Ganne


11 - The Viper Strikes!


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"Hey!  Woon!  Come and look at this."

The wiry, sallow skinned First Officer acknowledged the invitation with a
wave.  He finished calling up an order to some crew men in the rigging.
Without urgency, he joined Captain Jerren at the port rail.  The Captain
pointed along the dock side to a group of mounted women.

"Just catch a look at that, will you?" he said.

Woon glanced at the riders.  They were wrapped in riding cloaks, cowls up.
The troop were coming slowly down the waterfront, between the warehouses
and the ships tied up at the quays.  The recently risen sun imparted to
the women a curious orange radiance.  Almost, they seemed to shine with an
inner light.

The early morning bustle of the dockside slowed and stopped as men and
women paused in their labours to make the sign of "warding off evil".
Others, outlanders mostly, stopped to stare curiously.  The stillness
flowed ahead of the women like a bore tide up an estuary.  Even the
piteous crying of the gulls was stilled, leaving only the slap of the
water and the creak of timbers as the ships at anchor moved to the slow
beat of the ghost of an echo of the power of the eastern ocean.

Woon shrugged.  "So?  Ganne Witches," he identified.  "Hardly an uncommon
sight in these lands." His tone betrayed the ubiquitous contempt felt by
all those who did not have to live under the Ganne, for those who suffered
themselves to be ruled by women.

In jesting tones, the Captain exclaimed: "Ignorant Outlander!" His grey
eyes flickered over the riders.  "They're not just any old Ganne Witches,
my lad.  That old woman on the black gelding is Guara."

"So?"

The Captain had to glance at his First Officer to see if the man was being
deliberately obtuse; but of course, he was an Outlander, and could not be
expected to know better.  "Goddess!  That's Guara, man," he exclaimed.
"The Goddess Damned Matriarch herself.  And...Ten...Eleven...By the
Goddess Woon, something big's afoot - that's a full War Party you see
there my lad."

"Is that important?" Woon asked.

"Important!  Goddess rot you for a foreigner, Woon.  Of course it's
important.  The like of this has not been seen by anyone alive.  It must
be two centuries since a full War Party has ridden out from the Shennon in
anger."

"Why in anger?" Woon asked; "how do you know that?"

"They've brought out the War Banner," Jerren explained, pointing at the
green standard flying over the cavalcade.  The wind, fluttering the
banner, imparted an eerie semblance of life to the Golden Dragon device.
"Mark my words, lad, some poor bastard's gonna catch the business end of a
Mind Lash."

Jerren dragged off his leather cap and brushed at his thinning grey hair,
making no visible improvement to how it looked.  Slipping his cap back on,
he brushed and patted at his dark blue canvas jacket, pulling it
straighter, and fastening the toggles.  Then he waited, stroking his black
mustachios, his eyes full of a nervous speculation.

Woon leaned on the rail, affecting disinterest; but even he was aware of
the sheer intimidating presence born by the women.  He, too, pulled off
his cap and began to straighten his clothes.  There was something about
those women, something that moved deep in the back of his mind, stirring -
what?  Respect?  Fear?  Abstractedly, he caught up his long single braid
of black hair and toyed with the leather tag at the end of the thong
braided in the plat.  It was an unconscious action, something he did when
he felt threatened or uncertain.

A sudden commotion erupted from one of the dockside warehouses.ð
Voices were raised in anger.  There was the sound of a scuffle, and a
moment later, a man staggered backwards onto the stone paving, right
before Guara's horse.  The animal shied.  The man, cursing and grumbling,
started to clamber up.  He was clutching an iron bar used for opening
crates.  As he gained his feet, he noticed the horses for the first time.
He raised the iron bar in an instinctive gesture at finding a large black
horse about to step on him.

The next second, the man's grimy face broke into a mask of terror.  A
spine tingling scream split the silence like a cold steel knife slicing
open flesh.  The clang of the dropped bar passed unnoticed.  The man
clasped hands to his balding head, and screamed again.  Then he dived to
the stones, still screaming.  He began trying to dig his way into the
unyielding earth with bare hands.

One of the mounted women, little more than a girl, slid from the saddle,
and approached the wretched creature scrabbling desperately at the stones.
Blood was running freely from his mutilated fingers.  The girl threw back
her cowl and walked slowly over to the man, inspecting his terrorised
squirming with pale vacant eyes.  Her lips worked as though she chanted
some unholy mantra.

"Angela!  NO!  Leave him!  Angela!" Guara's voice cracked in the air.
"Leave him!  He meant me no harm." The girl stepped back, glancing up at
the stern face of the mounted Matriarch.  "Good girl, Angela." Guara
praised quietly.  "You have done well, Angela.  You have done very well.
Now leave him."

As the Viper backed off, Guara turned her attention to the frightened
crowd.  The superstitious terror she saw in their faces made her uneasy.
A little fear to inspire respect, yes, that was all well and good...  But
inspiring terror could be very damaging.  She shrugged.  Well it was done
now, and could not be mended quickly.

