Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn 2 The Divine Queen

by Adam Corby

  Most of the merchant elite, who had ruled in place of the Imperial charanti ever since Tezmon had broken from the Empire a century before, were secretly gathering their properties and preparing to flee the city. Ampeánor was not sorry to see them go. The majority of the people would stay and fight, because they must. Those remaining would be of a greater courage. Yet more than once he found himself wishing for nothing but a troop of his own lancers, and his chief captain Ferrakador to lead them.

  With an utter weariness gathering in the hollows of his shoulders and his knees, he rode at last back to the North Gate, where he had stationed the pick of the guard and the Carftainians. This, facing the only major road to the North, would bear the brunt of the attack. The guardsmen smiled to see him dismounting and ascending the hollowed steps in his dusty, darkened armor; but the Carftainians and the other refugees only gripped their lances and stared out over the brown-burned fields. He did not blame them, having heard the horrors of their defeat at the barbarians’ hands.

  He sat upon the parapet and looked with them. A guardsman offered him some bread and wine; he ate reflectively, thinking of the battle ahead. It was long years since his campaigns against the pirates, the first and last real warfare in which he had engaged. He recalled how, at his frequent offers to instruct the mayor, Armand had only smiled foolishly and spoken of Ampeánor’s youthful triumphs over the pirates, as if expecting him to provide an equally miraculous outcome here. Only then he had had Rukorians at his back, not weavers.

  He looked out to the north. A solitary rider was coming up the dusty, graveled road.

  ‘It is Lanthor,’ said one of the guards, shouting to those below working the mechanism of the gates. Lanthor was the last of the scouts to return. He rode between the gates with an iron clatter, swaying wearily in his saddle. The others shouted at him irritably, asking the news; but Lanthor only rolled in the saddle and fell drunkenly onto the cobbled courtyard. Some went to see to him, but when they turned him over, he was dead.

  From out of the small of his back a thin shaft protruded through the blood-soaked cloth, bearing at its end three black feathers.

  Ampeánor had them bring him the bloody arrow. He had never seen one before. It seemed slight and fragile in his gloved hand. Could such a little thing truly be the secret of the strength of Ara-Karn? he wondered.

  ‘They are near, now,’ said one of the Carftainians, grunting.

  Ampeánor held the shaft up and broke it in two between his fingers. ‘They will pay for him dearly,’ he promised.

  * * *

  When Elnavis departed Tarendahardil, then the City gleamed beneath Goddess. The stone streets were scrubbed clean, shrines and monuments were draped with garlands, statues were painted and hung with celebratory wreaths, and the open doors of the temples breathed airs of sweet incense. Tarendahardil seemed fair, and lovely, and very young at that hour.

  The markets and work-halls all were closed. In their brightest festival robes, the people of the City crowded the length of the Way of Kings; vendors passed among them, hawking refreshments. Already the prince had led the nobly born youths of his Companions on foot through the streets to the Brown Temple, to make sacrifice and be ritually cleansed. Already the holy virgin priestesses had taken auguries and omens. The word ran like a river down the Way of Kings: the omens had all been extremely favorable.

  The people laughed to hear. Dearly they loved the sight of their prince riding boldly, racing through the streets, his golden curls waving. They took pride in his strength, his comeliness and his youth as if they were their own – as indeed, they were. They were his people, and he was their prince, soon to be their Emperor – and such an Emperor, as had not ruled in Tarendahardil for six generations. They knew that when he took up the Ivory Scepter, he would not be so slave-thrifty as the High Regent. It was a saying among them, when grumbling at the disrepair of the city, the filth flowing in the streets, or the corruption of the officials, ‘Ah, when Elnavis takes up the Ivory Scepter, now—!’ Wistfully they dreamed on the lost grandeur of their Empire, which only Elnavis would restore.

  Of a sudden, the throngs in the square below the Citadel were stilled. The great black twin gates opened, and the Parade emerged from the Citadel of Elna.

