“Go back!” Nayila cried. “Stay away! I warn you!”
“Thallimon! Thallimon!”
“I warn you, keep out of here!”
They paid no attention. They thundered forward like a herd of maddened bidlaks, charging without heeding anything before them. As Khitain watched in dismay, Nayila signaled to one of the gatemen, who briefly deactivated the energy barrier, long enough for Nayila to shove the cage of dhiims forward into the plaza, yank open the bolt that fastened its door, and dart back behind the safety of the hazy pink glow.
“No,” Khitain muttered. “Not even for the sake of defending the park—no—no—”
The dhiims streamed from their cage with such swiftness that one little animal blurred into the next, and they became an airborne river of golden fur and frantic black wings.
They sped upward, thirty, forty feet, and then turned and swooped down with terrible force and implacable voracity, plunging into the vanguard of the mob as though they had not eaten in months. Those under attack did not seem at first to realize what was happening to them; they tried to sweep the dhiims away with irritated backhand swipes, as one might try to sweep away annoying insects. But the dhiims would not be swept away so easily. They dived and struck and tore away strips of flesh, and flew upward to devour their meat in mid-air, and came swooping down again. The new Lord Thallimon, spurting blood from a dozen wounds, tumbled from his palanquin and went sprawling to the ground. The dhiims closed in, returning to those in the front line who had already been wounded, and slicing at them again and again, burrowing deep, twisting and tugging at strands of exposed muscle and the tenderer tissues beneath them. “No,” said Khitain over and over, from his vantage point behind the gate. “No. No. No.” The furious little creatures were merciless. The mob was in flight, people screaming, running in all directions, a chaos of colliding bodies as they sought to find the road back down to Ni-moya, and those who had fallen lay in scarlet pools as the dhiims dived and dived and dived again. Some had been laid bare to the bone—mere rags and scraps of flesh remaining, and that too being stripped away. Khitain heard sobbing; and only after a moment realized that it was his own.
Then it was all over. A strange silence settled over the plaza. The mob had fled; the victims on the pavement no longer moaned; the dhiims, sated, hovered briefly over the scene, wings whirring, and then rose one by one into the night and flew off, the Divine only knew where.
Yarmuz Khitain, trembling, shaken, walked slowly away from the gate. The park was saved. The park was saved. Turning, he looked toward Vingole Nayila, who stood like an avenging angel with his arms outspread and his eyes blazing.
“You should not have done that,” Khitain said in a voice so choked with shock and loathing that he could barely get the words out.
“They would have destroyed the park.”
“Yes, the park is saved. But look—look—”
Nayila shrugged. “I warned them. How could I let them destroy all we have built here, just to have a little fresh meat?”
“You should not have done it, all the same.”
“You think so? I have no regrets, Yarmuz. Not one.” He considered that a moment. “Ah: there is one. I wish I had had time to put a few of the dhiims aside, for our collection. But there was no time, and they are all far away by now, and I have no wish to go back to Borgax and look for others. I regret nothing else, Yarmuz. And I had no choice but to turn them loose. They have saved the park. How could we have let those madmen destroy it? How, Yarmuz? How?”
THOUGH IT WAS barely past dawn, brilliant sunlight illuminated the wide and gentle curves of the Glayge Valley when Hissune, rising early, stepped out on the deck of the riverboat that was carrying him back toward Castle Mount.
Off to the west, where the river made a fat bend into a district of terraced canyons, all was misty and hidden, as though this were time’s first morning. But when he looked toward the east Hissune saw the serene red-tiled roofs of the great city of Pendiwane glowing in the early light, and far upriver the sinuous low shadow of the Makroposopos waterfront was just coming into view. Beyond lay Apocrune, Stangard Falls, Nimivan, and the rest of the valley cities, home to fifty million people or more. Happy places where life was easy; but now the menacing aura of imminent disruption hung over these cities, and Hissune knew that all up and down the Glayge people were waiting, wondering, fearing.
