The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  The Ellerinionn had been quietly breaking Kerish's bread into manageable pieces. Now he looked directly at the sorcerer. "I was sent from Ellerinonn to help others, Vethnar. There are few enough ways that I can carry out my task trapped in your citadel."

  Vethnar stared back into Llartian's candid, grey eyes.

  "You under-estimate my ingenuity on behalf of my guests, but surely you should rejoice if your fellows are too content to need help?”

  "I do not recall Rezag-Khal expressing any content."

  The sullen warrior from Chiraz still did not speak for himself.

  "Surely," exclaimed Vethnar, "you cannot disapprove of my saving him from death, when he was bound to his shield and cast into the sea? I grant that he is far from talkative and therefore of little use to me, but if I send him back, the Khan of Chirandermar will kill him."

  "My sentence was just." The old man moved his cropped head like an animal troubled by insects. "Just."

  "So you have said before." There were shades of irritation in Vethnar's voice, "But not why. To punish yourself for a fault you could not help, seems to me to be cowardice. Would you agree Breldor?"

  The boy gulped down a mouthful of food and said hesitantly, "Do you mean that everyone should recognize that failure is natural to our present state and learn to live bravely with that knowledge?"

  "I might . . . but is it what you would say?"

  "Yes, yes, I think it is."

  Vethnar powdered the blackened meat on his fork with flevel. "There, Dolodd, didn't I tell you what a fine catch this boy was? I'll be better pleased still when he learns how to disagree with me intelligently."

  "But not better pleased should he actually do anything you disagree with," said Llartian sharply, "like leaving your citadel."

  "Not everyone is as anxious as you are, Llartian, to be buffeted by the storm-winds of the world again, but you need not fret. Elmandis will eventually find out where you are and then I shall have to give you back, for you know his temper . . . Forollkin, you've stopped eating. Perhaps you'd prefer to talk to us instead; a brief address on the true nature of heroism?"

  Forollkin looked desperately at his brother and Kerish took pity on him.

  "The Book of the Emperors states that bravery is often divided from boorishness only by the cloak of modesty. I believe that the Five Kingdoms hold a contrary view and think boasting a virtue. What do the men of Dard say, Dolodd?"

  "Oh, never ask a Dardik about bravery," said Dolodd lightly. "It takes no courage to strip a Dik-bird of its feathers. We have no enemies, are too lazy to fight each other, and make no bones about saying so."

  "I see no harm in a man saying he is strong or brave, if it is true," said Gwerath.

  Now that he was safely out of the conversation, Forollkin glanced around the room. The walls of the dining-chamber were faced with blue stone and its narrow windows were set too high to see out of from where they sat. The table and cushions were the only furnishings but in a niche, a large book lay open. Forollkin watched with fascination as its pages turned though no-one stood near it.

  "No harm,” Kerish was saying, “if he remembers that strength and courage are not good in themselves. It is the ends for which they are used that matter."

  "That is very true, Prince," said Llartian gravely. "I imagine it takes courage to murder in cold blood."

  "You speak of good and bad ends," Gidjabolgo's cup seemed shocked into pallor by the coarseness of the hand that gripped it. "Would you say we have the freedom to mistreat ourselves?"

  "Yes." Llartian's affirmative clashed with Kerish's denial and Breldor's hesitant, "No, I think not."

  "If you say no," pursued Gidjabolgo, "you must condemn the heroism that causes men to risk death in a trivial cause of honour. Is that not an insult to the gift of life?"

  "Ah, I see your argument," Vethnar leaned across the table. "You claim that a man's first duty is to preserve himself. Who will answer that?"

  Forollkin heard the rustle of vellum as Kerish said slowly, "If a man risks his life for someone else, that life is enriched, even in the losing of it. That would be no insult."

  Llartian nodded his flaxen head. "The more you give, the more room you have to receive."

  "Then the more you do for others, the more you profit yourself? A neat transaction!" exclaimed Gidjabolgo. "It seems we cannot lose."

