Every word struck Harsan as logical and reasonable. Prince Dhich’une was supported by law, custom, and the traditions of authority drummed into every Tsolyani child as soon as it was old enough to speak. This was also plainly beyond the ken of a simple priest. “Let those fly who have the plumage,” as his Pe Choi tutors used to say.
He opened his mouth to speak, to tell all he knew of the Man of Gold, where it lay, how it was to be employed, what the silvery rod did. But something sealed his lips as tightly as though they belonged to a dead man! Did the orders of his superiors still constrain him? He did not think so any more. Why, then, could he not reveal what he possessed?
He strove to speak again but his tongue refused to move. How could this be? Was it the terrifying nature of this strange, emotionless man and the dark emissaries who served him? The violence and callous political pragmatism that the Prince evinced? All legal right was vested in Prince Dhich’une, whatever the arguments of other factions or sects. Who was he, Harsan— hiShahad, “of Slave-Lineage”—to refuse? By all the Gods...
No words would come. Had he been magicked all unawares by those in the Temple of Eternal Knowing? Or was there some injunction inherent within the thing the Prince had named a Globe of Instruction itself?
Prince Dhich’une was speaking again. “I can give you little time to plot your course, priest Harsan. You are still perhaps under the thrall of the hoary rivalry between your Lords of Stability and mine of Change? There is more at stake here than that!” The skull-face again approached Harsan’s own. “I regret dealing with you so roughly, young man, but I am used to playing with opponents who can match me wager for wager and throw for throw—not against those who must pit their poor copper against my gold! If I have taken stringent measures, it is because I play to win. This game is no pastime from which we can all arise yawning and go off happily to our beds.”
“Mighty Prince—”
“You would consider my arguments? You shall have the chance, though it must be brief.—Vridekka, remove his bonds, give him water or wine, food if he desires it, and the freedom of this chamber. We return later.”
One more thought struck Harsan, and this his tongue uttered easily: “What of my companion, the Lady Eyil hiVriyen?”
The pale, wooden features turned back to him. “Why, it is she whom I now go to visit.”
The Prince’s entourage swept from the room, and Harsan was left alone to ponder.
Chapter Sixteen
The racking screech of the metal door brought Eyil to her feet. She thrust herself back against the rough stone of the wall of the cell. The braided leather cord had been removed, and she had been left her street-cloak. This she wrapped more tightly around her.
Two guards with torches ranged themselves on either side of the door and made way for a third man to enter. The smoky glare made her squint, but she recognised him at once and knelt before him upon the flagging, as was proper to a Prince of the Imperium.
“Mighty Prince Dhich’une ...”
“Stand up, girl. This is no court ceremonial. You are the Lady Eyil hiVriyen, of the Green Kirtle Clan of Tumissa, priestess of the Fourth Circle of the Temple of Hrihayal. Why so surprised? My people uncovered hints of your Temple’s plans, and thus my faithful Hele’a had some discourse with your maidservant Tsatla whilst you were on the road. Hele’a’s net swept you up along with the other fish, unfortunately for you.”
“Harsan? Where is he?”
“Presently well, having a cup of wine, and considering my eminently logical postulations, as should any good priest of the Lord of Wisdom. You shall see him soon. If all goes as I propose, neither of you will come to any harm.”
She said nothing. Prince Dhich’une took a turn around the little cell, affecting to inspect the walls, the filthy granite water basin set in the comer, the green-corroded waterpipe, the bronze fittings of the door.
At length he said, “I hope that you have not been too discomfited by all of this. A sister-priestess of the Lords of Change should not suffer unduly at my hands.”
Again Eyil made no answer.
“So, then.” He turned back to her, and she saw that he had the two halves of the white metal sphere in one hand. “You see, Lady, the race is over. The Globe is mine. Your High Priestess, the Lady Misenla hiQurrodu, must now abandon her excursions into Imperial politics and go back to gulling fat old degenerates out of their gold.—Or return to my brother, Prince Eselne, and dream her dreams of becoming an Imperial Consort in the Golden Tower.”
“Mighty Prince, I know nothing of this.” She clutched her cloak to her in an instinctive, defensive gesture.
“Dissemble with me at your peril, priestess! My servant—” he gestured at a stooped, elderly man who stood peering in at her through the open doorway, “—tells me that you are no lover—in any sense of the term—of the Lady Misenla. You cling to the more moderate faction of your temple and are no member of her Clan of the Emerald and Silver Crown. She could not have known that when she commanded that a clever and resourceful woman be sent from Tumissa to join this priest Harsan on the road and dazzle him into giving up his secrets! It is from this that your Skein begins to unravel: though Misenla does not work with me in this venture, yet we had warned her to keep her people far from the Temple of Eternal Knowing this night! Were you close in her councils, she would have told you. But she trusts you not, Lady. Ill luck for you!”
“A priest of Lord Ksarul—Kerektu hiKhanmu—met me in the street earlier—when I entered the Temple of Eternal Knowing in search of Harsan. He hinted that something was afoot. I—I ignored him.”