He wanted to stretch forth his arms to them from the prow of the riverboat, to enfold them all in a warm embrace, to cry out, “Fear nothing! The Divine is with us! All will be well!”
But was it true?
No one knows the will of the Divine, Hissune thought. But, lacking that knowledge, we must shape our destinies according to our sense of what is fitting. Like sculptors we carve our lives out of the raw stone of the future, hour by hour by hour, following whatever design it is that we hold in our minds; and if the design is sound and our carving is done well, the result will seem pleasing when the last chisel-stroke is made. But if our design is slapdash and our carving is hasty, why, the proportions will be inelegant and the balance untrue. And if the work thus be faulty, can we say it was the will of the Divine that it is so? Or, rather, only that our plan was poorly conceived?
My plan, he told himself, must not be poorly conceived. And then all will be well; and then it will be said that the Divine was with us.
Throughout the swift river-journey northward he shaped and reshaped it, as he traveled past Jerrik and Ghiseldorn and Sattinor where the upper Glayge flowed from the foothills of Castle Mount. By the time he reached Amblemorn, southwesternmost of the Fifty Cities of the Mount, the design of what had to be done was clear and strong in his mind.
Here it was impossible to continue farther by the river, for Amblemorn was where the Glayge was born out of the host of tributaries that came tumbling down out of the Mount, and none of those lesser rivers was navigable. By floater, then, he proceeded up the flank of the Mount, through the ring of Slope Cities and that of Free Cities and that of Guardian Cities, past Morvole, where Elidath was born, and Normork of the great wall and the great gate, past Huyn, where the leaves of all the trees were scarlet or crimson or ruby or vermilion, past Greel of the crystal palisade and Sigla Higher of the five vertical lakes, and onward still, to the Inner Cities, Banglecode and Bombifale and Peritole and the rest, and on, on, the party of floaters racing up the enormous mountain.
“It is more than I can believe,” said Elsinome, who was making this journey at her son’s side. Never had she ventured from the Labyrinth at all, and to begin her travels in the world by the ascent of Castle Mount was no small assignment. Her eyes were as wide as a small child’s, Hissune observed with pleasure, and there were days when she seemed so surfeited with miracles that she could scarcely speak.
“Wait,” he said. “You have seen nothing.”
Through Peritole Pass to Bombifale Plain, where the decisive battle of the war of restoration had been fought, and past the wondrous spires of Bombifale itself, and up another level to the zone of the High Cities—the mountain road of gleaming red flagstone led from Bombifale to High Morpin, then through fields of dazzling flowers along the Grand Calintane Highway, and up and up until Lord Valentine’s Castle loomed overwhelmingly at the summit of all, sending its tentacles of brick and masonry wandering in a thousand directions over the crags and peaks.
As his floater entered the Dizimaule Plaza outside the southern wing, Hissune was startled to see a delegation of welcomers waiting for him. Stasilaine was there, and Mirigant, and Elzandir, and a retinue of aides. But not Divvis.
“Have they come to hail you as Coronal?” Elsinome asked, and Hissune smiled and shook his head.
“I doubt that very much,” he said.
As he strode toward them across the green porcelain cobblestones he wondered what changes had occurred here during his absence. Had Divvis proclaimed himself Coronal? Were his friends here to warn him to flee while he had the chance? No, no, they were smiling; they cl
ustered round, they embraced him jubilantly.
“What news?” Hissune asked.
“Lord Valentine lives!” cried Stasilaine.
“The Divine be praised! Where is he now?”
“Suvrael,” said Mirigant. “He is a guest at Palace Barjazid. So says the King of Dreams himself, and we have this very day had confirming word from the Coronal.”
“Suvrael!” Hissune repeated in wonder, as though he had been told that Valentine had taken himself off to some unknown continent in the midst of the Great Sea, or to some other world entirely. “Why Suvrael? How did he get there?”
“He came forth from Piurifayne in the land of Bellatule,” Stasilaine replied, “and the unruliness of the dragons kept him from sailing north; and also Piliplok, as I think you know, is in rebellion. So the Bellatule folk took him to the southland, and there he has forged an alliance with the Barjazids, who will use their powers to bring the world back to sanity.”
