The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels )

SEVEN CITADELS

PART FOUR

THE SEVENTH GATE

THE STORY SO FAR

The beginning of the story
Seven Citadels
is told in
Prince of the Godborn
. In the east of Zindar lies the great
Galkian Empire ruled by the Godborn; the descendants of Zeldin, the Gentle God
and his human consort, Imarko. Galkis is under attack from the barbarians along
its borders and is weakened by intrigue and strife amongst the Godborn.

An alliance between the barbarians of the
Five Kingdoms and the Brigands of Fangmere brings a new crisis and the High
Priest Izeldon sees an ancient prophesy of an imprisoned Saviour as the only
hope for Galkis. He asks Prince Kerish-lo-Taan, a son of the Emperor by a
slave-girl from Erandachu, to go out into Zindar and search for this Promised
Saviour. Izeldon reveals that the only way to free the Saviour is to win the
seven keys to the gates of his prison, but each key is guarded by an immortal
sorcerer. The Emperor insists that the impulsive Kerish shares his quest with
his sensible half-brother, Lord Forollkin.

 The two young men survive a Brigand attack
as they cross the Sea of Az to visit Elmandis of Ellerinonn, the first of the
sorcerers. Elmandis proves to be a philosopher-king ruling a gentle people
dedicated to bringing peace and beauty to Zindar. He sees Kerish's coming as a
disaster, because a sorcerer who gives up his key loses immortality. Kerish has
to face a grim ordeal and use all his powers of argument to persuade the noble
Elmandis to surrender the first key.

The second sorcerer is Ellandellore, the
estranged younger brother of Elmandis, whose domain is Cheransee, the Isle of
Illusions. Ellandellore is a crazed child who cannot be persuaded by reason to
give up the key that has trapped him in eternal childhood. Kerish plays a
nightmare game with Ellandellore to trick him out of his key and barely escapes
with his life. Elmandis can now help his brother to grow up at last. He tells
Kerish to look for the third sorcerer far north in the Ultimate Mountains and
sends them on their way with a mysterious travelling companion, the ugly and
insolent Gidjabolgo.

In
The Children of the Wind
Kerish,
Forollkin and Gidjabolgo the Forgite buy a passage north, through the marshes
of Lan-Pin-Fria, on the ship of a Merchant-Hunter. After a dangerous journey,
during which Kerish acquires the marsh-cat, Lilahnee, the travelers reach the
Forbidden Hill. In spite of warnings to go no further, they cross the hill and
discover a strange ruined city, before being overwhelmed by a snowstorm.

The travelers wake in Tir-Zulmar, the
mountain citadel of the third sorcerer, to find that the first two keys have been
stolen. Kerish confronts the third sorcerer and discovers that she is a woman
from the island of Gannoth. The sorceress Sendaaka tells Kerish how she quarreled
with and left her husband, Saroc, the fourth sorcerer, and about the tragic
death of their only daughter. The two sorcerers can never be re-united unless
one of them gives up their key. Kerish persuades Sendaaka to lend him her key
and return the first two keys. He promises to convince Saroc to give up his key
and ask Sendaaka's forgiveness, without revealing that she has already yielded
her key. If he fails, Kerish will have to return Sendaaka's key and his quest
will be over. To reach the citadel of Saroc, which lies in the Queendom of
Seld, the companions will have to cross the plains of Erandachu. Sendaaka warns
them that they are bound to meet the Erandachi, the Children of the Wind, who
worship her as their “Mountain Goddess”.

Halfway across the plains, the travelers are
captured by the Sheyasa tribe, whose chieftain, Tayeb, proves to be Kerish's
uncle. They are welcomed into the tribe by Tayeb's daughter, Gwerath, a
priestess of the Mountain Goddess, who takes an immediate liking to Forollkin.
Tayeb wants Kerish and Forollkin to help him against his enemies within the
tribe and forbids them to leave. Forollkin's skill and courage win him an honored
place as a warrior, but Kerish is made a priest of the Mountain Goddess and
Gidjabolgo a slave.