  Forollkin sat back among the cushions, watching his companions. Kerish seemed relaxed and confident, a half-smile on his lips as he waited to pounce on the Forgite's words. Gwerath was frowning slightly as she listened intently to Gidjabolgo, whose pale eyes sparkled with malicious pleasure. Vethnar's fingers sketched patterns of disagreement as Llartian carried on the argument, aided by Breldor's shy comments. Forollkin understood everything that was said but nothing in him responded with new thoughts. He felt an outsider.

  Then Gwerath caught his eye and smiled at him. "I see no harm in a man saying he is brave or strong if it is true." Had she been thinking of him when she said that? Comfortingly, Forollkin decided that she had.

  "Ah, Llartian," Vethnar was declaring, "you speak as your king has taught you. I remember Elmandis declaring once that he knew of higher powers but that he had no proof of a higher good, and so worshipped nothing."

  "I have my own opinions," insisted the Ellerinonn. "Our good king does not fetter our tongues."

  "No, only your minds, and so lightly that you don't notice. Oh, you may protest," Vethnar went on quickly, "but I never knew a man so adamant as Elmandis upon having his own way in everything. He won Ellerinonn by conquest and, by conquest of his people's minds, he keeps it. Kerish, you have met this sorcerer king. Wouldn't you agree that he is convinced of the rightness of everything he does?"

  "Yes, but of all the sorcerers we have met he seems the only one not to have wasted his powers, the only one to have tried consistently to use them for what he considers the good of the many."

  "All the sorcerers?" Vethnar smiled. "I beg you to reserve judgement, Kerish. Tomorrow I will show you my library and you shall see what we do here and how I have occupied myself outside the tyranny of time."

  *****

  Late that night, Dolodd's help was needed to find the way back to the travellers' apartments. With a sigh, Gwerath opened the amber door and found her room quite changed. The mirrors had been replaced by plain walls, the flowers were gone and only one chest remained. Beside the bed, sombrely draped in grey, were two tables. One was piled high with books. Neatly arranged on the other were a silver hand-mirror patterned with stars, two ebony combs, and a single windflower in a crystal vase.

  Gwerath kicked off her shoes and sat down on the bed, staring around her in bewilderment. "How can everything have changed so quickly?"

  Kerish closed his eyes for a moment. "Very little of what Vethnar shows us is real." His hand stretched out to touch the back of the silver mirror. "Yet this is, and the combs."

  In spite of Gwerath's yawns, Kerish stood looking down at them until Gidjabolgo said, "Can you tear yourself away my Master? Or are we to help the lady to bed?"

  With an apologetic smile, Kerish hurriedly said goodnight.

  *****

  At about two in the morning, Forollkin was woken by a gentle but persistent tugging.

  "Who . . . what's the matter?" He felt instinctively for his sword.

  "It's me," whispered Kerish, sitting down on the end of the bed. "No, don't go back to sleep."

  He prodded Forollkin, who had burrowed under his pillows. "Do you remember Vethnar saying that Shubeyash sent him to Gannoth?" Kerish took silence for assent. "Sendaaka was a Princess of Gannoth then. Do you think he met her before Saroc did?"

  "Do I what?" Forollkin propped himself up on one elbow, almost fully awake. "Kerish, it's the middle of the night. What in Zeldin's name does it matter?"

  "If a guess of mine is right, it may matter very much. Forollkin, I, of all people should know how much it hurts and yet I'd use it against him if it would gain the key. What kind
of person am I?"

  There was no mistaking the distress in his brother's voice but Forollkin wondered sleepily if somehow he'd missed half the conversation.

  "Kerish, I don't know what you're talking about. Tell me again. "

  As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Forollkin saw the Prince sitting with his crippled hand in his lap.

  "There's more silver in your hair than there used to be."

  It was Kerish's turn to look surprised.

  "It must be curious," Forollkin went on, "never to be allowed to look at yourself. I hadn't really thought about it before. "

  "Oh, that's just the point. I do look at myself and I hate what I see. Do you remember accusing me of doing more than persuade people? Well, it's true. Sometimes I see into them and I use what I see for my own ends. Surely that must be evil?"

  "Kerish, you're having a nightmare. No-one could call you evil."

  "Stop laughing, Forollkin. In Galkis I was always making you do the things I wanted . . ."

