned back towards Lycanth, the rowers stroking as if racing. I'd wondered how men could accept such a fate, endlessly pulling a length of wood to and fro and thought they might be slaves. But Corais, who was insatiably curious about everything and had asked, said no, they were free. In fact, galleys were only rowed when speed was vital. Under normal circumstances, they'd be driven by sail alone.

Two hours before midnight we closed on the entrance to Lycanth's harbour. I could see, bulking huge against the night, the sides of the crater that was the city's harbour - and even the mass of the sea-castle which was our goal. The night was peaceful, balmy, exactly the weather Gamelan had ordered spells to be cast for. It bespoke of spring's arrival, warm, and just a bit sleepy. Nothing could happen on such a peaceful night: sentries would dream of an end to their pacings; their watch commanders wouldn't find it necessary to make rounds more often than the regulations required; men off watch would sleep soundly and so forth.

We disembarked into the boats. In spite of what Cholla Yi had implied about my women's probable incompetence on the water, not a sound was made in the loading, not a weapon was lost, not a Guardswoman fell into the dark, heaving ocean. We moved off towards the harbour entrance. Indeed, these boats were perfect for what I intended. Instead of oars, each had two wheels on either side near amidships. Each wheel was fitted with paddles, like the fins of a sea turtle. The 'oarsmen', if that was the correct name for them, sat in the centre of the boat next to the wheels, working a circular crank that sent the wheels spinning and the boat slipping silently towards the shore, with nary an oar-splash or needed command from the man at the rudder. I could see, however, that manoeuvring these boats wasn't for simpletons, since all four 'oarsmen' must work in close unison, or else we'd have zigged across the ocean like crazed water-beedes.

As we moved towards our goal, I reconsidered my plan. Its greatest virtue, I believed, was its simplicity. Elaborate tactics seldom survive the first shower of arrows. I planned to have my Guardswomen climb the chain blocking Lycanth's harbour from the water all the way to the top of the cliff, where it was fastened to the castle. After we reached the top of the chain, we'd look for a window large enough to enter. Once inside, we were to move as rapidly and quietly as possible to the castle's main gates. General Jinnah would have assault battalions waiting just outside. When we swung the gates open, the main attack would be mounted.

It wasn't as impossible as it might seem - more than one great fortification has fallen to a handful of soldiers with steel in their hands and hearts. If we failed - as all were predicting - what of it? My women would leave their bodies inside the sea-castle. More then ten times their number had died just in that one hopeless attack we provided the diversion for earlier. And, from what Jinnah felt about the use of women in battle, wouldn't it please him to no longer have the 'cloven sex', as I heard him call us, insisting on such annoyances as logic and forethought instead of mindless brawn and battle-planning worthy of a bull in must?

Now it was time to test the edge of the sword I'd hammered out, to see whether it cut clean or bent or shattered uselessly. There was also a second, very private goal - which was the one I'd asked Gamelan for help with, even though I hadn't fully explained exactly what I intended.

The harbour opened before us like some fabulous monster's gaping jaws. Then we were drawing close to the chain rising from just below the water's surface up to the sea-castle high above and there was no longer time for reflection. Training, muscles and, yes, familiarity took over.

My Scribe lifted an eyebrow as I said the last, thinking perhaps a basic part of the Guards' training was swarming up and down great chains, and wondering why he'd seen no such training devices on our parade-ground. Actually, there's little difference between climbing from chain link to chain link - a woman bracing herself, a second woman stepping on her to reach the next link, at which time she became the top rung in the ladder and so on - and what all Orissa has seen us do in holiday demonstrations of our athletic prowess, scrambling over obstacles at great speed. With the minor exceptions that now there were several thousand enemy soldiers above, and our 'obstacles' were big pieces of slimy, rusting iron, dripping seaweed, barnacles and other sea creatures that would no doubt be revolting in daylight. Polillo and other Guardswomen known for their strength were in charge of the manoeuvre and I became nothing more than one more climbing, and bracing, soldier.

