“One must be cautious; an object thus brought back cannot be held long in soft human fingers! ‘Around the comer,’ as I call it, is not a place for the living. I have heard that certain sages have put their heads there to see what is to be seen, and have been dragged back with eyes burst and blood running from their noses and frozen upon their cheeks. Dead as stones, and all within a trice!”
“Can you teach me to do this thing?”
The lambent green eyes came near, and the yellow-slit pupils looked full into Harsan’s own brown eyes. “I can try, if you are so willed, and if you have the talent. Teach me Llyani, and I shall teach you this.”
“Agreed.” In spite of himself Harsan felt himself warming to this strange travesty of a Pe Choi.
They spent the better part of the afternoon at it. The two priests of the Lords of Change did not return, and none came to disturb them until they heard the evening guard detail clattering down the corridor to relieve their comrades. By this time Harsan had at least touched the terrible cold of “around the comer” twice or thrice, although he had no success at making anything travel to or from that curious, alien space.
Chapter Nine
Four sat together in a room that was not a room, in a place that was not a place, and in a time that was timeless. Sparks of colourless light swam lazily to and fro, fish in a pool that had never known water.
The first was a man attired in the silver-chaised, engraved armour of the city of Dharu, the Forge of Yan Kor. He was in his early middle years, massive as the plinth of a fortress, heavy through the shoulders and upper arms, and almost without a neck, his shaven head seeming to sit directly upon his torso. His breastplate, pauldrons, and gorget of fine steel exaggerated this massiveness. His was an imposing figure of physical power, although if one looked closely, certain softnesses of cheek and jowl revealed concessions made to age. Two creases ran down from his broad-winged nose past shaven lips to a square-cut black beard shot with silver, as ravines run down from a headland to the foam-tipped waves of the sea. Yet his most arresting feature, perhaps, were his eyes: green-glinting black, level, stem beneath the jutting eaves of his brows—and possibly a trifle mad.
The second was also a man, but cast by a different potter upon another wheel. Earth-hued robes hid his body, and he might thus have been slender or stout, old or young. Somehow, even so, he had the air of one who is young but who has never experienced youth. This man sat motionless as an idol of clay, corpse-hued hands folded before him upon his knees, the nails like chips of ochre flint. His features were concealed by a sombre cowl, but the light from above—which had no source and cast no shadow— touched a jaw painted bone-white, the colour of a skull.
The third who sat in that group might have been a man—and might have been something quite other. He was reed-thin, of no age determinable, sallow-saffron of skin, with a cap of dead black hair held by a curiously wrought fillet of silver and obsidian. He wore a slashed tunic of purple and ebon and russet which was cut loose and might thereby hide any number of anomalies of form. No pupils were visible in his eyes, and these glinted now black, now red, like marbles of translucent glass.
The fourth was most definitely not a man. Rich coppery-brown skin and sepia-hued fur rippled in the pallid light. A fanged animal snout, up-tilted ears, and a heavy-ridged brow made the creature a demon out of legends old before man had walked upon Tekumel. Save for a harness of studs and links and bosses, the being was nude. Scarlet eyes, like rich rubies, stared down at a luminous blue-glowing orb cupped between six-fingered paw-like hands.
The first man spoke in a grating, foreign voice. “You sought this council. Why?”
The second replied in a higher, mellower tone, a voice without emphasis or intonation, like the base-note of some sad threnody. “They near the goal. If more is not done, what was concealed will be opened.”
“You are resourceful. Why call upon us?”
“Several players play this game. My pieces can be identified. Should this occur, more than one will be the loser. ’ ’
The first man swore casually in a harsh, crackling tongue. “What would you of us?”
“You have pawns still unplayed, even in Bey Sii. If one or two are dashed from the board, it will be no more and no less than others expect. On the other hand, if even one of my pieces is clearly seen, both our games are speedily done.”
“What difficulty do you apprehend?” The armoured man shifted his weight, leather and metal harness creaking. “So the priest-boy has reached Bey Sii; there is little chance he will come upon the prize!”