  In suchlike order did they make appearance and descend in stateliness the Way of Kings. The magistrates of the First and Second Ranks came first; then flute-players; milk-white, gold-horned oxen for the later sacrifices; the holy virgin priestesses, going barefooted before the venerable High Priestess; slaves strewing blossoms; and the nobility: all the great charai and charanti borne in ivory litters. A body of trumpeters preceded the High Council – Farnese of the horse-driving Eglands, Arstomenes of ancient Vapio, Lornof of Fulmine, and Dornan Ural. Only the Charan of Rukor, Ampeánor, was absent, the most popular of all the highborn for his talents and the Queen’s passion for him. The prince’s personal guard came after, bearing aloft the multicolored standards, with the royal hue of orange foremost; and the crowds were hushed for a moment that ended with a roar redoubled: for the prince, golden Elnavis, had appeared.

  Of purest gold was his armor, inlaid with silver and gem-stones. The light of Goddess adorned him with such a coruscation that, astride his black stallion Warcloud, he seemed a very god come to walk the earth. He laughed, and waved to the screaming throngs.

  Behind him a single slave walked with a golden crown held above his head in accordance with the custom of Elna, to distract the evil of God from the figure of the prince. Eight white pure-bred mares followed, drawing a silver chariot wherein the Divine Queen stood with the Chara Ilal.

  Then the Companions made appearance, two hundred youths of the most antique houses of the Empire, riding steeds in full war-gear. They laughed to their sweethearts on the balconies in the palaces above. This was to be the grandest event in their young lives. The long training was over at last, and the real fighting to come: the sweep of horse-driven wings, the brutal clash against the ranks of the foe, the killing, the victories, and all glory earned beneath the last descendant of great Elna.

  Their warhorses strained and fretted against the riders’ firm control. They were not bred for such slow ploddings, but for glorious charges across windswept plains ringing with war’s anvils. The roars of the populace excited them, and made them furiously eager for the odor of blood arising from their massive, steel-clad hooves. Even so, it was not long before the great Parade reached the docksides, where the ships awaited. There the crowd was thickest, bodies against bodies, elbows into chests, the narrow airs thick with cheers to rend the ears.

  The stallions wheeled, the silver chariot rolled to a majestic halt. The Companions waved farewell, and rode singly up to shipboard, where slaves and seamen awaited to help remove the trappings and lead horse and rider below. The holy priestesses formed a half-circle on the age-old yellow stones, facing the jade-azure of the sea. There the Empress, glorious in her silver robes of state, met her son and made the Sign of Goddess above his brow; and he knelt and made the Sign of God in return.

  She kissed him upon the front of his helm and raised him, bidding him in a voice loud enough only for him to hear, all luck. ‘And may your return be even more glorious than this, your departure.’

  He grinned in the gold and silver shadow. ‘Worry not, Mother. I’ll bring the head of Ara-Karn to you upon my lance – then you can have it cured and hung at the foot of your bed, and every sleep have it to kiss good-waking!’ And they both laughed; and the people, seeing this, were like to go mad with joy.

  Pelted with flowers, gracefully as a lover to his mistress he bowed before them. Then in a single glorious bound he gained the saddle. Warcloud reared high, as if smelling already the barbarian in his flaring nostrils. And they went dancing over the side of the ship, so that the people marveled at such consummate horsemanship.

  So soon as his highness was aboard the last ship, they cast off, pilots sculling to draw her out of the crowded harbor after the other ships. Beyond the mo
les the pilot-boats left them, and the great ships loosed their saffron sails bellying full with wind. Gently now, but with gathering vigor, they swept on the wings of tide and breeze, farther and farther toward the distant rim of the sea.

  When they reached the port of Torjulla, they descended into the city and bought provisions; the prince attended eagerly to all the latest news, of the dividing of Ara-Karn’s armies. Impatiently he purchased the last of their supplies, and hastened with the Companions upland, toward the beleaguered city of Mersaline.

