Gates of Stone

by Angus Macallan

  “She’s my sister?” Jun could not believe he was saying these words.

  “Half sister, yes. But she has the blood of the star princess in her veins, as you do, which is why the Khodam can be wielded by her just as well as you. I brought her along, in case you . . . Well, as a spare. No, not that, ah, what I mean is, for a little extra assurance that we would achieve all our goals.”

  “You planned all . . . this.” Jun gestured to the blood-streaked marble, to the pair of servants who were hauling away the last of the dead Jath by his heels. “From Taman, from the destruction of the Watergarden, from the death of my father—you had all this in your mind, the killing of Ongkara, the death of Tenga, the confrontation here with Mangku.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say I planned it. No, not planned exactly, but I had suspected that Ratna was in league with Mangku for some time and I confess that I had hoped that we might have a confrontation. We followed Mangku from Taman hoping to take back the Khodam: that was the plan we all agreed to. And I was confident that, tonight, if you could manage to summon your power, Ketut, and Jun could wield the Kris, then, well, between us all we could handle Ongkara, the Jath, and the sorcerer. Seems to have worked out, too.”

  “Did you know Tenga would die?” Ketut said. She suddenly looked extremely angry, extremely dangerous. Her eyes, still red from her tears, now glittered with an unholy fire.

  “No, no, absolutely not. And I am heartily sorry for it. But let us remember that it was not me who killed her; it was the sorcerer. It was Hiero Mangku. He is your enemy. Not me. I never wished your friend, our comrade Tenga to come to any harm. I swear it.”

  “But you told me that my destiny was to find love. And you saw richboy here on the Obat Bale. What did you see for Tenga?”

  “She was a great warrior, Ketut; she was never going to enjoy a comfortable old age, knitting by the fire with a cup of warm milk, her grandchildren gathered at her feet.”

  Ketut said nothing. She was looking at the corpse of her lover, which was now being gathered up into a silk sheet by the golden servant and one of his fellows. The tears were once more running freely down Ketut’s thin cheeks.

  Jun said, “So what now? A ship back to Taman for all of us? You would both be most welcome to make a home with me in the Watergarden—when it’s been completely rebuilt.”

  “Jun, Ketut, I want both of you to listen to me,” said Semar. “Please give me your full attention. Mangku is badly hurt, but he escaped tonight and will surely recover in time. He has two of the Keys of Power. And he will not rest until he has all seven of them. He will come for the Khodam again, my prince. And next time he will not come bursting through the door with fire and sword. He will come in stealth; he will attack your mind or the minds of those around you. He will seek to destroy you in order to possess the Kris. This struggle is far from over.”

  Jun moved uneasily on the throne. “So what do you suggest?”

  “I shall do what I vowed to do all those years ago. I shall track him again, I shall find him and I shall cause his end. And, Jun, believe me, if you want to keep possession of the Khodam, not to mention your life and lands, you will help me do this as soon as possible.”

  “How can I do that?”

  There was the sound of a cough from the doorway. Jun was astonished to see a small, dumpy figure in a long, green silk gown, a little too tight around the middle.

  “I hope you will forgive me for interrupting,” said Xi Gung. “But I may be able to offer some little advice and assistance on this matter.”

  Jun was too surprised to see the little Han merchant to answer but Semar said, “Yes, that would be most helpful. If you please, Lord Xi, would you be so good as to tell my friends what we discussed last night?”

  “Certainly, Your Holiness. What my venerable friend and I discussed after the temple ceremony was the, um, succession of the Lordship of the Islands.”

  Everyone in the room, except Semar, who now had his eyes shut, stared at Xi Gung.

  “Ongkara was an admirable man in some respects,” the merchant continued, “very good at keeping the pirate chieftains in line, for example. He threw some excellent parties, as well. Can’t take that away from him. But he was also, in other ways, a very difficult man to do business with, not an ideal ruler at all, in fact. His notions on the payment of tribute were rather old-fashioned, hidebound, even; his tax system, and the methods he used to collect his grossly swollen revenues, was thought to be a little on the harsh side by many leading citizens of Singarasam, myself included. In short, I and a number of other figures of influence in this city felt that it was time for him to step down and for a younger, fresher and, how shall I put this delicately, less greedy man to take up the reins of power.”

