“Why should . . . Oh!” Gidjabolgo's eyes widened in admiration:.” Oh, wicked Prince . . . O-grak will be well punished for the arrogance of thinking that he understands you.”
Forollkin held Gwerath in his arms and stroked her hair until she stopped sobbing.
“In Galkis,” he said quietly, “we believe that those who love each other will meet again beyond the Gate of Death.”
“My people thought the same,” whispered Gwerath. “I believed it too, when I believed in the Mountain Goddess. Now, I don't know, but being with you till the end of life is enough.”
*****
All the next day, the prisoners were left to sit idle in their tent while O-grak was in council with his captains. The noises of the camp - the rasp of boots on sand, the honing of blades, arrows striking wood in target practice, the crackle of driftwood cooking-fires, the fierce, guttural accents of Oraz and Mintaz - became maddeningly tedious as they were repeated again and again. All attempts at conversation lapsed into quarrels or self-pity.
At dusk, when the whine of insects dominated the other noises, a serf brought a basket of coarse bread and slabs of salt meat. He was accompanied by two warriors of O-grak's own household, who ordered the Prince to his feet.
“The Khan's wife would speak to you,” said one of the men, eyeing him curiously.
“The Khan orders it,” put in the other, “though if she were my wife. I would not allow it.”
“Your Khan has no respect for any custom that doesn't suit him,” murmured Gidjabolgo.
The Orazian chose not to hear and told the Prince to walk in front of him.
When they were outside, Kerish said kindly, “What the Khan orders is the fulfillment of a condemned man's wish. What could be more honorable?”
The warrior's face cleared. “I will tell the Men of the Household. They will be comforted and no doubt the snake will recover.”
“Shageesa is ill?”
Conscious of having said too much already, the warrior simply ordered him to walk faster.
Kerish was content to let the conversation drop so that he could devote himself to noting each detail of the route through the camp. The women's quarters were as far as possible from the temple of the Goddess. The tent of the Khan's wife was no larger, or more splendid, than the rest. Outside, the air was pungent with the smell of brine from the great tubs used for salting meat. Inside, the tent was crowded with cloaks and jerkins to be mended and banners to be stitched. Neeris herself was bent over a leather baldric, punching an uneven row of holes with her bone needle.
The other women stopped sewing and chattering as Kerish and his guard entered. The Khan's wife looked up to discover the cause of the sudden silence.
“We have brought him.” The warrior's voice was surly and Neeris stared at him dumbly, her fingers still stabbing at the leather.
“You wished to speak to me, Lady?” said Kerish gently.
With a visible effort, Neeris took courage and whispered, “Leave the Prince with me.”
“It would be better if we stayed,” said the second warrior.
Neeris looked desperately from the guards' stern faces to Kerish and he answered her appeal. “The Khan's wife has spoken, and the Khan charged you to obey her.”
“Yes, obey,” echoed Neeris.
“Then we must,” said the first warrior reluctantly. “We will wait outside your tent to take the prisoner back.”
When the two men had withdrawn, Neeris looked round at her ladies. They were all busily sewing again, but none the less intent on hearing every word of the conversation between their mistress and the captive Prince.
“Berka, fetch some wine.”
Neeris rose and led the Prince deeper into the tent.
Drawing aside a leather hanging she revealed the only private place allowed to her. The small space contained a bed, draped with a plain coverlet, a folding stool, a carrying chest for her clothes, and a bowl of polished bronze that served both for washing in and as a mirror. It was as austere as a priest's cell and told Kerish nothing of her character.
Neeris left the curtain open and sat down on the bed, offering the stool to Kerish. She stared at him for a moment, as if she was trying to make sure that he was real, and then whispered, “Is it true that my husband means to kill you? Sometimes he says things just to grieve me, or to laugh at me when I believe them too quickly. Is it true?”
Kerish nodded. “The Khan will execute me when Galkis falls.”
“But why?” Neeris seemed appalled. “Why? You are his captive, what harm could you do to Oraz? Perhaps he will kill you to make me more unhappy. He hates anyone to please me.”