The second man paused, then went on. “You know that the ‘Book of Changing into Dust’ is in my possession. It contains the records of the necropolises of the Bednalljan Dynasty from the reign of Queen Nayari up through the age of the Great Decline. Amongst the entries for Urmish there is one for the tomb of a certain Ha’akosun, who was governor of that city, a scholar, and an antiquarian of some skill. The list of contents for his tomb is... quite interesting, if true. There is power—real power—in some of the objects interred there. Perhaps even the power to halt certain mighty forces ...”
The third man now spoke for the first time, his voice a sibilant hiss as though made with organs other than a human tongue and lips. “We know of that power. There is little chance that the priest-boy—or others who seek it—will find the key of it.” “True. It may require an historian to know what it is and where it is, a scholar to unlock it, and a sorcerer to use it. But there are those who would aid the priest-boy. What is lacking may be supplied.”
“Unlikely,” the first man snapped. “Your temples squabble over the relics; the relics themselves may be false or inoperative— after so many millennia the latter is probable. Should they be real—and useful—the priest-boy must still reach the treasure to which they point. And leam its use! A series of tasks as incredible as the legend of Subadim the Sorcerer! ’ ’
“Has the priest-boy yet discovered the place of the power?” The third man broke in. “There is the map symbol.”
“Yes, and well you know whither it points. Still, certain of my sources hint at subterfuge.” The bone-white lips opened in a soundless smile. “The ancients were as devious as they are now dead! It would be like them to lead the would-be tomb robber a long dance half across the world.”
“If so, then we have even less cause for concern! Why risk our agents to halt such an unlikely project? As well wear a helmet to protect one’s head from falling lightning bolts!” The first man turned his entire upper body to face the third. “What think you, Lord Fu Shi’i? Counsel me.”
“My Lord, we should not act, and well our colleague here knows it. There are watches and wards upon all connected with this affair, and our hand would be as plain as milk in wine. Let him move his own pieces. They are better placed and better hidden than ours.”
The third man was silent. The first shifted again, impatiently, and the second sat as though carved from dull clay. The fourth being said not a word but continued to gaze into the lustrous blue orb.
At length the second spoke again, upon a higher, tenser note. “If I act and others come to know, it will be as though a summer flood has swept across all our lands! My brothers—and my sister—would delight to see me stumble.”
“Stumbling is always possible for those who would ascend to dizzy heights.” The third man made a convoluted gesture in the air. “Your minions are many, and your nets are spread wide. ‘The Shqa-beetle makes tunnels within tunnels.’ ”
“My success is your success. If I fail, then I go onto the impaler’s stake for the ‘high ride.’ And all of your long-laid plans go with me.”
“You will not fail.” The third spoke again. “If any has the talent and the ambition to win to mighty goals, it is you.
Remember the sum wagered upon this throw, my Lord: an empire—”
“Enough.” The first man waved a blunt hand. “Our compact is firm. We will aid you, but now is not the time. Make use of the others: th
e factions within the temples, the nobles you control, the dark ones whom you alone can summon. But you are the one who can—and should—act. It is premature for us to move. Call our help only if you see defeat before you as a Zrne sees the hunters’ pit.”
The second man did not move, but his smooth, creaseless fingers were knotted upon his knees before him. “What if instead I were to aid the priest-boy in his lessons? What if I were the hero who brought about your fall? There would be lamentation in many places beyond Tsolyanu.”