  “What my friend is saying, Jun, is that you should accept the title of Lord of the Islands.” Semar smiled up at him. “As the position is now so obviously vacant.”

  Jun was conscious that he was sitting on the actual throne, on the Obat Bale of the Lord of the Islands. But the idea Semar and Xi Gung were proposing was absurd.

  He laughed. “And I—what?—just declare myself to be Lord of the Islands? I sit here on this overstuffed sack of crumbling leaves and expect everyone to bow down and grovel nicely at my feet. You’ve gone completely mad, Semar; you are moon-crazed.”

  “Is that so hard to imagine?” said Semar. “Who was Ongkara but an adventurer, a successful pirate before he seized the Obat Bale? You are a prince of the Wukarta; the blood of the star princess runs in your veins. You were born to rule Taman, trained to it from birth—why not seek to rule more than one tiny island? You are the rightful wielder of the Kris of Wukarta Khodam. You have just slain the tyrant; you will bring peace and prosperity to the whole of the Laut Besar: Arjun the Great, men will call you.”

  “All right, Semar, enough. I like flattery as much as any man but this is plain silly.”

  “You would have the full financial backing of the House of Xi,” said the merchant, “and most of the other lesser trading houses in Singarasam would support you, too.”

  “There is also, sadly, a vacancy in the position of Patriarch of the Temple of Vharkash,” said Semar. “I thought I might humbly propose myself for the role, as long as they were prepared to accept my choice of deputy: I have someone very special in mind—a young woman of spiritual power and authority, a Vessel, they will whisper, who can conjure Dargan, the consort of Vharkash the Harvester, at her will.”

  “Eh?” said Ketut, wiping her snotty nose on her bare forearm.

  “The Vharkashta would, I’m sure, be honored to have you as Patriarch,” said Xi Gung. “And the lady Ketut as your deputy. After the ceremony last night, the faithful of Singarasam now hold her in the highest respect. I think I can guarantee that you would be unanimously voted into the position by the temple electors. And one reason for this is that I happen to be their chairman.” The merchant simpered a little and tried to look modest.

  “Listen to me, Jun,” said Semar. “You would have the backing of the wealthiest men in Singarasam and all their ships, and also the support of all the faithful Vharkashta. Money, ships and spiritual influence. A powerful combination. You have impeccable royal blood, too; you have the Kris of Wukarta Khodam, and your charm and looks would, I am sure, make you very popular with the masses. Look! You are even now sitting in the throne of the Lord of the Islands, on the Obat Bale itself. It well becomes you. You must accept this honor, my prince. For the good of us all.”

  “I don’t know.” Jun could feel himself wavering. In truth, all he wanted was to go home. To return to Taman, to his old, luxurious, lazy life in the Watergarden. But here he was being offered more than just a throne—he was being offered an empire. He was being offered the chance to rule much of the world.

  “Trust me, Jun. This is also the best way to protect yourself. Little Taman is weak—if you were to return, Mangku would surely come
there again, in greater strength than last time. What then would you do? What would he do to you—he would not ignore you this time—and what would he do to your poor people? But if you were Lord of the Islands, you would command thousands of men and hundreds of ships across the whole of the Laut Besar. As King of Singarasam, Lord of the Islands, Dragon of the High Seas, Lion of the Southern Lands, you could help me to destroy this evil once and for all. Only when the sorcerer is gone will you, and the rest of the world, be truly safe. It is only by accepting this honor that you can help me destroy him. I am asking you, quite simply, to save humanity.”

  Jun looked at Ketut, a question in his eyes. Ketut merely shrugged.

  “If you are worried about the heavy burdens of office,” said Xi Gung, “I am prepared to offer myself as your Grand Vizier— I shall not require any payment, naturally. I would do it purely out of a sense of duty to the city of Singarasam. But I also assure you that I could certainly ease any financial pressures that might trouble the new Lord of the Islands.”

