He forced himself to lay this unanswerable riddle aside and turn his thoughts to Eyil. It was now plain what she was about. It was possible for a good clan-girl to fall in love with a clanless priest of no rank or status, of course, but anything more than a brief dalliance was as unlikely as three moons in the sky! Oh, the interlude on the Sakbe road was natural enough: the proper mixture of youth, naivete, proximity, and physical pleasure. But for Eyil to have sought him out later—when Bey Sii was full to overflowing with handsome, wealthy, sophisticated young men of her own class...?
No, she was almost certainly an agent of somebody or other. There had been hints aplenty, but his subconscious mind had done its best to hide them from him. Now he was sure. Her plea to give the relics to “them” was more than sufficient. He cursed himself for a fool.
But did she then serve Hele’a or his unknown master? Did she stand now outside this room and laugh with the Ghatoni about poor Harsan, the dupe? This picture brought the bitterness of masculine pride up into his throat.
No. The more he considered it, the more he believed her visible fear and horror to be real. He decided that Eyil was no friend of Hele’a’s.
Then was she an ally of Kurrune the Messenger?
Possibly. But then why did the man couch his warnings in such veiled and literary terms? Had he worked in collusion with Eyil, he could have employed her to take his warnings directly to Harsan.
Who was Kurrune? An agent for the Temple of Thumis, for Prior Haringgashte personally, for some other faction—even for the Imperium? A servant of two—or more—masters might well wish to conceal his identity with ciphers and quotations from the epics that could be understood only by the person concerned...
There were no clear answers. Whatever the truth, it was still possible that the Messenger and Eyil had been allies. After all, it might be useful to maintain a double watch: Kurrune to serve as an outside source of information, Eyil to hold Harsan with the age-old lure of her body? He would thus be unguarded with her, easy to control.
Somehow this rang false, as a copper coin in a handful of silver Hlash. He could not think why.
Had Eyil been set over him by his own temple to see that he did not fall prey to the blandishments of such as Kerektu hiKhanmu?
This, too, was possible, but a little far-fetched. Had a maiden been wanted to ensnare him, his superiors could have assigned any pretty acolyte from the Monastery of the Sapient Eye—or from the Temple of Eternal Knowing once he had reached Bey Sii. No, such surveillance was probably the duty of the Pe Choi—Harsan was struck with a sudden stab of remorse; he had not taken even a moment to grieve for his poor friend!—It was likely that Chtik p’Qwe had been commanded to watch over him, while he, in turn, could be counted upon to report any untoward actions of the Pe Choi to his superiors. Why else bring in someone who knew not only Llyani but also the language and customs of the Pe Choi?
The problem went round and round in his head, like a Chlen upon the threshing floor. Eyil was almost certainly an agent. But not for either Hele’a nor for the Temple of Thumis. Kerektu hiKhanmu? He could see no connection at present between the glib priest of Ksarul and Eyil...
He tried to think impersonally of Eyil, as he had been taught in the logic classes of the monastery. He had a hard time blotting out memories of her, nude and lithe in the lamplight, her long, dark eyes looking up into his in the litter, the shadowy curve of her hip as she lay beside him... Cha!
He tried again. Look at her actions, he ordered himself: her ignorance of some of the basic doctrines of Lady Avanthe, her arguments which seemed ever so slightly contemptuous of Stability . Then there was her mention of Shu’ure and the supposed Aridani woman who worshipped Dlamelish. Clues came clicking together like Den-den counters into their box!
Eyil must serve either Dlamelish or Hrihayal!
But if this theory were true, then it meant that the temples of Change were split over the matter of the relics—or that there were factions within them, at least, which seesawed this way and that against one another.
What of the girl in the governor’s garden—Sriya? She had been a devotee of Hrihayal, had she not? Eyil had certainly not sent her to poison him with Zu’ur, she could have done that herself at any time. Did this imply that Eyil was not on Hrihayal’s side? Or did it indicate dissension between the Temple of Hrihayal and some other faction, possibly the Temple of Dlamelish?—Or was that incident no more than a coincidence?
He sighed. Wheels within wheels, tunnels within tunnels, as the old proverb about the Shqa-hcetle. said...