“So do all husbands who think themselves unloved.”
“Why should I love him?” demanded Neeris, her grey eyes flecked with angry green. “He must hate me to treat me so cruelly!”
“He can't hate you,” protested Kerish. “He chose you, when he could have raised any lady in the Five Kingdoms to be his wife.”
“I was proud at first,” said Neeris bleakly, “but then the women told me that it was only because I am like his daughter.”
“And his first wife I suppose . . . It is true that he is unhappy because you are not like them.” Kerish smiled at her. “Lady, the only answer is to show him what you are like. Make him love you for yourself. That cannot be a hard task.”
Neeris looked bewildered. “But how can I show him?”
“Never be silent when you are angry, sad or happy,” advised Kerish, “that maddens the Khan. Tell him everything you feel and let him speak as freely to you.”
Neeris half turned away from him and drew one finger round and round the edge of the bronze bowl.
“Why should you care about my husband? He is your enemy and if he has said he is going to kill you, he will do it.”
“I care,” answered Kerish slowly, “because I know what it is like to love someone and receive indifference, or even dislike, in return.”
“I can't believe that! How could anyone who saw you not . . .” Neeris blushed. “I mean . . . I knew, the moment you spoke to me, that everything our people say about the Godborn must be false.”
“Lady, there is probably some truth in what the Men of the Five Kingdoms say about us. Galkians have different faults and different virtues from the Orazians, that is all.”
“Isn't it true that you are descended from Zeldin the Betrayer?” asked Neeris.
“We call him Zeldin the Gentle,” said Kerish. “Yes, it is true. Part of his divinity lies within us, deeply buried by centuries of pride, but perhaps it is the same with all people and in all countries. The Goddess Idaala dwells in your race. That is why she is jealous of every woman, and why the women of the Five Kingdoms are worthy of worship as well as love.”
“The Goddess herself?”
“Yes.” Kerish lifted Neeris's hand to his lips. “Let that strengthen you.”
“But then . . .”
Neeris broke off as Berka entered with the wine and their hands fell apart.
“Put it down and leave us,” said the Khan's wife boldly.
Kerish thought quickly. As the woman set down two earthenware bowls of red wine, he said, “Lady, I have heard a great deal about the songs of Oraz. Will you have your women sing for me?”
“Yes. “ Neeris looked bewildered. “If it will please you.”
She gave the order to Berka, and after a few minutes stringed instruments were tuned and a cheerful spinning song began.
“Your health.” Kerish raised his bowl in graceful salute. “We will not be overheard now.”
Neeris's eyes widened. “Ah, I should have thought. . .”
Kerish sipped his wine warily; even watered it was very strong. Accustomed to it from childhood, Neeris drank hers quickly and began again. “You say I should think and act and speak as I please, and that my husband will be glad?”
Kerish nodded. `Zeldin forgive me', he thought, as Neeris said impulsively, “I cannot let him kill you. If I help
you and your friends, will my husband love me for that?”
“He would be very angry,” answered Kerish, “and yet still honor you for it. But there is nothing you could do to help us without putting yourself in danger.”
“I don't care about that.”
Kerish flinched as Neeris echoed Gwerath's words.
“No one has ever minded what I thought before, or understood what I felt. Let me help you! I know you will think of a way.”
Kerish sighed. “There is perhaps one way. All we would ask is a chance to get to the water's edge. From there we will risk swimming the Jenze. Drowning, or even a stray arrow, would be better than a long captivity and execution at the end of it.”
“Can you all swim? The river is wide and I have heard that the currents are very strong.”
“All we ask is the chance to reach the Jenze,” repeated Kerish.
“There are always guards at your tent.” Neeris frowned. “I could bring weapons, hidden in the sleeves of my dress. If I told the guards that my husband had given me permission to visit the Princess, perhaps they might believe me . . .”
“Ask the Khan, there is no reason why he should refuse you that.”
Neeris twisted the crimson bracelet round and round her wrist as she thought. “The guards will come into the tent with me so how . . .”