  “Excuse me, my lords,” said a voice. The three of them looked over at the golden-clad servant, his brilliant coat now stained here and there with fresh speckles of Jath blood. He was standing diffidently in the doorway, looking very unhappy, and wringing his hands.

  “Yes?” said Semar. “What is it?”

  “There is a Han gentleman here, sir, who begs for an audience with the Lord of the Islands. He demanded admittance, insisted on it, despite the late hour, and says he is a High Envoy from the Celestial Republic. He says their Grand Fleet is only twenty leagues away and he wishes to discuss reparations for the outrages that the forces of the Lord of the Islands have perpetrated against the Celestial Republic, its people and its property. He says that if full restitution is not made immediately, then most regrettably a state of war will exist between the Celestial Republic and the King of Singarasam. What shall I say to him?”

  Jun looked at Xi Gung, who bowed low. “Allow me to deal with this trifling matter, Highness,” the merchant said. “Let it be my first task as your loyal Grand Vizier.”

  “Forgive me, lords,” said the servant, “but the High Envoy—what shall I say to him?”

  “Show him in,” said Semar.

  “But he wishes to speak to the Lord of the Islands.”

  “The Lord of the Islands is in his rightful place, as ever, enthroned on the Obat Bale. Show the High Envoy in and allow him to make his obeisance to the King of Singarasam.”

  Jun said nothing at all. He leaned back in the gilded throne and placed his right hand comfortably on the worn handle of the Kris of Wukarta Khodam.

  CHAPTER 50

  Three days after the capture of the Governor’s Palace by the men of the 42nd Legion, Katerina stood in the Round House at the top of the palace and looked out of the tall, wide, curving windows. The thick glass was cracked here and there in long jagged lines, from the bombardment by her own ship of war, Egil, and a section was missing, allowing a cool breeze to flow around the chamber.

  The two brass cannon had been returned to their mountings on the tip of the structure, its “prow,” and two longer iron cannon had been added beside them. Now all four pieces looked out over the gray-green waters of the Sumbu Strait. It was a beautiful, cloudless day, the sky a deep, joyful blue, and Katerina herself was feeling no small measure of satisfaction: as she watched, down in the Grand Harbor, her ship Yotun, now repaired and refitted, was being slid down the slips and back into the sea. She could faintly hear the cheer from the dock as the huge vessel splashed into the water, and she felt like giving voice to her own pleasure at the sight, too.

  The Yotun would join the Egil on patrol at the southeastern end of the Sumbu Strait—and could well be heading shortly into action. Two days ago, a fast Federation frigate had been sighted a league or two out from the Istana lighthouse. The Egil had immediately headed out to confront it but when the guns were run out, the Federation vessel had immediately turned tail and retreated over the horizon. A scout, then. There were certainly more Federation ships out there over the horizon and it was only a matter of time before they came to Istana in all their massed might.

  Katerina, however, was not as perturbed as she might have been. Istana Kush had been created as an impregnable sea fortress— and now with all its parts in her hands, Katerina felt she could give the Federation fleet a very uncomfortable time if they chose to attack her.

  On the far side of the city, the Red Fort was manned by a company of Legionnaires under Lu Sung—now Colonel Sung, since as ranking major, he had succeeded to Colonel Wang’s position. He had posted a strong picket to the south on the slopes of the Barat Cordillera, in case any enemy should attempt to copy Katerina’s feat. He also had more than a score of Ostrakan gunners with him and the cannon and munitions to dominate the Strait. Across the water in the Green Fort, the depleted Stormer Company under a newly promoted Captain Chang was busy rebuilding the shattered walls and remounting the cannon there. They too had been amply supplied with food, powder and shot from the full magazine deep inside the Governor’s Palace. No ship could enter from the west without being destroyed by these two forts, and no ship coming in from the southeast could avoid their fire either.