He vowed that he would deal with the Lady Eyil hiVriyen if ever he got the chance.
Ruddy torchlight blazed through the door to his left. Men entered, bearing objects of dull yellow metal; others behind carried lumpy bundles of some sort; still others followed with parchments and penboxes. He squirmed up to a sitting position and saw the metallic things to be ewers, cups, and dishes. The bundles were large, rich cushions.
By all of the Aspects of Thumis, was this going to be a feast with Harsan himself as the main course?
Some of the men inserted torches into brackets around the walls. Others climbed the little stair and arranged the utensils and cushions upon a low dais which he now saw occupied the centre of the alcove. The scribes spread out their paraphernalia on the floor below and sat down, muttering and joking in low tones.
The door to his right opened, and two men stood there. One was a greybeard, long-faced, and not a little unkempt. Whitish hair straggled down over his shoulders from beneath a dun-coloured skullcap which resembled an unfired clay bowl overturned upon his head. He wore the floor-length brown vestments of a lay-priest of Sarku, shabby and stained with use, and cut in a fashion popular amongst elderly men some twenty years before.
The other person was a decade or so younger, barrel-bellied, dressed in a saffron kilt ornamented with many little dags, fringes, and clan symbols worked in gold thread, and pleated in the style of a bureaucrat of the Palace of the Realm. A shawl of fine yellow cloth swathed one shoulder, and Harsan caught the glint of a circular golden pendant upon his breast. It was a replica of the Seal of the Imperium.
This second man stepped forward and leaned over Harsan. He brushed absently at a lick of greying hair which partially hid his balding pate and unfolded a document. He smelled strongly of flowery Puru-o\.
“You are Harsan, priest of the Second Circle, of the Temple of Thumis? What is your lineage, please? You are Harsan hi-what?’ ’
“I have no lineage name,” Harsan muttered. “Who are you? Why—?”
A delicate hand emerged from the yellow shawl, palm down, two fingers extended, to show that no interruption would be brooked. “Then we must put you down as Harsan hiShahad— ‘Harsan of Slave-Lineage.’ ”
“I am no slave!” Harsan cried. “My parents are unknown, but—”
Small, pouched eyes blinked at him. “ ‘Two streams that join one another become the same.’ ” A pen scratched upon parchment.
“Why am I here? You know that I am a priest of the Temple of Thumis. I was seized illegally, dragged here with a lady, my comrade ...”
Another blink. “Legality is my concern indeed. I am Arkhane hiPurushqe, of the Clan of Sea Blue. The Petal Throne has honoured me with the post of Master of the Tolek Kana Pits. All that matters to me is legality, and what I seek now is to establish whether you are that Harsan whom this writ names.”
‘‘Writ? How can there be a writ? We were abducted from our rightful business—my temple was violated—Imperial soldiers were murdered—illegal—!” He struggled to get his thoughts together.
“Illegal? Not at all. Such a misconception shall shortly be dissipated, and you shall be satisfied that all is as it should be, in perfect order.”
Harsan could only make a strangled sound in his throat.
The other did not smile, but little crinkles of kindly humour appeared at the comers of his eyes. “Ohe, I dabble not in politics! What is done is no affair of
mine, any more than it is yours to orchestrate the courses of the moons. No, I only serve here, young man. Those who come to me are treated precisely as their writs command. If it be ordered that a man may have his family about him, then so it is done: there are those here whose children and grandchildren were bom within their cells, and whole families that have not seen the light of day for three generations. On the other hand, if it be decreed that another is to have flowerpots and bolsters and fine viands, then do I provide these things most amply. And if a third person is remanded to the impaling stake to dance his last jig, then this is what is written in his Skein of Destiny. My ancestors have served here in this capacity through many reigns and a multitude of changes, and always have we performed our duties with acuity and circumspection. No, your rights shall not be violated here, young man, and you shall receive whatever honours and dignities are enjoined for you—or else suffer such other treatments as may be commanded.”
Harsan bit his tongue in sheer frustration. “At least tell me why I am here! What does this writ say? Who has signed it?” “It was signed by myself, priest Harsan.”
Harsan wrenched himself around to see that the dais was now occupied. A figure in the brown robes and cowl of an Adept of the Temple of Sarku sat there.
