Free The Warrior's Tale by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch Page B

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 t his shadow-world. The bones nestl ed 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