  V

  The Prophecy of Jade and Iron

  ALLISSÁL HAD WORN SILVER at Elnavis’s leavetaking; now she was arrayed all in gold, so that even the rich sunlight pouring athwart the opened balcony beside her seemed dull and sickly until it was caught up and cast back twelvefold by that glory about her head, and her single bared shoulder. So she met with her agents to discuss her secret negotiations with the other nations of the South. For a moment she smiled, thinking of Dornan Ural’s consternation if he should discover that she was making policy and planning on war against the barbarian in contradiction of all rights and laws. Yet even should the freedman’s son learn all, what could he do about it? She had no fear of him. He would not dare oppose her openly, if he wished to retain any authority at court after Elnavis took up the Ivory Scepter. And that blessed waking was but a few months hence.

  The pretext of the gathering was a portrait Qhelvin of Sorne was painting of her. Qhelvin stood in much-daubed apparel at the board, brushes in his fist, his movements brusque with an all but violent intensity. Her other agents looked idly on or stood upon the balcony overlooking the city spread in distant haze below the mountain. There had never been an autumn in Tarendahardil for such delightful weather.

  ‘Pelthar is ripe fruit then,’ she said, only her lips and gold-clasped throat in movement. ‘Needs but to send a messenger to Orolo to get a full accord signed; and then an end to reluctance among the other small kingdoms. Tersimio, what of your efforts in Zaproll on the Sea?’

  The Ancha, a stout man with bristling red beard and a neck thick and hard as a log, uttered an impatient word. ‘Some headway, but slow progress. They have no trade beyond the Sea of Elna save most indirectly – what care they, secure in the deepest corner of the South, if the barbarian conquers all the North? Yet I have convinced a few of the need. At most, though, they will supply provisions or gold.’

  ‘It is all we require of them. They have no great fame at warfare, and we have all the pilots and seamen we shall need from Rukor and the lower Delba. Bistro, what word there?’

  ‘It is well, your majesty.’ The Eliorite smiled. ‘What with their many dealings with the North, they are all too terrified of the barbarian. Now if I can but get them to overcome their distrust of one another, I can guarantee a score of ships and three thousand men.’

  ‘It is well,’ said the Queen. ‘Is there word of Postio yet?’

  ‘No, your majesty,’ Plantano said. ‘That was Kornoth’s commission; he has not yet returned. But now we scarcely need them with all these lands in the deep South ready to join.’

  ‘But none of them any good, unless we can subvert the tyrant of Belknule,’ muttered Fentan Efling dourly. Qhelvin, absorbed wholly in the outline of the Queen’s nude shoulder, said nothing.

  ‘Yes, damn him,’ growled Tersimio. ‘Pelthar, Zaproll, Ul Raambar and a half-dozen others either firmly committed or can be persuaded to his highness’s cause by Winter’s end; and Belknule so positioned that none of them can easily reach Tarendahardil without Yorkjax’s consent – and even then, only at the risk that Yorkjax might invade their lands while all their soldiers joined us against Ara-Karn.’

  ‘A genuine enough risk,’ added Bistro, leaning over the railing to watch the birds soaring about the cliffs far below. ‘He was ever too jealous of his power to let even friendly troops cross his lands; how then would he take to troops in the cause of Tarendahardil? His fortress-city’s placed at a bend of the river, too: a difficult maiden to woo.’

  Qhelvin threw down his brush in disgust and strode away from the portrait to the balcony to brood. Bistro, seeing the look in his eyes, stepped cautiously back into the chamber. The Empress, thus released, relaxed her posture and accepted a sweet-pie and goblet of wine from one of her maidens, trusted enough to be allowed to attend here. After a moment Qhelvin returned sighing, regarding what he had wrought with hopeless dismay.

  ‘This is a foredoomed failure,’ he muttered, stroking his amber mustaches. ‘And as for Belknule, my lords, have I not told you force is out of the question? This League will be tenuous enough without using brutality with our neighbors. They are too greatly afraid of the imperial ambitions of the Bordakasha even now.’

  ‘Qhelvin speaks truth,’ said the Queen soothingly. ‘He is the most able and subtlest of all our agents, which is why his task is the most difficult. Yet Qhelvin, is there no gain there?’