Kerish is eager to attract Gwerath's
attention and jealous of Forollkin's status as a warrior. The tension between
the two brothers, which has been mounting throughout their journey, erupts when
Kerish wins the right to be a warrior by fighting Forollkin. He nearly kills
his brother, but Forollkin forgives him and their resolve to escape from the
Sheyasa is strengthened. The escape is only possible with Gwerath's help and
they are forced to take her with them. Arriving in Seld, the four travelers
encounter its ruler, Queen Pellameera. They are told about the horrors of
Saroc's citadel and Kerish learns that his father is dead. The quest is now
more urgent than ever.

The story continues in
The Dead Kingdom
,
in which Kerish and his companions cross the Red Waste to reach Tir-Tonar, the
citadel of Saroc. They are attacked by  monstrous guardians and Lilahnee is killed,
but they force their way into the citadel. After a perilous journey through a
maze filled with nightmare creatures, they reach the fourth sorcerer and Kerish
persuades him to give up his key for Sendaaka's sake. Saroc tells the Prince
that the fifth key is to be found in the Dead Kingdom of Roac and the sixth on
the island of Silnarnin. Shubeyash, the sorcerer king of Roac, has destroyed
his whole realm by using powers stolen from the ruined city beyond the
Forbidden Hill, but though his body is dead, his spirit is chained to Zindar as
long as he holds a key. Kerish and his companions must travel to the island of
Gannoth to ask its ruler the secret of entering the Dead Kingdom. When Saroc
has handed over the fourth key, he destroys his citadel and journeys north to
be re-united with his wife.

After a brief stay at the court of Seld,
where Kerish survives an assassination attempt plotted by his stepmother
Rimoka, the travelers sail to Gannoth and are made welcome by Hemcoth, its
gentle Prince. Acting as an oracle, Hemcoth tells them that they can only sail
the Dead Waters which surround Roac in a boat made from the blue wood which
drifts across the Great Ocean from another continent. While the boat is being
built, Hemcoth shows his guests the Cave of Pictures, whose walls are carved
with scenes telling the story of the first humans in Zindar. Many of the scenes
are damaged but it is clear that humans came from across the Great Ocean and
that Zindar was originally inhabited by mysterious winged creatures.

When their boat, the
Starflower
, is
ready, the travelers sail through the Dead Waters to Roac and enter its
capital, Tir-Roac. The long dead citizens of Tir-Roac are given illusory life
by the power of King Shubeyash, but the Prince sees them as they really are. As
the travelers are drawn towards the palace, Kerish senses the torment of Shubeyash.
In the grim confrontation that follows it is the Prince's compassion which
defeats the sorcerer. Shubeyash yields his key and submits to death, but in the
conflict Kerish's right hand has been crippled.

Leaving Roac, the travelers sail on to
Silnarnin and the citadel of Tir-Melidon. There they meet the sorcerer,
Vethnar, whose citadel is one vast library and whose ambition is to collect and
classify all knowledge. Vethnar refuses to give up his key, but he is delighted
to entertain the four travelers. The others enjoy exploring Silnarnin, but
Kerish is deeply unhappy. He is jealous of the growing love between Forollkin
and Gwerath, depressed at his failure to win Vethnar's key and increasingly
uncertain whether his quest can justify the suffering it has caused. Then
Gidjabolgo hints at how Vethnar can be persuaded and gives the Prince new
courage. Kerish shows the sorcerer that in spite of his immortality he can never
achieve his ambition. Vethnar reluctantly gives up the sixth key and tells
Kerish that to win the seventh key he must go back to Galkis and enter the
Forbidden jungle of Jenze; the domain of the sorceress Tebreega.

The Prince and his companions sail the
Starflower
into the Sea of Az, where they are captured by the ruthless Brigands of
Fangmere. The story is concluded in
The Seventh Gate
.

Chapter
1

The Book of the Emperors:
Sorrows

And Zeldin spoke
to Imarko his bride, saying, “Even behind you lies Her shadow, for the children
of day are born of night. Not all my love for you can dispel that shadow; only
your love for me can cleanse it away.”