“Order one of the guards to come in with you, before he has time to suggest it. We will distract him,” said Kerish, as if he were just thinking it out, “while you pass a dagger to Forollkin. Then you can call for the other guard and we'll deal with him too. We won't harm them unless we have to.”
“But how am I to get you through the camp?”
“It must be done at night.”
Neeris's face was lit with nervous excitement. “Tomorrow my husband will go to the north of the island to welcome the ships of Fangmere.”
“Let it be tomorrow then. Forollkin and I will wear the guards' cloaks and we'll be escorting you and Gwerath to the women's quarters. There's Gidjabolgo though . . . could you hide a cloak for him close by?”
“He's too short to wear a warrior's mantle. Couldn't you leave him behind?”
“No,” insisted Kerish. “He is our friend. A woman's cloak perhaps?”
The spinning song had ended and a soft chant began. Neeris dropped her voice, “I will have to trust one of my women. I can't come through the camp alone or everyone would notice. Berka will not betray me. She was my nurse in Mintaz and comes from the mountains.”
“It must appear that I have put a spell on you both,” said Kerish earnestly, “and that you cannot help yourselves. The Khan won't believe it, but his men probably will.”
Neeris nodded. “Oh yes. They are saying now that you have bewitched Shageesa. They don't blame you for it, but they say you're ill luck.”
“Is she very sick?”
“She won't eat, and it would be a terrible omen for the Towers of O-grak if she died.”
“I promise, I have done nothing to her,” began Kerish as Berka hurried in.
“The guards keep asking for the Prince,” she said, eyeing Kerish with disapproval. “There will be talk all through the camp.”
“Say that he is coming.”
When her nurse had gone, Neeris turned again to Kerish. “Tell me quickly what else I must do.”
Kerish told her his plan as concisely as he could, and prayed that she would remember. By now they could hear the guards' suspicious voices.
“Lady, you have great courage.”
As they got up, they were screened from the rest of the tent.
“Khan O-grak chose better than he knew,” said Kerish and he kissed her, first gently on the cheek, and then firmly on the mouth.
“Trust me,” whispered Neeris, “I won't fail you.”
Chapter 5
The Book of the Emperors: Promises
And Zeldin said to Mikeld-lo-Taan, “The last of my gifts to you is sorrow. I will carry the griefs of Galkis and you, my son, and all the generations of your children, shall understand a little of that burden.”
Just after dawn, O-grak visited his prisoners. He was splendidly dressed in burnished snakeskin and embroidered leather. Bronze chains spanned his chest and a great horn of crimson-stained ivory hung from his badly stitched baldric.
“We are dazzled, Khan,” said Kerish coolly. “What is the meaning of all this splendor?”
O-grak swirled round to display the full magnificence of his cloak.
“What? Can a mere barbarian impress a Prince of the Godborn; or indeed a Princess of the Sheyasa, whose tribe no doubt outshines all the Five Kingdoms?”
“In modesty at least,” snapped Gwerath.
The Khan roared with laughter. “Well said, Princess of Irollga. The splendor is for the Men of Fangmere. I go to sound the Bloodhorn, to welcome their fleet to Vaish.”
“They have come quickly,” said Forollkin bitterly, “in spite of your argument over Kerish.”
“I know the extent of their pride like the length of my fingers,” answered O-grak carelessly. “Should you think to take advantage of my absence, Forollkin, my captains have orders to check with your guards once in every half-hour, just to make sure that you're safe in your tent.”
“We are honored by such diligence,” said Kerish lightly.
O-grak nodded and continued to pace around the tent. “And thank you,” continued the Prince, “for letting me speak to your wife.”
“It was a pretty trick to make her women sing,” growled O-grak, “but I don't blame you for it. If you guessed that I would set one of the women to listen, you were right. I was sorry I had, when she reported your words to me.”
O-grak stopped pacing and stared intently at Kerish. “You torment me with your innocence, Prince.”
