by Adam Corby
Now a sudden keen longing took Dornan Ural as he passed nearby a narrow familiar stair. Dornan Ural ascended to the Hall of Justice.
The huge hall was empty now. Slowly the old man crossed the floor inlaid with tiles depicting the mountain of the Citadel rising above his city. As he did so he felt the sightless eyes of the painted busts of the Emperors of Tarendahardil where they lined the niches.
Dornan Ural stepped upon the empty dais. Before him fell the warm shower of Goddess they called the King’s Light. Weakly Dornan Ural knelt, then sat in the glittering pool, bathing in its warmth.
He gazed down the deep hall. He was reminded of the many meetings of the Council of Regents he had summoned here. From this spot they had decided the fate of the South for almost twenty years. He had been Chief of the High Council, High Regent of Tarendahardil. Ambassadors and princes had offered gifts to win his favor in his official hall, where he had been able to look out upon the beauty of Tarendahardil, that city he had loved…
Dornan Ural held out his hands before him and gazed upon them. He saw himself even as that old nurse must have seen him – a deformed, ugly, coarse, stammering, filthy, twitching parody of a man. Slowly he covered his face from the light. What had become of him? How would he end? Groaning, the old man cast himself down miserably, and wept on the warm stone.
* * *
As spring wore into summer, the crops grew green, and the dark aspect of the Citadel was softened and made almost serene. Months had passed since High Town had fallen and the Citadel was besieged; now it seemed the Iron Gate might withstand forever the blows of the barbarians. There were many women who went about the grounds, their bellies full and swollen; the young men of the Tarendahardilites practiced with their new-fashioned weapons under the stern eye of the Charan Ennius Kandi, whom many now had taken to calling Father. The guardsmen did their rounds, and in their off-watches visited the women in the Palace who granted them the honor of their couches; even the nobles seemed not so sullen or bored as theretofore. So for that while at least the people in the fastness were as happy and contented as their state would allow, and had even gone so far as to pass round jests at the expense of the barbarians and Ara-Karn.
But there was one at least who was far from content.
Captain Haspeth’s brows fell darkly across his eyes, which now and again shot fiery glances over the ruins below, as if hoping to descry the next approach of the enemy. He had no watches, the Rukorian: but at all hours he stalked the ways of the battlements, lance on shoulder, helm on head, his great shield like an anchor-stone upon his arm.
Sometimes he scorned even to descend to eat. He passed the other guardsmen with neither word nor gesture to acknowledge their salutes: was as if he knew nothing beyond his own dark thoughts and the city streets leading up to the Iron Gate.
It was Haspeth who was ever at the hardest point of battle during the assaults, fighting desperately, careless of wounds and equaling the fury of even the most fearsome of barbarians.
The others came to shun him at meals and sleeps, and pass him in silence on the battlements. Sometimes the men gaming in the yard between the gates would glance at the sky, and their laughter would die in their throats at the sight of that gloom-ridden sentinel wearing down the black volcanic stones.
‘I tell you sir, I like it little,’ Narrano Delcarn said at last to Berowne. ‘He was ever stern, but of late has grown to brooding. He will not smile nor speak any word to me except of battle. I have heard him laugh but once these four months, and then it was when he tore barehanded the guts of some barbarian through a hole in the poor man’s armor. Only Charan Kandi can speak to him for any length of time, but what they speak of I dare not say. My captain grows blood-darkened, sir. I fear for his health.’
‘And has he no woman to warm him with her thighs?’ Berowne asked.
‘None, sir.’
Berowne shook his head. ‘When a man frowns in springtime, it is life he frowns upon,’ he said. ‘But then, what can one hope for? He is a Rukorian, I after all.’
‘Not all Rukorians are alike, Captain,’ Narrano responded. ‘My captain comes from the mountains near Torvalinal, the seat of my lord Ampeánor’s charanship. That is near to the shore, and not sixty fastces come between the city and the Isles; yet it might as well be six hundred for all that our kinds are alike.’
‘And how is this?’