  "You were a horrible child," said Forollkin affectionately.

  "But later, the terrible thing I did to you . . . How could you forgive me?"

  Forollkin grabbed at Kerish's wrist. "Stop it! We won't ever talk about that. Do you hear, calm down!"

  There was a moment's silence and then Kerish said softly, "I'm sorry to have woken you. I'll go back to bed now," and he slipped out of Forollkin's grasp.

  Chapter 11

  The Book of the Emperors: Sorrows

  Then the Gentle God said to his son, “This is the last time that I shall come to you in Galkis, for you no longer see me.” And Mikeld-lo-Taan cried out, “Father, your image is always before me!” “Beloved child, it is that which hides me from you.” Then Zeldin departed from Zindar and was not seen again walking in the lands he loved.

  Next morning, Gidjabolgo woke first and, after some exploration of the surrounding passages, came back lugging two ewers of water. Kerish had only just emerged from his room looking as if he had hardly slept, when there was a timid knock on the door and Breldor entered.

  "I've come to take you to breakfast," he said. "We usually eat together in Dolodd's rooms."

  Forollkin smiled at the boy. "Well, that's a welcome errand. Are there only the five of you living in this great citadel?"

  "Yes. That is, I've never seen anyone else, but I haven't lived here long."

  Forollkin finished buckling his cloak. "And have you explored the whole island yet, or is that forbidden?"

  "No. We can go where we like," Breldor answered, "but there are only hills and woodland and . . ."

  "The creatures of the lake," finished Kerish.

  "Don't mention them in front of Vethnar," begged Breldor, "and don't look at them, if you can help it."

  "Why?" demanded Gidjabolgo.

  "If you watch them, you kill them."

  The boy looked so miserable that Forollkin hastily said, "All right, we won't. Now lead us to breakfast. I, for one, am ravenous."

  Gwerath emerged from her room, still wearing her grey dress and Forollkin's scarf knotted at her throat. Breldor led them down a spiral stair and they heard the roar of the sea through the slits in the rock that lit the way.

  "It was you I saw leaning out of the window, wasn't it?" asked Kerish.

  Breldor coloured slightly. "Yes. Vethnar warned us not to but one of my windows overlooks the sea and I like to sit there for a while every day."

  "Does it remind you of your home?" asked Kerish gently.

  "Oh, no; except of the ruined watch-tower I found along the coast. I could hide my books there but my father found them."

  "What happened then?"

  "He burned them all. He burned them." Breldor spoke as if he could still hardly believe it. "And so I ran away."

  "Do you like living with Vethnar?"

  "Yes, more than anything I ever imagined. He is so clever and kind."

  "If a trifle thoughtless," suggested Forollkin.

  "No," the boy answered firmly, "he remembers everything that is important."

  Dolodd's apartments seemed to cover a whole floor of the citadel and were more sumptuously furnished than any they had yet seen. A table spread with gold and silver vessels stretched the length of a lofty banqueting hall and at the end of a row of forty chairs sat Llartian and the warrior of Chiraz.

  "Dolodd has gone to the library to start work," said the Ellerinionn. "I am to take you there when we've breakfasted."

  The previous night, Llartian had eaten nothing but bread. Now his plate was piled high with fruit and Kerish remembered Soreas and his family and the meal he had enjoyed in their tranquil garden.

  When they were all seated, Llartian lifted the lid of a silver jug and a rich aroma of fruit and spices filled the hall.

  "Peshlinn; it's a Kolgorn drink. Usually there's milk or wine as well, but not this morning. So you'll have to try some."

  He poured the steaming liquid into Gwerath's cup, then served the others.

  "It's as delicious as the fruit of Ellerinonn," said Kerish after one sip.

  "Nothing could be," answered Llartian, but he smiled.

  "Rezag-Khal?" He offered the jug but the warrior shook his head, and sat stroking the pommel of his sword, staring at Gwerath, while the fruit was handed round.

  Cautiously, Gidjabolgo slid the cover from a golden dish and revealed a heap of spice biscuits, elaborately shaped like fish or shells.

  "I think they're meant to go with this," suggested Llartian, pushing a pot of something mauve and fluffy across the table, "but I'm not sure. Vethnar is fond of surprises."