The first man made an abrupt movement to rise. “We own more than one jug for our wine. Prince. You may break this one, but there are others fired in the kiln. No, I do not think you would betray our bargain, for it gives us each more than either can achieve alone. At the proper time we shall see that you do indeed have certain royal siblings to mourn. And the Petal Throne to sit upon. We—”
“You, Baron, stand to gain lands and cities which were part of the Imperium since the first Tlakotani Emperor sat upon the Petal Throne over two thousand years ago!” The colourless voice dropped to a whisper. “Once you were great within Tsolyanu, Baron Aid. You served as general of one of my father’s armies, and you could have risen yet higher, even to stand at the right hand of the God-Emperor himself! Now you would snatch from us what is anciently ours! You know that I join you in this only because—”
One. thick fist smashed down into the palm of the other hand. “—Only because you cannot alone win the Petal Throne for yourself, Prince Dhich’une! When your father dies, you will face the Kolumejalim, ‘the Rite of Choosing of Emperors,’ as is the custom in your land. You would certainly best your eldest brother, Rereshqala, in those trials, for he dallies in pleasant lethargy in his villa in Jakalla with his whores and cronies, drunk or drugged, perhaps even by your doing! Your second brother, Eselne, could cleave you in twain with no more than a table-knife. And even your sister, Ma’in Kriithai, has more swordsmanship than you. But your three permitted champions may defeat them, and you would easily overthrow them in the tests of sorcery and magic. No, it is your third brother, Mridobu, whom you fear, he who sits in the High Chancery at Avanthar and cons the arts of administration and statecraft even as you pore over your tomes of wormy runes! Without our bargain, Mridobu—or some princeling as yet unrevealed by the Omnipotent Azure Legion—will sit upon the Petal Throne. It will be your shade that will go howling down into the crypts of Sarku’s many hells!”
The second man extended a dun-coloured hand, palm up, and his voice dropped to a gentle, almost dulcet note. “Let us not fall out, Baron. Our alliance is delicate enough as it is. We only weaken both our lands through war. Instead, I propose an even greater sweetening to our bargain. Join with me in more than just blood and pillage! Why should Yan Kor and Tsolyanu not be united under our rule? I as Emperor in Avanthar, and you as First General of the Empire? If our present scheme does succeed, then I am Emperor, and you seize Khirgar and parts of our north by force of arms. Yet you know that I must then put on a show of repelling you, whatever we may agree here, and much would be lost to flame and plunder. Others would rejoice as well: the Salarvyani yearn for our southeastern Protectorates of Kerunan and Chaigari; the Red-hats of Mu’ugalavya would swoop to take back their lost Chakas—and mayhap parts of your little allies, Pijena and Ghaton, which border their lands. It is not said that, ‘when water meets fire, both turn to harmless vapour’?”
“Our alliance rests upon our mutual benefit, Prince. Yet your sweetening is still not sweet enough. You know my reasons.”
“I am well aware. But for both our sakes put aside those offences which Tsolyanu certainly offered you. With me in Avanthar and yourself as my First General, you will gain more wealth and power than a hundred, a thousand, lootings of Khirgar could ever bring. Forget Kaidrach Field—”
The fist came crashing down again. “Speak not to me of that place, Prince! It was your conniving aristocrats and their puppet generals who left me there to defend a hopeless position! Do you accuse me of treachery that I then kissed Yan Koryani gold? After all, who was I to your Empire—a hired mercenary, a wild warrior from Saa Allaqi? What mattered a little army and a loyal fool who was naught but a northern tribesman and a half-cousin to the men of Yan Kor?” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Though I was betrayed, still I bore you Tsolyani no great ill will, for I knew that such are the vagaries of politics and men. Even after I had climbed to my present station over the heads—■ and blood—of Yan Kor’s squabbling chieflings, still I would have been your father’s friend. But then he dispatched his legions to take me, as huntsmen take a Jakkohl, and his accursed general, Kettukal, sent his officer, Bazhan, to seize my lady Yilrana from my citadel of Ke’er. Bazhan did her to a shameful death! And so did he suffer for it.” White ridges of pain drew downward from the thin lips. “If you speak to me of power and wealth, Prince, then I spurn them! I seek blood payment—my own kind of Shamtla—for all that was done to me and to mine, and this shall I have though I have to raise all the myrmidons of the many hells to do it! No, make me no offers and plot me no plots! Our bargain gives you the Petal Throne; I take Khirgar, Chene Ho, and the northlands. I have sworn before my mountain gods to end our blood feud only when these cities are delivered up to my vengeance. —And note well that this debt is not paid until General Kettukal is also in my hand, even as was Lord Bazhan!”