‘The men of those hills are darker, with deeper eyes. They are the older race, and trace their ancestry to the years when the barbarians ravaged the lands before Elna’s coming, when they say men were ruled by priestess-mothers. They are folk of mountains, and have dealt ever with iron and bronze that are sharp and hard for death. But we men of the Isles came from the seas in the years after Elna, and have mixed with all the peoples of the coasts; we deal with the winds and waves, which sing and laugh to Goddess, and give way each to the other.’
Berowne smiled. ‘So, and now you fear for your captain’s virtue?’
‘Sir, I do not think that it is fitting to joke about such things. I would have asked this of Father Kandi, save that he is not of the guard.’
‘He would not have refused you.’
The Rukorian looked away. ‘I know. But we are already too greatly indebted to him.’
Berowne clapped his great ham of a hand on the curve of the young man’s armor, above the shoulder. ‘Well then, if you ask it, my friend, I will speak with your captain. And perhaps I will have something to say that might cheer even him.’
So Berowne mounted the steps to the battlements, and found his quarry passing beneath the southern lance-tower. Side by side the two marched for a space, the great-bodied Tarendahardilite making his fellow-captain look like some boy in play-armor.
‘And how goes it with you, friend captain?’ Berowne asked after some moments.
‘Eight passes now,’ Haspeth muttered, ‘Not long now, perhaps, before they come at us again.’
‘It goes well with me also,’ Berowne said. ‘Kiva is always fresh this season, with all the sweetness of hill-flowers dancing in the breeze of Goddess’ breath.’
‘We kill them now,’ Haspeth said, ‘three-fourths score to every one of us we lose. It is not good enough, Captain. There are too many of them.’
Berowne sighed. ‘Yet at least, Captain, we may perhaps discourage them?’
‘That idea of Ennius’, to pour down on them the harsh poisons and potions of the Imperial embalmers, was the thought of genius,’ Haspeth said. ‘The barbarians had to drive the mercenaries against the walls, and then the balance was almost two score to one. But the vats ran dry and the barbarians returned. We must plan anew. Even now, if you notice, our supply of stones grows short: and those that we have dropped now are mounding even over the feet of the Iron Gate.’
‘Perhaps if we rained the Palace slops on them?’ Berowne asked mildly.
‘None of your jokes, Berowne. I’ve no mind for them.’
They went on in silence a space. Suddenly Haspeth halted and seized the Tarendahardilite’s broad shoulder. ‘Captain Berowne, what do you think of her majesty’s words of a traitor among us?’
‘Why, what would you have me think? Her majesty told us it had been meant as a test; for the rest, I have never seen sign of any traitor.’
The Rukorian resumed his step, as if he could bear to abide in one spot for no more than a few short moments.
‘I wish there had been a traitor,’ he said shortly. ‘It was my chance to redeem myself. Captain, we fight a doomed battle, wasting our arms against an enemy numberless as the winter rains. Any soldier, any slave, might do as much – yet we are called captains.’ He brought up the huge shield and swept it over the fields of ruins. ‘So it is said, that the great Ghezbal Daan, may Goddess curse him now for a traitor and coward, was once caught in his tower and surrounded by two thousand of Yorkjax’s best warriors. In less than three months, fifteen hundred of the Belknuleans were slain, and the remaining five hundred had joined the service of Ghezbal
Daan.’
‘The Raamba was a great captain in his time, there is none who will deny it. But what are we to do?’
The Rukorian struck the stones with the haft of his lance. ‘More.’
‘Then perhaps this will cheer your spirits, Captain,’ Berowne said, coming to a halt. ‘I come now from speaking with her majesty. She wishes to see us both in the White Tower after the third meal.’
‘But why did you not say this straightway? It is two months now since she has so summoned me, though she has seen you often enough. What is her purpose?’
‘I don’t know. But she asked me a great many questions about you, and spoke of great plans.’
Haspeth opened his arms like some huge, metal-winged bird of prey. ‘At last!’ he breathed. ‘O barbarians, mind my words, and do not attack again until I have returned!’