Link by link, woman by woman, we went up the chain. Finally, Corais, Polillo, Ismet and I reached the last link, where it was fastened to a huge staple set in the sea-castle's vertical wall. There were four of us clinging to this final link - the others waiting below - and I had a momentary' image of us as tiny charms on some giantess's bracelet. I shook my head. For some reason, perhaps the proximity of so much sorcery, my imagination was rioting like a drunken civilian's this night.

Three of us sent our eyes scanning the sheer, blank tower above and to the side, while Ismet kept a sharp watch - an arrow nocked on its string - on the battlement above in case a sentry should peer over.

Gamelan's spell was running through all our minds... 'Let the gift of the blade... Pass on to the maid... The eyes they shall see...'

Our eyes saw past the ensorcellment around the tower. Here were arrow slits, there slots that were to illuminate dark stairs; then we saw windows that gaped open with nary a bar or shutter. The Archons, like many people with a single great strength, put too much trust in their main weapon of magic. Far above I saw half a dozen wide openings and guessed they marked the luxurious prison Amalric had been held in. But we wouldn't need to test further our climbing skills, because not twenty feet to the seaward side, and about fifteen above, was a portal nearly as wide.

Polillo chuckled low, as Corais unbuckled the pack on her back and took out the heavy grapnel and ropes. I knew what she was thinking -all this time, all this blood and now we find we can enter this castle with no more effort than if we were spending a lazy afternoon climbing one of the steeper faces of Mount Aephens in Orissa.

Polillo cast the grapnel easily and two of its prongs hooked on the windowsill. She tugged to make certain the padded hooks were secure, then busied herself with the only complicated part of the task - making sure the ropes were unsnarled. This grapnel was designed for use in a major assault. Before the incantation was laid, it looked as if the hook carried a rope ladder instead of a single knotted line. When the various ropes were straight, Polillo leaned back until they were taut. She slid the bitter end around one of the chain's links, then whispered - and all of us knew the words, having been given them in our command training. Years ago, before Amalric and Janos Greycloak forced Orissa's Evocators to loosen their stranglehold on the most minor spell, an Evocator would have been teetering up here, re-evoking the grapnel's built-in spell. But that was no longer the policy and so any high-ranking sergeant or any officer of the army, once blessed by an Evocator, could do as Polillo was doing: 'My words are those of another, but he has blessed my cause. Make hard, make strong, make straight, hold firm. Hold fast, like steel, like hook, for need...'

The ropes obediently became rigid. Now we had a solid bridge between us and the window, a bridge wide enough for a beldame to stumble across. Polillo looked back, sneered and whispered: 'I could walk this on my hands.'

Before either of my legates could move I slipped past Polillo, sword ready, onto that bridge. I moved fast, not wanting to give an enemy, if there was one waiting, any more time than I must. I went through the window like a leaping cat, landing on solid stone, going away from the window to the interior dimness, then I crouched. I was in a bare chamber. There was a door at the far side. It was unbolted. By the time I had it opened, revealing a narrow landing and stairs, my Guardswomen were pouring into the chamber. Without commands, not even hand-signals, we formed into attack teams and went out.

It was near pitch-black and gloom and fear must have hung close about. But none of us felt dread, all of us had the hard taste of blood in our mouths and the shrilling joy that finally, by Maranonia, we were through! Just as our fathers had broken into this great castle in the first war against Lycanth, so too we'd proven ourselves worthy of their heritage. This time we would ensure there would never be a Third Lycanthian War.

We went down the winding steps towards the main floors of the castle like fluid death. We met Lycanthians once, twice, four times. Each time a sword glittered and a body sagged, surprised into doom before it could cry out. Perhaps they were soldiers, perhaps servitors. It didn't matter. We came into in a wide room, high-ceilinged and hung with tapestries. Fires still glowed on either side of the room. I thought it some sort of audience chamber. But now, in the hours past midnight, it was deserted. From the castle around came the normal sounds of a still-garrisoned battlefield: I could hear sentries on their watch and dull shouts of alarm from somewhere. Few people think of a battle as being anything other than hellishly noisy, and such is mostly the case. But a siege can be different. It was very silent to me, although a civilian's ears would probably hear more; would hear that low constant growl that we no longer noted; a sound like great carrion beasts; the sound of armies waiting for battle.