But she wept
when she beheld the shadow and would not be comforted.

The blue boat was slow to catch fire. As
silently as they had gutted the
Starflower
of its contents, the
white-haired men fetched more torches to thrust beneath the blue timbers. When
the wood finally caught and flared up the air was infused by a curious fragrance.
Even the Brigands of Fangmere paused as they sorted through the plundered goods
and tilted their heads as if they were trying to recall a sweet, elusive
memory.

A sharp command from their captain sent the
Brigands back to their task and the fragrance was smothered by a richer smell
as the chest of Kolgorn spices was thrown on the fire. The Brigands were only
keeping things that could easily be reduced to precious stones and metals. One
of the prisoners winced as the jeweled cover was ripped from his copy of
The
Book of the Emperors
and the pages were tossed in the flames.

Of the clothes, only a single, gaudy dress
was spared. Looping the dress over his arm, one of the Brigands strode towards
the silver-haired girl. She was kneeling beside an unconscious man trying, with
bound hands, to wipe the blood from his forehead. The Brigand took her by the
shoulders and dragged her towards the first of the ships of Fangmere, past a
group of warriors who were just coming ashore from the second.

“Where are you taking her?”

Kerish's Zindaric met with no response. In
spite of his struggles, one Brigand was enough to hold him helpless as Gwerath
was dragged aboard the ship. His furious pleas were ignored, while the captain
pondered the value of the Gannothan charts and his men burned poems from
Ellerinonn and robes from Seld.

Gidjabolgo knelt in Gwerath's place and
Forollkin coughed and groaned as he slowly came round. One of the Brigands
darted forward to check his bonds.

“Leave him alone! Surely you can see he's in
no state to threaten you?”

Again Kerish was ignored.

“Save your breath,” hissed Gidjabolgo. “It
won't warm their wits, or their hearts.”

“They understand Zindaric, but think it an
insult to Idaala to speak it.”

The words were in Low Galkian, with the harsh
accent of the Jorgan Islands. Kerish turned towards the speaker and saw a
small, swarthy man, hunching his shoulders to hide the collar of a slave.

“Don't worry about the girl. They're
forbidden to touch women while they're outside Fangmere. Anything unusual
fetches a good price at the slave-block, so they'll treat her well.”

The captain of the second ship struck the
slave a sharp blow and the man hastily changed to Zindaric.

“I've told them you're Galkians, so you
needn't deny it, but now I see your face. . .”  The interpreter frowned at the
Prince as if there was something he ought to remember and couldn't.

Kerish was watching one of the Brigands as
he approached the fire, carrying the zildar.

“That instrument belongs to Gidjabolgo
here. He's a skilled musician and worth more with it than without. Tell them
so.”

The interpreter had no need to speak. The
first captain gestured swiftly to the Brigand and the zildar was put aside.

“Gidjabolgo comes from Forgin,” continued
Kerish. “The Men of Fangmere are not at war with the Merchants of Forg, surely
. . .”

“Nor are they at peace with any man,”
answered the interpreter, with a crooked smile.

The sails had caught now. Forollkin choked
in the acrid smoke and opened his eyes. “Fire . . . what are they doing?”

“Burning the
Starflower
.” Kerish
knelt by his brother and used his sleeve to wipe away the blood and sweat
trickling down Forollkin's pale face.

The Brigands had boarded the
Starflower
before the travelers were awake. Forollkin had hardly struck a blow in the
cramped cabin before he was felled.

“Where is Gwerath?” Forollkin struggled to
sit up and Kerish helped him, one-handed.

“They took the lady away to stow her with
the valuable cargo,” said Gidjabolgo. “We, it seems, are not so desirable.”

“They have a Galkian slave with them, who
says they won't harm her,” added Kerish.

Forollkin made a painful effort to turn his
head. The Galkian stood meekly beside the two captains, who were talking
agitatedly and glancing at the Prince.