* * *
In the audience-chamber all was even as it had been half a year before, when Berowne had first been guided there by the maiden of bewitching eyes and scent. Her majesty sat cross-legged on the reed prayer-mat before the two captains, who knelt on the thick and costly rugs. Once again the great black and yellow gerlin perched upon the jeweled throne.
They were alone.
With all due courtesy the Queen inquired after Haspeth’s health, of the state of the defenses, and of the men’s outlooks on the war. She heard them in silence, with deference and politeness. Then when they had done, she fell into a deep meditation.
The silence gathered weight within the low chamber, broken by nothing but the soft outward whisper of the winds across the window-face, and by Niad as he preened. The two captains sat waiting; Haspeth with his eyes politely cast upon the floor before him, Berowne with the heavy pads that were his hands set like steaks on his knees, regarding her majesty with wonder and curiosity. Then he cast aside his gaze, coloring somewhat: for he’d caught himself wondering most intently what she truly looked like, the naked beauty underneath the robes and mask.
The Queen bestirred herself. She lifted her mask slightly. Then all at once she rose, beautifully, like some cloud lifted by the airs in a narrow defile; and the black robes swept down from her form in long sinuous lines, so that for that one instant Berowne knew he would never forget, she stood above them looking down, more compelling than the finest statue of Goddess that had ever graced that City famed for the beauty of its statuary.
‘Stay, rest as you are,’ she said. She stepped back, and then with a simple grace that took Berowne’s breath, seated herself in the jeweled throne. Absently, with one slender naked hand, she caressed the gerlin.
‘Now, sir captains, to the matter at hand.’ She spoke with the sureness of one long used to the order of men. ‘Captain Haspeth, it will perhaps surprise you, after our long confinement here, to learn that we might have left this place upon any pass we wished.’
Captain Haspeth was surprised, as the look upon his face bore witness.
‘That we have not done so, has been a matter more of policy than the ease with which it might have been done. This was the seat of our House. It was here great Elna chose for the archstone of his strength. The Citadel is all that remains to us of Tarendahardil: and Tarendahardil was the sign and symbol of civilization. Had we fled in ignominy, there surely would have been no man of the unfallen cities who might defend us: no, but all would have sent legates to the enemy to sue for peace and grant him what he will. Thus it was our duty to remain.
‘Now regard, six months and more have passed, and the Iron Gate remains unforced. We have withstood all Ara-Karn might do, and dwell here secure. We have water, we have meat and grains and crops: in brief, all that we need to remain so for some years. This all the world has seen. Doubtless the other cities of the South marvel at what we have done, and have gained hope for themselves. Elna laid siege to Urnostardil for no longer a term, and we have seen how well the barbarians, rude and unlettered, survived that. What they did, so may we do and surpass.
‘So I have wondered, what move were best to employ next. The barbarians are weary of war, and long for their own lands again. Almost are they on the very edge of rebellion against their deadly, damned lord. If then we were to leave, suddenly and of no choice but our own, and the barbarians were faced with a hollow hull, might they not indeed turn back to their own cities? And even if they did not, do but think of how this mocking of them will appear to the unfallen cities. We stayed here and defied the foe to do his uttermost; when weary of the game we left, as easily as the free winds of passage.’
Berowne sat bemused by the scheme. Haspeth too was caught up out of his darkness for a moment by it.
‘Yes,’ the Rukorian breathed, ‘your majesty, whet a general you would have made! Is this to be done, then? Shall we set things in movement for it?’
‘Not yet, my hasty soldier,’ she said gently. ‘It is not so simply done: how might we leave here in our thousands and not draw the notice of the enemy? The secret way is narrow, as Captain Berowne, who has used it, may tell you. Its outlet is in High Town itself, upon the Way of Kings. And then, what if we win away? The barbarians will overrun an emptied Citadel and, in sudden anger at the trick, may be after us as swiftly as their horses can bear them. On the open road we should fall to their swords and axes like summer wheat.