Guara pointed to a man in the front of the crowd.  "You there!" The man
paled.  "You, lend a hand here and see to the welfare of this unfortunate
fellow." She fished in her cloak, drew out a small bag of coins, and
tossed it to the man, who made an instinctive grab for it, and missed.
"Here's something for the expense.  See to it that he is cared for."

The Viper's victim was hurriedly helped from the path of the horses.

Guara waved Sehko forward.  "I see no naval transports?  How is that?"

"The Vardenai business," Sehko explained.  "The Sea Sprinter is nearest;
but she is not due in from Styre Mouth for at least a week.  The Far
Speaker at Cantrell's Cliff passed word of her yesterday..." Sehko paused
to glance up and down the line of ships at the dock side.  "...We'll have
to charter one of these merchant vessels." She pointed out Jerren's
vessel.  "The Southern Rover there will suit our needs.  It's principally
a grain hauler; but it boasts several fine state rooms for passengers.
Its the pride of my Cousin's..."

"Yes, yes,"Guara broke in testily.  "See to it, would you, and be quick.
I do not like the feel of this crowd.  If it becomes necessary to exercise
the Ganne, I am sure I do not know where it might end?"

"No, Madam," Sehko agreed, her voice edged with suppressed anger.  She
wished Guara would have the monster put down; or failing that, at least
keep the murderous beast on a tight rein.  Aware of the Viper's blue snake
eyes watching her, Sehko passed the Dragon Standard to Karrellanne, and
urged her horse towards the Southern Rover.

When he realised that the Lady was coming over to his vessel, Captain
Jerren took an involuntary step back.  His weather beaten face went pale.
"Goddess!  What do they want with me?  Sehko knows I've always been loyal
to the Council." At the startled glance from Woon, he added out of the
side of his mouth, "look alert there!  We're about to have some very
exalted visitors."

Woon felt a twinge of alarm.  He had served under Jerren for many years,
and knew him to be a brave man, who feared neither the anger of man, nor
the wrath of the sea.  To see this fearless mariner unmanned so easily was
somewhat unnerving.

The cloaked woman rode her brown mare under the side of the ship, and
called up.  "Captain?  Captain Jerren?"

The Captain did a small half bow.  "At your service, madam."

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?"

"Granted, Lady.  My vessel is ever at your service, Lady Bah Rhyannan."
Jerren made a deeper bow.  He could hardly refuse the request.  Not only
was Sehko a High Minister of the Ganne Lands, but through family
connection, she was part owner of the vessel.

"Thank you, Captain," Sehko acknowledged with a pleasant smile.  She
dismounted, stripped fine leather riding gloves from her long fingered
hands, and tucked them into the belt of her split riding skirts.  She
moved to the gangway, and progressed in a dignified manner to the ship's
deck.  The work, which had stopped at the arrival of the troop on the
dockside, now resumed with a concentrated ferocity.  No one wanted to come
to the attention of the Ganne Witches - it was not healthy.  Jerren, Woon
and Sehko adjourned to the privacy of the Captain's cabin, where
negotiations were short and to the point.

"Will you be commandeering my ship?" Jerren asked.

"Charter," Sehko answered.  Which helped Jerren a little, but not much.
The Council could quite legally have commandeered the vessel for
Government business.  Jerren, well aware of this, had little room for
manoeuvre.  The only lever he had was that the Lady Sehko Bah Rhyannan had
a commercial interest in the matter.  As far as Jerren knew, she was on
good terms with her cousin, so it was unlikely she had it in mind to do
him down on the charter.

A tender was advanced.  Jerren considered it a fair price for the job, and
sealed the contract with a hand clasp, while Woon brought paper and ink to
record the transaction.  A simple contract was drawn up.  When all parties
had signed, Sehko stamped it with her seal as First Attendant on the
Chair, to prove Government sanction of the agreement.  Wine was brought
out to toast to the success of the venture.  Haste was in order if they
were to catch the tide, so after only a few minutes, they went back on
deck.

Orders began to fly about.  More men leapt to the rigging.  Preparations
for sailing were resumed with despatch.  The ship was ready to drift down
to the grain silos with half an hour to the top of the tide.  They paused
at the grain silos to take on a cargo of grain bound for the Gynarchy.
Instead of a full load, they took on only enough to ballast the ship
properly.

Within four hours of accepting the charter, the Sea Rover set sail.  In
another two hours, carried swiftly on the ebbing tide, she had negotiated
the narrow channels cut through the sand bars of the lower marshes, and
was far out into Shennon Bay.

Jerren ordered the Sea rover to come about to a northerly heading.  Sails
were deployed to catch the stiff southerly; and the Sea Rover took to her
element like a bird to the air.

Jerren's sublime happiness at being once more on the open sea was marred
only by the presence of the thirteen women lining the rail, watching the
dark line of the land diminishing into the distance.  They were not happy,
he could tell.  An atmosphere of unease hung about the women like a frigid
mist, setting the nerves of his men on edge.  Once the women got used to
being on the open sea, they would calm down; and the tension would
dissipate; but it was unsettling while it lasted.  He'd never liked having
Ganne as passengers.  Still, it could have been worse; Jerren thanked his
lucky stars he was not truly Ganne sensitive.

He ordered more sail.


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