“At this time I pray to be excused,, mighty one.” Arkhane hiPurushqe bowed low.
“Your task is done. Stay or go as you will.” The voice was soft and colourless, with no rise or fall of intonation.
The figure arose, and Harsan saw the skull-painted face of the man for the first time: features like a slab of dry and weathered wood in which two marbles of black glass had been set for eyes.
The near-lipless mouth moved as though it had no connection with those terrible, empty orbs.
“Where is Hele’a? Let him be brought to us.” A guard sketched a bow and hurried out.
“Who—who are you?”
“Silence!” The old man who had entered with the Master of the Pits spoke for the first time. “You address a Prince of the Imperium incorrectly.”
“A Prince—!” Harsan choked. He tried again, employing the highest pronoun he had ever learned, the “You of Supernal Omnipotence.”
“Mighty Prince, I—I knew you not.”
“Your usage is still erroneous, priest. You do not address my father upon the Petal Throne in Avanthar. The appropriate pronoun for my rank is Toquntusmidalisa, the ‘You of Awed Wonder.’ ”
“I pray you—”
“Pray if you will. We are not immune to prayer, particularly if it be accompanied by the proper offerings. In this we humbly ape the almighty Gods.” The lips did not smile, but the cowled head turned from side to side as if seeking the approbation of those who sat below the dais. No one laughed.
“Loose his bonds somewhat, Vridekka. I am not accustomed to discourse with the soles of a man’s feet. Let him sit up.” Spidery fingers plucked at the knots behind his back, the metal link clattered, and Harsan found that he could now rub life back into his numbed hands, although they remained bound behind him.
“I am Dhich’une, fourth Prince of the Imperium, priest. I am told that you possess certain items which are rightfully mine.”, The lips opened to reveal brown, chipped teeth, like shards of chert. “Just now you mentioned illegality to our useful Lord Arkhane. If you have studied anything of our laws, you know that all right and authority over every being and every thing within the Empire is vested in the Omniscient Emperor. From him do these prerogatives descend to us, his offspring, and thence to the proper agencies of our Imperial government.” “Great Prince—Lord—no one can question this. But I understood the Temple of Thumis to have custody of the Llyani relics, and all the temples were to study them there. Soldiers were set to see that this was done. Yet those soldiers were slain, Lord, and I—we—were kidnapped!”
“Lives, property, all within Tsolyanu belong to the Seal Emperor. If a peasant owns a Hmelu-beast, is it not his to slaughter whenever he requires its meat? Must he hold discourse with the animal like an advocate before he applies the knife?” “No—I mean, of course not, my Lord. But could not a command have been given to our temple to relinquish the relics into your custody without murder, without—?”
“There are reasons why that was not done.” A brown-swathed arm came up. “This discussion is at an end, young man. Now will I have those objects which you have concealed.”
The old man whom the Prince had named Vridekka approached the dais.
“Great and powerful Prince, may I speak? I have used my talent of mind-seeing, as you desired, and I—”
“Come nigh, Vridekka, and tell me.” The dark cowl bent down, and the greybeard whispered and gestured. The skull-face turned to Harsan again.
“My Mind-seer, Vridekka, informs me that the artifacts are there, just ‘around the comer,’ as you think of it. Your motives in this affair are commendable—and common to many young men. To you this is still a sort of game, a comradely loyalty to your temple, a proscription against being a ‘traitor’ to your superiors, and an innocent adherence to what you conceive to be your faith. All of these things are naught but adolescent romanticism. This is no basket of Die I-fruit to be concealed by a gang of temple acolytes from the dormitory-master!”
Hele’a had entered the room. He bowed before the dais and said, “My Lord Prince, the priest says that he is unable to bring the relics back—that they are too large for his elementary magical skills.”
Prince Dhich’une waved him back. “He lies, Hele’a. He can get them for us. Vridekka has seen into his mind.”
“Shall we then progress to further ministrations?”
“If need be. First, however, good Vridekka shall make another attempt, deeper this time.”
The seamed face of the old man swam before Harsan’s vision. Two tangled curtains of grey hair swung out on either side of the jutting chin. What was the creature about to do to him? Harsan felt a slight dizziness.