I signalled for stillness. All of us held for a moment. If anyone had seen us, they might've thought we were praying. We were not. Maranonia is a good and sensible goddess, who knows the time for prayer is before and after a battle, not during. What all of us, from the lowest Guardswoman to myself, were doing was recollecting our 'map' - the mental image of the models and drawings General Jinnah's staff had drawn up of the sea-castle, taken from every conceivable source, from pre-war visitors to captured prisoners. Yes. Yes. It was most likely we were here ... or possibly over there ... so there should be some sort of passageway out into the huge courtyard, and, from there, through the castle's inner defences to the gates themselves. At worst, we might be a floor too high. But now we were oriented.

Corais and Polillo were waiting for me to lead the charge. Their eyes bulged as I signed ... a touch on my helmet crest, a touch on each of theirs ... you are now in command... a point... as your mind tells you... as you were ordered ... as we practised ... and a gesture with the sword.

Attack!

But no one needed that final gesture. My legates - and my women -may have been astonished by this unexpected change, but they were soldiers and so they obeyed, just as I'd trained them. There was a scuffle of bootheels that sounded as if but one person was moving, and I was alone in the great chamber. Alone except for Flag Sergeant Ismet. I started to glower ... but she moved first. Two fingers were held up in the gloom. I was reminded that we always, always, fought in pairs. One hand extended, palm up. I await your orders.

I grinned. Even here in this house made for nightmares, I found a moment of amusement. You, you poor idiot of an officer with only fifteen years or so service, you are actually thinking about countermanding one of the Flag Sergeant's wishes? Not a chance, I thought. We were a team and we would die as a team.

It was time for Gamelan's other spell. I took the amulet - nothing but a stitched-together twist of leather that held the scrapings from his divining bones - from my pouch and touched it to my nose, then to the flagstones I stood on. I sniffed. There was no change.

No. Perhaps there was a new odour, sweet, distasteful and my mind compared it to a battlefield with unburied corpses. But it told me nothing. I considered, then remembered Gamelan had told me the amulet might need to be reinforced. I looked about. If I was right, and this was an audience chamber, and the Archons had used it, they'd most likely have stood... over there. On that low stone dais. I went to it, stepped up, and again touched the amulet to the stones. For further strength, I pressed it against one of the tapestries against the wall.

Again I sniffed. Again, came the odour, but now very strong, very heavy. I fought back a reflexive gag. Now I had a direction. I turned to gesture to Ismet and, of course, she was just where she should have been, three paces behind, three to the side, sword ready, paying no attention to my doings but eyes scanning the darkness for an attacker.

We went out of the chamber at a dogtrot. Our path led up four floors, but we didn't use the stairs we'd come down. Now we trod wide, stone-balustraded ramps that were richly carpeted. I stopped every now and then, but the amulet guided me onward and the stench grew stronger.

Outside I heard shouts, screams and the clash of steel. Battle was joined. I wondered how far my Guardswomen had got before being discovered. The castle was coming alive as soldiers were bellowed awake and to battle. I heard cries of 'Betrayal!', 'They're inside!' and screams of panicked women and children.

The corridor opened onto a balcony and I could see the courtyard. It was huge. An entire army could've marched in review across were it not for the guard-towers and newly improvised breastworks. This was where the Archons held their monstrous sacrifices, where a victim first chose and then slowly butchered himself, spell-tied by their magic. Here was where they sought my brother, but another counterspell saved him. But now it was a battleground. Torches flared as Lycanthian soldiers ran out, buckling on armour and brandishing their arms. Far across that courtyard I heard the shouts of my women fighting. I could barely hold back a cheer as I saw the knot of struggling warriors. My Guardswomen had nearly reached their goal. They were fighting just before the castle's great gates. If they could but fight on and unbar them, our army could pour in.