“You should have listened. He is an ally of ours—a member of the Black Robes’ secret Ndalu Clan, the faction of their faith that seeks political action and is hence closest to my own. We had warned them as well.”
She rubbed a dirt-smudged hand across her cheek in puzzlement. “Mighty Prince, how—how do you know so much about my— loyalties?” She peered past him at the old man. “Ah. He—?” v “Ai, Vridekka. He sees into your mind.” The thin lips split in an imitation of a smile. “Under these conditions it is impossible for one of your Circle to block him out. He spears your thoughts as easily as a Ghatoni spears fish. His skills are invaluable here in the Tolek Kana Pits, for else we should waste much time in prodding it all out of you with less pleasant methods.”
Eyil let her shoulders droop, most prettily she hoped. “What would you of me, mighty Prince?”
He resumed his restless pacing. “I shall be frank with you, girl, for time is short. Vridekka informs me that this Globe of Instruction contained not only information about a—a device of the ancients, but also a powerful spell, a Mind-Bar. Do you know what that is?”
She nodded mutely.
“Your Harsan does not know it himself, but he can no more tell me where this instrument is than he can swallow Thenu Thendraya Peak! Were every torment in the Five Empires to be applied to him, he would still remain as dumb as a AVzo-squash. He cannot reveal what he knows—at least not to those whom he intuitively identifies as foes. The ancients wrought so skillfully that they have cost us both time and possibly certain counters— but not yet the game.”
“Then how will you overcome this thing?”
“You have been told what we seek? The Man of Gold?” He shot her a glance and nodded sardonically at the expression upon her face. “At least your superiors have enlightened you to that extent! If we cannot wriggle our way past this Mind-Bar, then the Man of Gold remains as safe in its hiding place as is my father in his Golden Tower at Avanthar.”
Eyil would have answered with yet another question, but the old man gave an apologetic cough. Prince Dhich’une went to confer with him in tones too low for her hearing. After a moment the bone-white features turned back to her.
“I have further disquieting news for you, girl. Your petty priestling suspects your allegiance and your affections. Vridekka has also seen this in his mind. Your masquerade was not as perfect as you had imagined. Yet I
believe that my original strategem will work, notwithstanding. You see, I know you to be unsure, irresolute in your feelings—though you may not admit as much even to yourself. You do care for this Harsan, more than your superiors would wish, and likely more than you desire in your own mind. You are not immune to him any more than he is to you. Indeed, were it not for your training—and your passion for those fripperies which no lowly priest of Thumis could ever buy you—you would mayhap be content to wander off and raise his dull brats on a farm somewhere. Eh, girl?”
She could not deny the gaze of those black marble eyes. She lowered her head and let her black tresses fall about her face. She did not push them away again.
“You are here, and you must choose. Will you swim with me, or will you sink with your emerald and purple Goddess?”
“I can never do Harsan ill, mighty Prince. Your Mind-seer has already seen it in my heart.”
“Join me in this, and he comes to none. Decide.”
“What must I do, my Lord?”
“We have two arrows for our target, Lady. Vridekka claims that though this Mind-Bar prevents speech, it may not hinder actions—particularly those that are strongly willed and desired. While he may not be able to speak of the Man of Gold or even draw us a map of its location, he can assuredly be got to guide us to it and demonstrate is workings. The encouragement to do so will be potent enough, I think.”
“And—I am to provide the—this motivation?”
“You have seen it, priestess. The most ancient and obvious measures will be attempted first. You shall appeal to his romanticism, his protectiveness, and his masculinity. These ideals have plagued humankind since before the Gods walked upon Tekumel, and well do you know how to compose pretty melodies with them! His affection for you will overcome all else, and he will guide us to the Man of Gold as prettily as the golden Sahulen-bird leads the hunters back to her nest.”
“But if he has recognised me for—what I am—then what hold have I upon him? You say that Harsan must have a strong and conscious desire to guide you to the Man of Gold? Of what use, then, am I? He will turn his face away from me.”
"Unlikely. He is young and sees himself as gallant. He is steeped in the chivalry of the epics; he yearns for the highminded demeanour of the ancient heroes. No, he will not fail you, girl. We have only to display you to him in what appears to be deadly peril, and he will jump to lead us to his precious relics. It will be hard even for the ancients’ dusty Mind-Bar to compete with the hotblooded heroism of youth!”
“Still, if he refuses? The spells of the old ones are mighty ...” “We have not shot our second arrow as yet. There are ways and ways, my Lady. While he is bemused by your apparent plight, Vridekka here will again stab like a dagger into his mind. He will be distracted, and that in itself may be enough to penetrate the spell. Once we discover where the thing lies, we shall take you both there and see to it that he continues to have the will—nay, the heartfelt determination—to expound the secrets of the device.”
“You—you speak of my apparent plight, mighty Prince. You will not—”
“Hurt you? Not unless I must. I am no slippery-eyed, wetlipped pervert to take pleasure in the shrieks of little boys and slavegirls in the privacy of my bedchamber!” The strange eyes seemed to look right through her. “I do what I must to gain my goals and no more. The Lord of Worms cares nothing for the pleasures of this world, nor do we who serve him yearn for the paradises of the Gods. Rather do we prefer existence here, in this universe: life everlasting in the reality that lies in and beyond the tomb.”