Now there was no one above him! Surprised, Harsan peered this way and that. Vridekka was at the dais holding something up to Prince Dhich’une in a fold of his robe. It was the white metal globe, smoking with frigid cold. How had that happened so quickly?
“This is what was immediately within, mighty Prince,” Vridekka was saying, “two halves of a Globe of Instruction.”
“The message within the Globe?”
“Gone, my Lord. It is blank. Someone has used it.”
The Prince gave a muttered curse. “The priest?”
“Possibly. Nay, probably. I could not penetrate his mind to any great depth. It is as though a seal has been laid upon certain regions of his brain. ’ ’
“Then?”
The old man mumbled again in the Prince’s ear. The latter arose and descended from the dais, coming to stand beside the table upon which Harsan sat.
“Our conversation grows prolonged, priest. You still possess something that belongs to me. More, the important matter is not physical—” the two halves of the metal sphere were held before him “—but rather the information these once contained. I will have it of you.”
“My Lord—mighty Prince, I—I cannot.” Somehow he could not bring his tongue to say otherwise. And a secret part of him rejoiced that the silvery-blue rod still seemed to be safe within, somewhere “around the comer.”
“I tire of your obduracy. Is this what is taught now in the Temple of Thumis? If so, I will have it purged of heresy and treason! Know that I am your superior, more than ever was your lowly Prior, or even the Lord Durugen hiNashomai, or the Grand Adept Gamulu himself.” He drew back and seemed to sigh, the passionless voice dropping to a whisper. “Let me tell you, then, why I do as I do. Mayhap it will save us all time, and you much pain.
“Know that the Yan Koryani are arrayed against us along our northern borders. You have heard of this in the city? Yet there are few to block their path. Those who should act are weak or vacillating. My older brother, Prince Eselne, plays at generalship, but he kicks his heels to the tune
of General Kettukal hiMraktine, who commands the First Legion, and who in turn dances for the traditionalists of the Military Party: men who can drill their troops upon the paradeground or fight a simple battle, but who have no more notion of high strategy than does a Chlen-bt&si of the Gods.
“The others? My eldest brother, Prince Rereshqala, feasts and diddles his whores in Jakalla, and Prince Mridobu, who is next above me in age, sings songs of praise to our father in Avanthar. He cares for nothing so much as popping a toady of his into some rich Imperial post, and popping the toadies of others out. And my sister, pretty Ma’in Kriithai? She holds court with dandies and foreigners in the governor’s palace here in Bey Sii.
They say that she has left the worship of placid Avanthe and has adopted the hedonism and bodily pleasures of Lady Dlamelish, a change that improves her not a whit were she to become our next Empress, may the Gods forfend!
“At this moment these are all of my siblings. Yet, as well you are aware, it is the custom of our land for an Emperor to conceal some of his offspring, to hand them over secretly through the Omnipotent Azure Legion to be brought up by important patrons: to the highest clans, the temples, even to lesser fosterings. The present situation may thus be changed in a trice. Some misguided clan or temple council may bring forth another princeling to add to my woes, and with the Yan Koryani in the north and the Mu’ugalavyani mouthing threats to the west—! It is now that I must act.”
“The temples, mighty Prince—the good of the Imperium—?”
“The priesthoods? They are crusted over with immoveable tradition, precedent, and protocol—even those of my own sect. By the time all of these fools have been neutralised or replaced, the Baron Aid of Yan Kor will be having supper in Khirgar! For I tell you one more thing, priest Harsan, and that is that any war to come will be fought with more than swords and spears! We have learned that Baron Aid sends a great black box, nigh as large as this chamber and drawn by many teams of Chlen-beasts, down the road toward the city of Hlikku. Our agents tell us that he calls it his ‘Weapon Without Answer,’ and that it holds powers of destruction greater than any army of men or any Sakbe road wall can withstand. To obtain this device, our people tell us further, the Baron has made a compact with some secret force of the ancients. If we are to combat this deadly thing, we must seek sorcerous machines of our own. My sources further tell me that your Man of Gold—oh, yes, I know something of what your relics speak—is just such an instrument. All I ask is that you give over the knowledge you have to them who have the need and the skill and the courage to use it.”
The Man of Gold Page 15