Kerish remembered the first time he had
seen a Brigand of Fangmere, rushing towards him across the deck of the
Zeloka
.
He remembered the cloaks, stiff with blood, the hair too white even for the
midday sun to tinge with color, the pale eyes drained of everything but the
need to kill. How quietly they moved now about the beach, destroying treasures
that had no meaning for them. To Kerish, they felt a world away; no word or
gesture or prayer could cross so huge a distance, nor could imagination, and
perhaps that explained their cruelty.

About twenty men were now on the beach. At
an order from the captains, they squatted down at the edge of the waves,
thrusting their axes into the sand. Down the gang-plank from the second ship
came an old man, still cloaked and armed like a warrior. His gnarled hands were
cupped about a chalice of translucent crystal, carved like a half-open flower.
The captains moved towards their prisoners and the men began a low chant.  Ignoring
Gidjabolgo, the first captain paced slowly round the Galkians. Suddenly he
darted forward, seized Kerish's face and stared for a moment into his eyes.
Then the captain fell back and spoke to his interpreter.

“What is it they want of us?” demanded
Kerish.

The interpreter would not look at them.

“Speak! What does your master say, slave?”

Tossing up his head in anger, the man was
caught by the Prince's eyes and answered as if he could not help himself. “They
are choosing one of you to fill Idaala's chalice with fresh blood. You resisted
capture and after combat, sacrifice must be made. But there is something about
you that disturbs them . . .”

Kerish looked again at the chalice, the
first beautiful thing he had seen among the men of Fangmere. A chalice carved
with the Bloodflower of Idaala, waiting to be stained to its true crimson. The
second captain drew a crude knife of rippled stone. The first continued his
pacing.

The hairs on Forollkin's neck prickled and
he had thought, `Oh Zeldin, not me,' before he realized what his safety would
mean.

The captain stopped again in front of
Kerish and spoke softly.

“He asks,” said the interpreter, “whether
your hand was injured in combat or by accident.”

“Neither. Tell him a god touched it.”

“They have no word for god . . .” began the
interpreter but the captain gestured impatiently to show that he had
understood. He stared for a moment longer at Kerish and then murmured something
to the other captain.

The interpreter scuttled backwards and
called out from the water's edge, “They have chosen you.”

Four men closed on Forollkin and Gidjabolgo
to drag them aboard the first ship. Kerish's arms were pinioned and his hair
was seized to tilt back his head. The second captain tested the edge of his
blade.

`Zeldin, Imarko!' They were the only words
Kerish's mind would form as the captains moved towards him and the chanting
soared. Almost at once the syllables seemed senseless. Perhaps no such words as
Zeldin and Imarko had ever existed. If they did, they meant nothing at all, or
more than he could understand.

The second captain whispered something and
his face was stricken with awe. Kerish did not see. His eyes were closed. Shock
masked the pain of the first stroke, but not the agony of the second.

*****

In a corner of the hold, Forollkin and
Gidjabolgo were shackled side by side. Their hands were unbound but they could
not stand up straight or crawl for more than a few feet in any direction. As
their eyes adjusted to the dim light they saw other prisoners crouched in the
filthy straw. Two had the plaited hair and swarthy faces of Jorgan Islanders
but the third wore the tattered livery of a captain of the Galkis. This man
questioned them at once.

“You are Galkian? Didn't you know that the
Footsteps are no longer safe? We heard the noise from the beach and saw the
girl taken past. Were there only the three of you?”

“No! My brother. . . my brother. They've
chosen him for sacrifice.”

“What will they do to him?” demanded
Gidjabolgo.

“It will be quick,” said the Galkian
gently. “They cut the throat with one slash and drain off all the blood. I saw
it done to one of my own men.”

Forollkin stared at him for a moment and
then flung forward, tugging desperately at his chains. The Galkian prisoner
gripped his shoulders. “Be still. You'll only hurt yourself to no purpose. He's
dead by now. Pray to Zeldin for his soul's swift flight.”

“Pray!” snarled Gidjabolgo. “I would not
even grace the gods by cursing them.”

“Zeldin will heal all. . .” began the
Galkian and then faltered suddenly.