‘Something must be done to cast their minds to some other quarter and engage them for enough time to let us scatter in the winds. And it is there, Captain Haspeth, that I would use you: if you have the strength, the genius, and the courage to bear such harsh usage.’
Haspeth did not answer her. He only drew off the heavy war-glove from his right hand, pulled out the massive long war-knife from his belt and laid it, pointing back at him, on the floor at her feet.
Gravely, the Empress nodded. ‘Yet before I accept what you have offered, Captain, I must warn you of the dangers. For I sit not before you as Goddess, who has but to speak and expect that it be done. I am only a woman with perhaps little understanding of these things – you yourself thought me as much once.’
‘It is cruel of you, your majesty, to speak of that.’
‘Very well,’ she assented. ‘It is agreed, that shall be forgotten. You have redeemed yourself with your months of faithful service here. You need not accept this new danger to gain my pardon: you have it freely already.’
He nodded.
‘Yet if you do choose to accept this task, I will expect of you such works as perhaps not a handful of men in all the world might have the daring, the cunning, the strength or the wisdom to achieve.’
‘I accept it,’ he said.
‘You will die in doing it,’ she said.
‘I accept it.’
‘You must wear rags and lie in mud; you must deal with men you despise, and laugh with them at their vile jests. You must do many things repellent to your own honor. And you will condemn yourself again and again, though in outward seeming you do but relish all you do.’
‘I accept it.’
‘You must become a thing more – or less – than mortal: you must make of yourself a rod of bronze, sleepless, tireless, ever vigilant. There will not be an hour of peace for you, for a pass, for a week of passes, for months. You will always be moving, ordering, overseeing the greatest and most trivial works alike. You will need to hold in your head great lists of men and numbers, and commit none of it to parchment. You will need greater cunning than I have ever seen in any man but one.
‘And then, at the end of all this labor such as would break almost any man, you must be prepared to see it fail – but you must not let it fail: for it will be you, and only you, who will see that it succeeds. You will need to compel it to succeed.
‘And at the end you will win no triumph, no glory, no cheers, no honors for your reward. Not even the thankful word of a sovereign will you have. For you will be dead, Captain: and you will die with the blood and souls of thousands of your own innocent countrymen as your burden. And when you die, you will not even know whether you will have succeeded or failed.�
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The Rukorian shuddered visibly at her words. Berowne marveled, both at what her majesty said, and at the play of his fellow-captain’s features. Even more did Berowne marvel when he heard Haspeth’s voice calmly answer yet again and for the fourth time,
‘I accept it.’
The Queen arose and took up the war-knife on her lap. ‘Then this shall I guard among my most treasured jewels,’ she said softly. ‘Captain Berowne, you may leave us now. When the hour is ripe for Captain Haspeth’s departure, you will take him to that place you know of, and see him safely upon the streets of High Town. There you will counsel him on what way you think best for him to pass unnoticed out of the ruins. I would be as sure in my heart as I may, that he has won free from the barbarians. Then you will return to take up your former duties. You will thereafter speak no word of this to any man, any child, or any woman – not even to your own beloved Kiva – not even to me, unless I first speak of it and order you to do likewise. Do you understand?’
‘I do, your majesty,’ Berowne said solemnly. ‘And may I say, your majesty, that even your great ancestor would have praised you in this.’
She inclined her head as Berowne stood heavily to his feet and saluted her. Then he departed.
In the outer hall he bowed gallantly to the saucy-eyed, white-wigged maiden, who abased herself to him prettily. Berowne laughed; by now, he and Bijjame understood each other’s games so well! She laughed with him, and ushered him below.
* * *
In the audience chamber behind the still, closed doors, Haspeth remained kneeling upon the rug. His face was calm now, settled. A sort of peace had claimed him. It was the sort of peace the court embalmers fashion upon death-masks.
The Queen leaned back in the throne. The gray-blue eyes were lost in the shadow of the golden mask. ‘You also, my lord,’ she said gently, stroking the great bird’s head. ‘This is a matter for no ears but this man’s and mine. Go, and keep clawed watch upon the windy walls without.’