  ‘A bit,’ he answered, glancing from her to the board. ‘I have made contact with a few more nobles. No doubt they all hate their tyrant enough, but for the present fear quells them. They want further assurances. A messenger is due soon with word of our next secret meeting; I’ll see what can be done. Your majesty, the pose again, if you will – yes, head a bit higher. Yes.’

  He fell to painting furiously while the others continued their discussions. Shortly a slave entered and prostrated himself before the presence. ‘Your August Majesty, the guardsmen await with the Gerso Charan Ennius Kandi.’

  ‘Let them wait,’ she said. Bistro laughed.

  ‘Your majesty did not jest then, when you said you’d ordered the guard to collect him?’ He chuckled. ‘And not a word of explanation for him, either! That will cool the fellow’s insolence!’

  ‘That is a surly puppy,’ said Tersimio. ‘As your majesty asked, I also sounded him. I cannot say I like his manners much.’

  ‘When did Ancha ever love Gerso?’ asked Qhelvin, wiping at his brushes. ‘Come, my lords, this is but unreasoning prejudice on your parts. I can tell you he is cleverer than he would have you believe. And he knows more of statecraft than perhaps any of us here, her majesty only excepted. If you have thought him insolent, it is only because he has no patience for fools. And more I will say: if he consents to join us, it will be for no gold or power, but only out of love, and a desire to be avenged on those who wronged him. Your majesty, I can do no more on this. It will take rest and more thought before I can approach it properly again.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said, rising from the low-backed chair and walking gracefully to the balcony. There she stretched slightly, the mountain airs playing with the few unpinned curls about her brow. A ways beyond, a gerlin floated unmoving in the currents. Allissál rolled back her head to unkink the joints of her throat, gleaming in its prison of gold wire. ‘My lords, we thank you as ever for your unstinting efforts on our son’s behalf. Now you may leave us: we would speak with this Gerso in private.’

  They bowed to her in turn and took her hand to their lips. Then by a side door they departed, followed by two of the maidens bearing away the painting and Qhelvin’s brushes. The Sorean lingered somewhat, regarding her majesty where she stood.

  ‘Did you really think so much of him, Qhelvin?’ she asked after a space.

  ‘Shall I tell your majesty what we did? I spoke no word of statecraft at the first, merely representing myself as a fellow exile, though exiled by choice and politics. He responded agreeably enough, though assuredly he knew the heart of my purpose. I took him on a tour of the city, and we ended by drinking our way through the Thieves’ Quarter, talking art and politics. Oh, he can be a grand fellow. This much I can tell, that not wine nor women’s charms will serve to loosen his tongue – which is more than I can say of those poor fellows yonder.’

  ‘Again in that abode of evils, Qhelvin?’ she chided. ‘And how often have we warned you of the dangers of going unattended through the Thieves’ Quarter?’

  He smiled, and shrugged his shoulder
s, as if the thing were beyond his power, but amusing all the same. Then his face darkened into seriousness. ‘Your majesty, I can, I think, see a little below the surface. If it be your wish, could I attend you in the interview and take the Charan of Rukor’s place?’

  ‘Nay, Qhelvin: and we would be a poor monarch if we were unable to review the case of a single fugitive adventurer!’ So he bowed, and departed after the others. Then the Queen’s smile faded somewhat nervously, and she turned again into the winds; but the bird had gone.

  ‘Bid them let him enter now,’ she said to the slave behind her.

  * * *

  Freely and easily he entered and came to bow to her, as if these opulent surroundings impressed him not at all; but his insolence went unnoticed, for the Queen still stood with her back to him.

  ‘Greetings, your August Majesty,’ he said, not waiting to be addressed. ‘Al-Kosha d’Alastaphele muuric Vaghantiuc?’

  ‘We do not understand that tongue, Charan of Elsvar,’ she said, looking out over the land-covering spires and domes of her city. ‘Please to speak Bordo.’

  ‘Very well, your majesty,’ he said, as if disappointed.

  ‘What tongue was that, by the way? Some dialect of your homeland?’

  ‘No, your majesty. From farther off than Gerso.’