“But—is not Lord Sarku the Master of the Undead?” “Naively put, but true. We who follow Him seek to remain here, forever, in all our consciousness and powers. There is then no difference between this state of life and that of death. If you call existence beyond the end of life ‘Undead,’ then so be it. Its real meaning is the survival of the mind, the will, the personality. We of the faith of Lord Sarku prefer no journeys into the unknown Planes that lie beyond this one—no voyages to the Isles of the Excellent Dead, there to be shunted into paradise or hell at the whim of some unfathomable God! We would stay here, alive and conscious, upon this Plane. The grave may be an end for most, but for us it is only the beginning of true existence. ” She thrust her fingers into her long tresses to press her temples. “Oh, my Lord Prince, you confuse me. The grave is dark and ugly—fearsome—!”
“Fearsome? Why? It is only another stage of being. There is no road that does not lead to the grave, girl! There is no story that has a happy ending. Let the singers chant the deeds of heroes; let Avanthe’s followers prate of survival through one’s children and the generations to come; let those of your persuasion forget the future and tumble together upon their couches of pleasure; let the priesthoods of Stability preach of light and purity and the joys of the Isles of the Excellent Dead! Nothing avails. Death is all. Life is fleeting, but death is eternal!” The horrible skull-mask leaned close to her. “Yet death can be made sweet; it can be made into life—of a most satisfactory sort—a life that can be prolonged, lengthened, made to last as long as the will exists.”
“Oh yes, I know.” Eyil could not help herself. “But at the cost of joy—the death of pleasure—the end of delight.” She shook her hair back from her face. “If these things be lacking, mighty Prince, then you speak not of life but of a travesty—!” “Your teachers have taught you your catechisms well, girl. A travesty? Not so! What is life, after all, but the ability to retain one’s intellect, to be conscious, to will, to act? Ohe, but you must think it through, little priestess! Consider that you, too, will dance for but a few short years more. Then your loveliness will fade, men will avert their eyes from your wrinkles, and in the end you will come back to Him—back to the Worm, as must all do who wear this shell of flesh. Are you wise in sacrificing eternity for those organs which you treasure there between your legs? Dead indeed will you be—and so forevermore—whilst I shall live and rule and go on to see generation upon generation of you transitory little creatures pass away before me into the dust! The lifetime of a summer moth instead of the eternal perpetuation of the intellect? A poor trade, girl! I have made sacrifices— terrible sacrifices—and I shall continue to make them, for the game is well worth the throw!”
He stood so close to her that she breathed in the cold, musty scent of his flesh. She drew away until the dank stones of the wall pressed into her back.
“I cannot believe—I can never agree that such an empty and passionless existence is to be desired!”
“Little I care for your desires, priestess!” He slashed the air with one corpse-painted hand. “Now I shall tell you precisely what you are to do. Cry out to your Harsan, cozen him, play upon his heart! He will respond. Even though he knows you false a thousand times over, yet he will surrender. His body calls out to you, just as yours does to him. No, he will not refuse you, Lady Eyil.”
“And if he guides you to this Man of Gold? You will slay him—us?”
“Did I not say that I gain no pleasure from harming small things? No, I shall command Vridekka to blur his mind for a time, so that he may not recall aught of this. Then I will see him placed in some rural temple, far away, where he can follow his own little Skein of Destiny. You may accompany him there, if you desire it.” The hollow black eyes bored into her. “But mayhap your love of ease and pleasure is too strong? In that case you may return to your temple. I shall see that you do not go empty-handed, for I wish no lasting quarrel with your Lady Misenla. She will be pleased at your success in bedazzling the priest. Ohe, she will forgive you for your lack of zeal in her cause—take you into her Clan of Emerald and Silver, promote you, whatever you wish. And why? Because I shall give you certain real secrets to lay into her hands: things of interest, yes, but not the Man of Gold.” He watched her carefully: her unconsciously artful pose, the loose tresses that swung beside the curve of her cheek, her long, wary, clever eyes. “You can then go on in your practice of the Thirty-Two Unspeakable Acts of
your Goddess until you are too old to care—or until you achieve the final orgasmic self-immolation of the Thirty-Second Act itself! Your future will be assured until at last you go to join your ephemeral comrades in the tomb. Then indeed will it be too late to remember my words ...”
“And if I refuse to join you in this thing? If I remain loyal to Harsan?”
“You know your own body better than that, Lady Eyil.” “Then if I remain devoted to my temple?” she cried. “You must know, my Lord, that I serve my Goddess—in my way, if not in Lady Misenla’s—just as you are obedient to your cold and undead master!”
A hand like that of a corpse smeared with oily clay came up to touch her chin, and she shrank away. “Then your pain will be real, girl, and my plan will progress all the same. As you see, it revolves around Harsan and not really about you. If you thwart me, then know that afterwards, when the Man of Gold is mine, the last embrace you will feel will be that of the impalers of the Legion of Ketl, and your final orgasm will be kicked out on high, there above the battlements of this place. Fail me not, my Lady.”
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