But they'd been discovered at the most perilous stage. Naturally the Lycanthians had their strongest defence at the weakest point. The outer gates were protected by an inner, open passageway, the tops of its high walls fitted with fighting decks. The inner gate had been burst open by my Guardswomen, but before they could pour down the passageway, the counter-attack had been mounted. Now they fought for their lives just outside the passage's entrance - soldiers blocking their way and others waiting atop those passageway walls to send spearshowers and arrowflights down. My Guardswomen were between that anvil of the gatehouse and the onrushing hammer that was the reinforcing soldiers.

Still worse, I heard from just above a loud hiss - like a giant serpent awakening. Across the parade-ground two cyclones spun up - black against the torch flare and three or four times taller than a man. They whirled into the melee and Lycanthians and Guardswomen alike were picked up and smashed into the stone walls. My amulet gave off a last wave of scent - the stench of Archons' magic - and I turned and raced up another ramp towards the chamber above, Ismet close at my heels. I couldn't help by standing and watching. Either my Guards-women could hold back the physical threat or they would die. I had to strike against the greater jeopardy now building.

This was my secret purpose. I'd made two plans. The first called for my Guardswomen. The second was for myself - and now for Sergeant Ismet. My intent - and I realize it sounds insane - was to attack personally the Archons. I'd told no one because they would've refused me, damning my plan as that of an eager fool. I believed otherwise, knowing very well just how great an effect a determined warrior, who's willing to make the last sacrifice, can have. But, of course, in these modern times when men talk of great battalions and scores of Evocators and battles that stretch on for leagues and days, such an idea is romantic nonsense. Nonsense it may have been, but I'd commended my soul to Maranonia, my effects to my friends and family, and abandoned all thought of seeing the morrow.

The hissing grew louder as I reached the entrance to the chamber. There were no guards, which surprised me at first, but why should there be? Who would dare disturb the Archons?

I heard voices from inside... 'brother'... 'strike'... 'just women!'

... wishing I had a moment to collect my mind, my force and my breath, but I couldn't chance it, even now thinking I heard, perhaps I did hear, 'from behind!' 'from within!', 'Danger!' and I stormed into the Private Chamber of the Archons.

I saw in a blur glass and gold, alembics and scrolls, burning tapers and incense, bones and horrid creatures, but had no time, realizing there could be but one chance for a mortal to confront such sorcerers and that was blinding speed and surprise.

Two tall, bearded, vulture-faced men whose malignity marked them clear spun, hands coming up to tear, one stretching a finger like a lance, and something grey-black beginning to build, to dart at me, striking the sword from my hand and I hurled my shield sideways, spinning through the air into his guts, leaping after and there was a great cloud of smoke as I heard a very human screech of pain and a shout from the other and then I touched flesh, flesh became scales, became flesh and the Archon and I smashed to the floor, rolling about and I could feel huge muscles contort, as if I were in the ring against the strongest man I'd ever wrestled and great hands came up, forcing mine to the side and I was rolled over onto my back, as those hands came around my throat, gripping, thank the gods not knowing enough to press the arteries but squeezing my windpipe, world turning black and I struck straight up with my free hand, fingers clawed, stiff like a hawk's talons into the Archon's eyes and he screamed and I felt wetness and kickspun him off, both of us on our feet, but blood and fluid seeping through the fingers held to his face, but there was no time for that and I stepped into him, both fists together, swinging sideways like a morning star's ball and smashing into his temple and the Archon flipped back in a convulsion and fell, body thrashing, dead but not realizing it.

My eyes sought, found my sword and I scooped it up. I smashed one foot down on the Archon's chest, just as a man would immobilize a snake and struck once, cleanly. My sword struck his head from his shoulders and splintered on the stones. Dead, yes, for a moment at least, but now for the other one and I came back on guard.

There was no need. The only other person in -the room was Sergeant Ismet. 'He fled,' she said. 'He was turning towards you, hands moving to build a spell, and I cast my dagger. It struck him full on the chest, but fell away, as if he were wearing armour.'

'Which way? Where did he go?'