  "When I woke up this morning I found another present under my pillow," said Breldor. "Listen."

  From a pocket in his grubby tunic he brought out a slender feather. The barbs were deep green patterned with crimson and gold and it cast a speckled light upon the table. He stroked the feather towards its tip and the chamber rang with bird-song.

  "There was a note to say I mustn't stroke it the other way."

  "And being you, I don't suppose you'll try." Llartian grinned. "I would, though."

  Rezag-Khal suddenly writhed in his chair and, with a stifled groan, snatched at the silver jug. Though he had refused all food, now he filled his cup and drained it in one gulp. The veins bulged on his hands as he seized pieces of fruit and crammed them in his mouth till the juice streamed down his chin but all the while his eyes moved frantically as if beseeching help.

  "Don't watch, " said Llartian gravely, "He tried to starve himself to death. Now Vethnar forces him to eat."

  "I should be at my work." Breldor replaced the shining feather in his pocket and scurried from the hall.

  "Llartian," asked Forollkin abruptly, "why does Vethnar keep you here?"

  "To talk to. If you go back to the chamber where we ate last night you will see a book in a niche. If you look at the last few pages, you will find yourselves reading our recent conversation. There are hundreds of such volumes in Vethnar's library filled with the ideas and opinions of his guests over the centuries. You could spend a lifetime tracing patterns of thought amongst them and the curious thing is how often men of different lands and ages agree. Ah, I should warn you that any conversation Vethnar deems interesting enters his book, wherever it takes place and whether he was present or not. More peshlinn?" The travellers all refused. "Then I'll take you to the library."

  As they rose to go, Rezag-Khal, released from his compulsion, swept a hand across the table. Cups, bowls, and platters spun across the polished floor and a stream of peshlinn stained the snowy cloth. As if he had not noticed, Llartian asked the Chirazian to come with them and the old man nodded. Gwerath was afraid of the way the warrior's eyes still moved as if they were trapped. She imagined them bursting free and rolling like the plates across the floor towards her.

  "Gwerath, is something the matter?"

  She smiled hastily at Forollkin. "Nothing, just daydreams."

  "Daydreams? In that dress you look as if you belong
to twilight and stars, not day."

  "You forgot to mention, Llartian, that peshlinn was intoxicating," remarked Gidjabolgo, "and some of us have weaker heads than others."

  The Ellerinionn began an innocent protest.

  "Oh, take no notice," said Gwerath crossly, "everything disagrees with Gidjabolgo."

  Llartian led the travellers up a broad flight of steps to a noble archway, with Rezag-Khal trailing behind them, his snake-skin boots rasping against the marble.

  "This is the entrance to the library. It fills more than half the citadel and I've not explored the whole yet."

  "How long have you been here?" asked Forollkin.

  "About seven months," answered Llartian. "I was sent from Ellerinonn to Losh-Mindar to help those who spend all and more than they have on the supposed pleasures of that city, but Vethnar caught me on the way."

  They passed through a lofty hall, where clerestory windows lit shelf upon shelf of books bound in every shade of green. As they entered a second hall, filled with dark chests of scrolls and tablets of wood and clay, Kerish asked Llartian if he knew Soreas, his host in Tir-Rinnon.

  "Only slightly, but I was in the city when you visited our King and I heard you singing about the Poet Emperor and his heart's desire."

  A spiral stair of translucent stone, like the inside of some delicate shell, led them to an upper chamber, where the books were bound in blue and silver. Through an archway was a larger room, its trestle tables piled high with scrolls, some half-opened, others neatly tied with different ribbons. Dolodd was bent over a desk beside the window, a quill in his hand.

  "Vethnar, I tell you the Scroll of Tarnion must be on that table. I put it there myself."

  "And I tell you it isn't. Oh, perhaps it is."

  From the bottom of the pile the sorcerer detached a brittle scroll, bright with paintings of exquisite butterflies. Then he saw the travellers and dropped it again, provoking a wrathful snort from Dolodd.

  "Ah, I'm glad you liked the peshlinn,” said Vethnar, “Come and look at these."