“A bold move.”
“Indeed. He sails shortly for the Isle to meet again with the Lady.”
“And then?” Hissune asked.
“That is not yet determined.” Stasilaine peered closely at Hissune. “The shape of the months ahead is not clear to us.”
“I think it is to me,” said Hissune. “Where is Divvis?”
“He has gone hunting today,” Elzandir said. “In the forest by Frangior.”
“Why, that is an unlucky place for his family!” Hissune said. “Is that not where his father Lord Voriax was slain?”
“So it is,” said Stasilaine.
“I hope he is more careful,” Hissune said. “There are great tasks ahead for him. And it surprises me that he is not here, if he knew that this was the day of my return from the Labyrinth.” To Alsimir he said, “Go, summon my lord Divvis: tell him there must be a session of the Council of Regency at once, and I await him.” Then he turned to the others and said, “I have committed a grave discourtesy, my lords, in the first excitement of speaking here with you. For I have left this good woman to stand unintroduced, and that is not proper. This is the lady Elsinome, my mother, who for the first time in her life beholds the world that lies beyond the Labyrinth.”
“My lords,” she said, with color coming to her cheeks, but her face otherwise betraying no confusion, no embarrassment.
“The lord Stasilaine—Prince Mirigant—Duke Elzandir of Chorg—”
Each in turn saluted her with the highest respect, almost as though she were the Lady herself. And she received those salutes with a poise and presence that sent shivers of the most extreme delight through Hissune.
“Let my mother be taken,” he said, “to the Pavilion of Lady Thiin, and given a suite worthy of some great hierarch of the Isle. I will join the rest of you in the council-chamber in an hour.”
“An hour is not sufficient time for the lord Divvis to return from his hunt,” said Mirigant mildly.
Hissune nodded. “So I comprehend. But it is not my fault that the Lord Divvis has chosen this day to go to the forest; and there is so much that needs to be said and done that I think we must begin before he arrives. My lord Stasilaine, will you concur with me in that?”
“Most surely.”
“Then two of the three Regents are in agreement. It is sufficient to convene. My lords, the council-chamber in an hour?”
They were all there when Hissune, cleansed and in fresh robes, entered the hall fifty minutes later. Taking his seat at the high table beside Stasilaine, he glanced about at the assembled princes and said, “I have spoken with Hornkast, and I have beheld the Pontifex Tyeveras with my own eyes.” There was a stirring in the room, a gathering of tension.
Hissune said, “The Pontifex still lives. But it is not life as you or I understand it. He no longer speaks, even in such howls and shrieks as have been his recent language. He lives in another realm, far away, and I think it is the realm that lies just on this side of the Bridge of Farewells.”
“And how soon, then, is he likely to die?” asked Nimian of Dundilmir.
“Oh, not soon, even now,” replied Hissune. “They have their witcheries that can keep him for some years yet, I think, from making his crossing. But I believe that that crossing cannot now be much longer allowed to wait.”
“It is Lord Valentine’s decision to make,” said the Duke of Halanx.
Hissune nodded. “Indeed. I will come to that in a little while.” He rose and walked to the world-map, and laid his hand over the heart of Zimroel. “While traveling to and from the Labyrinth I received the regular dispatches. I know of the declaration of war against us made by the Piurivar Faraataa, whoever he may be; and I know that the Metamorphs now have begun to launch not only agricultural plagues into Zimroel but also a horde of ghastly new animals that create terrible havoc and fear. I am aware of the famine in the Khyntor district, the secession of Piliplok, the rioting in Ni-moya. I am not aware of what is taking place west of Dulorn, and I think no one is, this side of the Rift. I know also that western Alhanroel is rapidly approaching the chaotic condition of the other continent, and that the disruptions are heading swiftly eastward, even to the foothills of the Mount. In the face of all this we have done very little of a concrete nature so far. The central government appears to have vanished entirely, the provincial dukes are behaving as though they are altogether independent of one another, and we remain gathered on Castle Mount high above the clouds.”