Ismet pointed to where a small doorway yawned. It was dark, black, just like the burrow Gamelan had promised I'd go down. 'Follow me,' I ordered.

'Aye, ma'am. After we cover our rear.'

Before I could snap a 'Now!', Ismet had found her dagger, strode to the Archon's headless corpse, knelt, and made the cut of the eagle. When she stood she held up his dripping heart. Then we were running into that tunnel, after the last Archon.

The tunnel was their final escape route. Here there were alcoves where someone could wait in ambush. But no one lurked. There were cunning devices, mantraps, but they were not cocked. My mind kept wondering - why had the other Archon not remained to help his brother? Fear? Panic? Not likely from men, or once-men, who'd ruled so long and so bloodily. I didn't know the answer, but kept the pursuit, trying to move fast enough so we wouldn't lose our quarry, but not so fast we'd stumble into a trap.

The tunnel went on and on, growing narrower and smaller as it burrowed deeper. The tunnel was no longer masonry, but hewn from the living stone. I prayed it wouldn't grow narrower still so we'd be forced to our knees and bellies, only to find the tunnel taper down to nothingness and a magical escape - a nothingness that'd hold us in a vice in this sea-castle's bowels.

Then the tunnel ended and there was a moon and starlight. I peered out. We were about ten feet above the surface of the harbour. Above us was the cliff and above that the sea-castle we'd left to slip through the rock of the old volcano itself. I saw no sign of the Archon. I flinched, hearing an enormous smashing. I saw that huge chain blocking the harbour snap as if invisible hands had parted it. It came crashing down into the water. Now the harbour mouth was clear.

Sergeant Ismet shouted, 'Look there!' and I saw flags snap to the masthead of some of the Lycanthian ships we thought had lain unmanned. I knew both flags. The lower banner was long, split, with a sinuous panther in red. The house flag of my family's feudal enemy, Nisou Symeon! Still worse, the upper banner was the Royal Flag of Lycanth, a black twin-headed lion holding in its paws a crossed sword and wand. Somehow the Archon had made it aboard that ship. There were other ships - I heard Ismet mutter, 'Nine,' but I paid little attention, watching the small fleet sail directly towards me... and the harbour mouth. I groaned as I saw the last Archon was making his escape.

It was as if my eyes were given a magical glass at that moment, and I could see, as if they were only yards away, the two men beside the lead ship's helmsman. The first was Nisou Symeon. I'd never seen him before, but knew him by his fire-scarred face that had once been as fair as any woman's - wounds made by my brother and Janos Greycloak. Behind him was the Archon!

I heard a roar like a hurricane wind coming from that ship and I knew they'd seen me, as well. A flight of arrows arced towards the tunnel mouth. Ismet pulled me back and the arrows clattered harmlessly against stone. I saw the ships sail past and was drawn back to watch. There was no one waiting to stop their escape. Perhaps, if we'd guessed we could have had Cholla Yi's ships in position, blocking the harbour, but who would have expected such an eventuality?

The roaring sound grew louder and then from out of the depths snapped a long tentacle. It lashed around my waist. I lost balance, tottered, then found a grip on a rock outcropping and held on as I heard the roaring turn to a bellow of glee. I fought with all my strength, but I was being pulled loose as if I were a limpet being plucked for a seaside picnic. I looked down at the filthy harbour water and saw other tentacles thrash, then curl up to take me in their embrace. I heard the clack from a yellow beak and saw the gleam of a cold eye.

A dagger flashed past, down towards the water, and the air was a spray of black ink and I was free and the sea was a roil of scum and then there was nothing.

'I never miss more than once,' came Ismet's voice.

Both of us were ink-stained from that spray from that cuttlefish the Archon's last, parting spell must have called up.

'One escaped,' I said. I saw Symeon's nine ships as an offshore wind caught them and their sails filled.

Ismet said nothing, but pointed upward.

I looked at the sea-castle's battlements just as Orissa's golden banner floated forth.

So one of them had escaped, I thought. But what was a magician, even one such as the Archon, without his base, without his charms, without his scrolls?

Four