“Forgive me, Khan,” said Kerish, with perfect composure. “I will try to make amends.”
O-grak left for the north of the island and all through that long day the prisoners rehearsed the parts they might each have to play. Their joint memories of the layout of the camp were rigorously examined and more than once the whole plan was rejected as hopeless. Through fierce whispered arguments, Kerish clung stubbornly to his faith in Neeris and eventually he asked the others to leave him alone.
While the Prince sat hunched up, with his head resting on his knees, thinking or praying, Forollkin tried to hearten Gwerath by making plans of what they would do in Galkis. Gidjabolgo picked up Kerish's zildar and plucked it idly.
Most of the noon meal was put aside to be carried with them. Forollkin was worried about a supply of water and wondered whether to take the ewer, but Gidjabolgo shook his head. “They'll never believe we've swum for it, if we take that.”
Their second meal was brought just after dusk. Forollkin added three portions to the store of food already bound up in the sash of Kerish's tunic but Gidjabolgo insisted on eating his, declaring that it might be the last pleasure he'd ever have.
That roused Kerish. “Perhaps we should pray together,” he said hesitantly, “before Neeris comes.”
Kerish reached for Forollkin's hand and held out his own crippled hand to Gidjabolgo.
“Life is the only desire we're likely to have in common,” said the Forgite, “but I'll ask that of anyone.”
Forollkin gripped Gwerath's hand and she touched Gidjabolgo, completing the circle. They sat in silence for a long time. Then, from outside the tent, came the gentle murmur of Neeris's voice.
Kerish tensed, willing her to be strong enough to resist the other voices he heard raised in protest. He pictured Neeris filled with gentle authority, beauty flooding into her face as she forgot her own troubles for his sake. No, not for my sake, Kerish corrected himself wryly, for a royal stranger, a Prince of daydreams.
The circle broke as the tent-flap was flung open. One of their two guards entered with Neeris and Berka. Both women were heavily cloaked but Kerish noticed that the guards had relieved Neeris of the dagger she wore as her only mark of rank. Their tent
had been checked when the food was brought. Kerish calculated that they had about twenty minutes before the next check. It was hardly long enough to reach the edge of the camp, even if all went well, but it would have to be this moment or never.
“My Lady,” the Prince bowed and smiled encouragingly, but Neeris stood dumb, her pale face pinched with strain.
`She will run away', thought Kerish, `and I have made her believe that this is her only chance'.
“Prince. . .” The single word echoed with cries for help.
“Gwerath,” began Kerish calmly, “I have asked Lady Neeris if she will take you into her care. She has done us the kindness to agree. Will you be as kind and consent to live?”
Forollkin stepped as close to Neeris as the guard would allow. “I thank you with all my heart,” he began stiffly.
Gidjabolgo stood right against the canvas at the far side of the tent, listening for the slow footsteps of the other guard. He nodded at the Galkians.
“The Princess will thank you too,” said Kerish, “when her grieving is over.”
“No,” cried Gwerath, “never!”
“It is true,” said the guard unexpectedly, “women don't weep for long and it's bad luck to kill one.”
“Then give me your dagger and let me kill myself!” Gwerath flung herself at the warrior, who covered the hilt of his dagger with one hand and warded her off with the other. Gwerath bit the hand that tried to hold her back. The man swore and struck out, just as Neeris slipped the knife hidden in her sleeve to Forollkin.
A sharp blow sent Gwerath reeling backwards, but before the warrior could straighten, Forollkin was holding the knife to his throat, whispering, “If you move or speak, your blood goes to your goddess.” Beads of blood already flecked the blade and the man stopped struggling. “Stand back, Lady,” breathed Forollkin, “or your warrior will die. Gidjabolgo, take his weapons.”
The Forgite unslung the shield and the long spear from across the man's back and wrenched the dagger from his belt. Forollkin forced the warrior to the side of the tent and set Gidjabolgo to guard him at spearpoint. Then the young Galkian positioned himself just inside the tent-flap. The whole maneuver had taken no more than forty seconds.
The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) Page 9