In the pool of light below the hatchway
stood a young man, robed in crimson. A flower of blood welled from the pallor
of his forehead. Flecks of gold glimmered in his eyes like the stars of Imarko.

“Zeldin,” whispered the Galkian, but
Forollkin cried, “Kerish!” and the stillness shattered.

In a moment the Prince was beside his
brother.

“Kerish, I thought they'd cut your throat,”
said Forollkin dazedly.

His fingers slipped nervously over the
Prince's body and finding it solid, pummeled and prodded and finally pulled him
into a hug tight enough to leave them both gasping.

For a moment Kerish rested his good hand on
Gidjabolgo's shoulder and then said, “It seems that I have been chosen for a
greater sacrifice. I am to be offered as a consort to the Goddess herself. The
interpreter was kind enough to tell me that I might live as long as a year if I
was fortunate. The flower shows that I am sacred to Idaala and not to be
touched by impious hands . . . don't worry, the scratches are only shallow.”

“And where do they keep this goddess?”
asked Gidjabolgo.

“On the Isle of Az they honor a woman
thought to be possessed by Idaala,” answered Kerish, “and each year she takes a
new consort.”

“But why choose you?”

“The interpreter told me that the captains
say I have `the face of Zeldin the Betrayer'.”

“What do they know of Zeldin?” asked Forollkin
incredulously.

“Truly, Lord, you do have the face of
Zeldin,” said the Galkian prisoner timidly. “I never saw any of the Godborn,
but there is a statue of the Gentle One in the temple at Tryfis. I used to pray
before it . . . For a moment when I saw you standing there I thought that
Zeldin had come for me.”

“What is your name?”

“Valorkis, my Lord. I was Captain of the
Mooncat
until the Brigands caught us off Jorg.”

Kerish smiled at him. “This is Gidjabolgo,
a Forgite. This is my brother, Forollkin and I . . .”

“Lord, I beg you not to tell me who you
are, if you don't want the Brigands to discover it. The less I know, the less
they can tear from me.”

*****

The ships of Fangmere left the Third
Footstep at noon, while the charred wreck of the
Starflower
still
smoldered. Half a dozen of the crew came down into the hold. One man, now
wearing the High Priest's dagger at his hip, brought the prisoners a flask of
water and a platter of unleavened bread, garnished with a few strips of dried
meat. The two Jorgan Islanders had watched the newcomers with silent awe but
that was forgotten as they scrambled to be first at the food.

“They give us better rations than they have
themselves,” murmured Valorkis. “For murderers, they treat their prisoners
well.”

“I must find Gwerath,” said Kerish.

“She's at the other end of the hold,”
Forollkin told him, “but will they let you through?”

“Now I am dedicated, I can wander where I
choose, but the interpreter made it plain that you would suffer for my
offences, so I must go meekly.” He slipped away into the shadowy depths of the
hold. Every Brigand he passed stared intently, but none of them tried to stop
him.

Forollkin leaned his head against the
timbers and closed his eyes. Now the immediate danger was over he was conscious
of a violent headache. Gidjabolgo prodded him and thrust a hunk of bread into
his hand. “Eat, or you'll only faint and take up twice your share of space. “

The bread was as stiff as an uncured hide
but Forollkin forced it down and felt a little better.

“Your ship, Valorkis . . . were you sailing
alone?”

“No, sir, there were four vessels. The
Governor at Jorg had sent to Ephaan begging for a fleet to defend the islands
that remained to him. We were all that could be spared; a gesture of honor. We
had barely reached the islands before a fleet of sixteen vessels attacked us.
We made the best fight we could but there was no hope. Those who survived the
battle and sacrifice were divided up among the ships of Fangmere, and these two
sailed south.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Five days, six perhaps, it's hard to tell
when the sun dies unmourned.”

“What's happening in Galkis?” asked
Forollkin. “We've been away so long and heard no news since the High Priest's
death.”

“May his journey be swift!” exclaimed
Valorkis piously. “You have heard nothing about Morolk?”

Forollkin shook his head, regretted it, and
leant back against the rough timbers again. “Tell me all you can.”