  Down in the city, the denizens of Istana Kush had returned, in a trickle at first and then a flood, when it became clear that the fighting was over. And Katerina could see rubble being cleared, broken timbers being stacked and even new buildings rising from the former chaos. In the Grand Harbor, she had two companies of Legionnaires restoring the defenses, five batteries of two long guns each that could make the Strait a hell of fire and shot for any enemy. Istana Kush was back to its old strength. Let the Federation ships come, she thought. Let them come under my guns anytime they like.

  Katerina turned away from the window and looked at the small group of people gathered in the Round House. There was Farhan Madani, her new Minister, looking pale and tired, much older now, a little fatter, and gazing at her with barely disguised longing in his eyes. She had thanked him prettily for his actions in the wheelhouse, and asked him to serve her as her right-hand man, her adviser and confidante—but no more than that—and he had accepted. But she wondered sometimes whether he would truly be able to master his deep feelings for her. She hoped so, otherwise she would have to remove him from her company, and he was a man with many talents and too valuable to waste.

  And there was Captain Tesso, the new commander of the eight surviving knights of her Niho guard, his face impassive under his black-lacquered mask.

  And there was Ari, bare-faced, smiling, her knight first grade. Soon, perhaps very soon, she must send him away. That would be a hard parting. But it must be done.

  And there was Major Xi Chan—also soon to be a colonel.

  “How goes the recruiting for the Istana Volunteers?” she asked Chan.

  “Well, Highness, surprisingly well. I now have more than four hundred recruits who have taken the oath of loyalty and I have taken the liberty of clothing them in spare Dokra uniforms and of equipping and arming them from the palace’s magazines.”

  “Very good—you will liaise with Minister Madani about pay and rations.”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  Katerina was less surprised than her Legion officer at the uptake in the Volunteers. Any Dokra mercenary who had survived and surrendered after the fall of the palace—and there were scores who had managed to do so—had been offered a place in the ranks of the Istana Volunteers and a generous signing bonus. And there were many citizens of Istana Kush, too, their businesses ruined by the fighting in the city, who were desperate to join up to provide a steady income for their hungry families.

  “I have called you all here today,” Katerina said loudly, “because I wish to discuss our long-term strategy. I am confident that we can face down the threat of the Federation fleet when it arrives in the next day or so. But we must acknowledge that we now have a powerful e
nemy in these waters. And I should be grateful for your advice—particularly yours, Minister Madani—about how we should best proceed.”

  “I suspect that, if they do their reconnaissance, and you can be sure that they will, they will not attempt to attack us immediately,” said Farhan. “They will recognize that the potential damage inflicted on them by our gun batteries would be too great. The Federation fleet will not be commanded by fools. Never has been. Moreover, it is important to remember what the Federation is—a group of disparate nations united by a desire to trade. Trade is the lifeblood of the Federation, the reason for its existence. And so, ultimately, we must come to an accommodation with them that allows them to trade in the Laut Besar.”

  “You are as wise as you ever were, Farhan,” said Katerina.

  And Farhan had to shy away from her gaze. Wise? Wise like a venerable old grandfather? Was that how she thought of him now?

  “We should seek allies as soon as possible,” said Major Chan.

  Katerina looked at him, considering. “Go on, Major . . .”

  “I should not like to trust in the good sense of the Federation and therefore assume that they will not attack us. Their pride has been hurt. One should never disregard hurt pride when it comes to war. So we must seek support from potential friends and allies. And, it occurs to me, Highness, that the Federation is not the only power in the Laut Besar. There is the Celestial Republic, of course, but it is too far away to provide any immediate military help. And then there is Singarasam, only a day or two’s sail from here, and the considerable fleet of the Lord of the Islands.”

  “Your thinking has matched mine exactly, Major Chan,” said Katerina. “An alliance with the Lord of the Islands—and cemented in the traditional way. What do you know about the King of Singarasam, Farhan?”

  “His name is Ongkara, and he is a hideous little frog of a man, cunning, brutal, greedy, ruthless . . .”

  “I beg your pardon, Minister,” said Chan. “But I received news just this morning from a close relative of mine in Singarasam—my uncle, in fact, who wrote to tell me that there has been something of a coup in the city. Ongkara has been killed . . .”