“Kettukal hiMraktine is at Chene Ho, and there I shall try to detain him until you can come to collect him. You shall have him, for I have almost the same love for him as you.”
The first man shifted restlessly and looked away. The second said softly, “Beware, Baron Aid, that you do not raise myrmidons who will not serve you but master you instead. You do not summon maidens to a summer’s frolic! There are hints of forces beyond all that we know—and can control. The relics—”
He would have continued, but the third man interrupted. “Our Mihalli colleague grows weary. The globe dims, and our contact must soon be dissolved. Let us make an end to it. Come, Prince, agree to action: block the plots of the temple of Thumis and seize the Llyani relics. Keep them if you wish, an assurance against any threat of our duplicity. This should satisfy you.”
“You do not fear that they may contain power? That you do not hand me a sword too sharp for your own liking?’ ’
“It is possible,” the third man said, “but there are many Skeins. One is drab: the possibility that the relics are lost, false, or inoperative. The second Skein is brighter: you halt the priests of Thumis, seize the relics, and find that your interests are better served by cooperation with us than by using them against us— for which we also have further counters. Unlikely are weavings that take you on to success in your land and victory over us—or, conversely, our defeat of you. Such chances we must take. No, Prince Dhich’une, the best course is for you to join with us, use your agents now to frustrate your rivals, and aid us in creating a Skein that leads you to the Petal Throne—and my master here to his rightful vengeance. A denouement you can easily afford. Agreed?”
“I protest. As I said, my agents are all too soon seen: bright-plumaged Kheshehal-bkds sitting upon a leafless branch! If they are caught, we are undone! My sources hint that the relics may be of very great importance to you indeed: it is possible that they can give your foes the means to halt your ‘Weapon Without Answer’—and to slay the He’esa, the minions of the Goddess Who Must Not Be Named! Even to drive Her from this Plane! Would you have that? The end of your schemings because you now underestimate the danger? Use one of Her He’esa to destroy the priest-boy and those who aid him!”
“As well shoot a Dri-ant with a ballista!” the first man growled. “Your lesser folk can take care of the Thumis priest. I see no need to involve my own people at all. The Goddess’ creatures are still more valuable: they are indetectable by sorcery, and they have other, longer-term uses, including the removal of certain of your Imperial siblings, Prince. No, we will watch— and we will act when we must. This—and only this—do I pro
mise you.”
“Hold to our alliance most carefully, then, Baron. It is a vial of thin crystal that can spill much poison if broken.” The second man rose, flinging earth-hued robes about his thin shoulders.
“Agreed,” grunted the first. Armour clattered as he stood up.
The fourth raised red-ruby eyes from the smoke-blue globe. It flickered, pulsated, and went dark.'
The place that was not a place was empty, a featureless void, as it had always been since time’s first eternal moment...
Chapter Ten
In the days that followed his first attempts at spell-casting, Harsan began work in earnest upon the Llyani relics. The golden hand and the map symbol he examined carefully but soon discarded as containing little new information. Instead, he turned to the pile of crumbling manuscript leaves. The temple apothecaries provided him with the dried bark of the Voqu’o-plant and certain other substances, and he boiled these into a sticky syrup with which he painted each fragment, as he had learned to do in the library of the Monastery of the Sapient Eye. The fibres of the ancient Hruchan-reed paper took on new life. The tattered shreds became strong enough to be separated. The tomb-damp and the deterioration of the glazing had taken their toll, but some of the text slowly started to return to near-readable condition.
The Pe Choi continued to dissect the three lumps of rust in order to free any artifacts inside. Each day he laid out his chest of knives, picks, and files that were almost too delicate for human fingers and chipped away at the aeons-old corrosion. He also sometimes coached Harsan in the elements of spell-casting, and the latter started to show progress. Small objects now usually went “around the comer” with ease, though larger ones still defied his efforts. Some returned; others did not. At times, as he' told Chtik p’Qwe, he could almost feel the strange power of the Planes Beyond throbbing just beyond his fingertips.
The Man of Gold Page 9