“And what do you propose?” Mirigant asked.
“Several things. First, the raising of an army to occupy the borders of Piurifayne, to seal the province off, and to penetrate the jungle in search of Faraataa and his followers, which I grant you will be no easy quest.”
“And who will command this army?” said the Duke of Halanx.
“Permit me to return to that in a moment,” Hissune said. “To continue: we must have a second army, also to be organized in Zimroel, to occupy Piliplok—peacefully, if possible, otherwise by force—and restore it to its allegiance to the central government. Third, we must call a general conclave of all provincial rulers to discuss a rational allocation of food supplies, with the provinces not yet afflicted sharing what they have with those suffering from famine—making it dear, of course, that we are calling for sacrifice but not an intolerable sacrifice. Those provinces unwilling to share, if there are any, will face military occupation.”
“A great many armies,” said Manganot, “for a society that has so little in the way of a military tradition.”
“When armies have been needed,” Hissune replied, “we have been able to raise them somehow. This was true in Lord Stiamot’s time, and again during Lord Valentine’s war of restoration, and it will be the case again now, since we have no choice. I point out, though, that several informal armies already exist, under the leadership of the various self-proclaimed new Coronals. We can make use of those armies, and of the new Coronals themselves.”
“Make use of traitors?” the Duke of Halanx cried.
“Of anyone who can be of use,” said Hissune. “We will invite them to join us; we will give them high rank, though not, I trust, the rank to which they have appointed themselves; and we will make it clear to them that if they do not cooperate, we will destroy them.”
“Destroy?” Stasilaine said.
“It was the word I meant to use.”
“Even Dominin Barjazid was pardoned and sent to his brothers. To take life, even the life of a traitor—”
“Is no trifling matter,” said Hissune. “I mean to use these men, not to kill them. But I think we will have to kill them if they will not let themselves be used. I beg you, though, let us consider this point another time.”
“You mean to use these men?” Prince Nimian of Dundilmir said. “You speak much like a Coronal!”
“No,” Hissune said. “I speak like one of the two from whom the choice, by your own earlier agreement, is to be made. And in the unfortunate absence of my lord Divvis I speak perhaps too forcefully. But I tell you this, that I
have given long thought to these plans, and I see no alternative to adopting them, no matter who is to rule.”
“Lord Valentine rules,” said the Duke of Halanx.
“As Coronal,” said Hissune. “But I think we are agreed that in the present crisis we must have a true Pontifex to guide us, as well as a Coronal. Lord Valentine, so you tell me, is sailing to the Isle to meet with the Lady. I propose to make the same journey, and speak with the Coronal, and attempt to convince him of the importance of ascending to the Pontificate. If he sees the wisdom of my arguments, he will then convey his wishes in the matter of a successor. The new Coronal, I think, must take up the task of pacifying Piliplok and Ni-moya, and of winning over the allegiance of the false Coronals. The other of us, I suggest, should have command of the army that will invade the Metamorph lands. For my part it makes no difference to me which it is to wear the crown, Divvis or I, but it is essential that we take the field at once and begin the restoration of order, which is already long overdue.”
“And shall we toss a royal-piece for it?” came a voice suddenly from the doorway.
Divvis, sweaty-looking and unshaven and still in his hunting clothes, stood facing Hissune.
Hissune smiled. “I am cheered to see you once again, my lord Divvis.”
“I regret that I have missed so much of this meeting. Are we forming armies and choosing Coronals today, Prince Hissune?”
“Lord Valentine must choose the Coronal,” Hissune replied calmly. “To you and me, after that, will fall the task of forming the armies and leading them. And it will be awhile, I think, before either of us again has the leisure for such pastimes as hunting, my lord.” He indicated the vacant chair beside him at the high table. “Will you sit, my lord Divvis? I have made some proposals before this meeting, which I will repeat to you, if you will grant me a few moments for it. And then we must come to some decisions. So will you sit and listen to me, my lord Divvis? Will you sit?”
Valentine Pontifex Page 33
