The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) (8 page)

“When you ask me for the third time,” said
Kerish, “I will tell you.”

As the Khan withdrew, Gidjabolgo stirred
amongst the cushions and opened one eye.

“Forollkin believes now that you never for
a moment considered the Khan's offer.”

“But you know me better . . .” Kerish
smiled bitterly. “If you were in my place, would you accept?”

“Of course,” said Gidjabolgo promptly, “but
my motives would not be of the purest.”

Kerish got up from the cage and stood for a
moment looking down at the Forgite. “Will you play for me, Gidjabolgo?”

When Gwerath and Forollkin came below, they
saw Kerish huddled like a sick child among the cushions. Gidjabolgo sat beside
him, singing of a young merchant who had never returned from the icy voyage to
Dorak. The guards were listening and even the snake had ceased her struggles
and lay in limp coils as if she had finally accepted the reality of her cage.

*****

The island of Vaish rose uncertainly from
the muddy waters of the estuary that constantly eroded and replaced its shores.
In that desolate and shifting place, only one thing had seemed permanent, the
boundary of the Galkian Empire running across the island.

After the first great Battle of Viroc, the
Empire had kept its lands west of the Jenze, but one concession had been made
to Oraz - that Vaish should never be inhabited. Its only town had been
abandoned to the encroaching dunes, but the temple of Imarko, that stood on the
boundary itself, had always been maintained by priests who returned every night
to Viroc. A great statue of Imarko looked out towards a temple of Idaala built
on the Orazian side of the island, for the Men of the Five Kingdoms also
counted Vaish as a holy place.

As the prisoners joined O-grak and his
bodyguard in one of the longboats, Kerish asked why that was.

“It is the place where Zeldin the Betrayer
last spoke to our Lady,” answered the Khan curtly.

The river between Vaish and Viroc was
treacherous with shifting sandbanks, and too shallow for the Khan's galleys.
The best channel was close enough to Viroc to be within range of the archers
and catapults stationed on its walls. Still, Jerenac had few ships to guard the
Jenze so O-grak thought it safe to transfer most of his household into longboats
for the short row to the Orazian camp. The galleys went on by a longer route,
sailing down the west coast of the island to a safe harbor below the temple of
Idaala. The supplies would be off-loaded there and dragged overland to the
camp.

As the six longboats rowed down the Jenze,
they were constantly challenged by small Orazian craft, patrolling the river.
Each time, O-grak roared his approval of their vigilance and the men of the
patrols would beat their swords against their shields to welcome the Khan and honor
the shrouded Soul Boat that was towed by the last two longboats.

One of the sea-fogs so common in the estuary
hid all but the glimmer of Viroc's great ramparts but O-grak smilingly reminded
his prisoners that if they should think of jumping overboard to swim for
Galkis, his men were excellent shots.

Within three hours, they had reached the
camp. Raised on a promontory jutting towards Viroc, the sombre tents of Oraz
seemed like a pack of animals, waiting hungrily for the next attack. The
standard of the Prince of Oraz flew highest, but he had stayed in Zoanaxa,
entrusting the command to his uncle. O-grak pointed out with childlike
satisfaction other flags, already rimed with salt, belonging to contingents
from Mintaz and Gilaz. `Soon the shores will be darker still with the ships of
Chiraz and Fangmere', thought Forollkin, `and then what chance will Jerenac
have?'

The boats were beached and the prisoners
splashed ashore with their guards. O-grak was met by his second-in-command and
there was a long pause while news was exchanged and orders were given.

“So. we're standing on Galkian soil at
last,” murmured Gidjabolgo.

Kerish's attention seemed fixed on the
sea-birds wheeling overhead but Gwerath saw Forollkin wince.

“No,” O-grak was saying, “I will keep the
prisoners close to me. Prepare a tent and choose your best men to guard it.” He
turned to Kerish. “For the moment, Prince, you had better come with me. If the
little barbarian went straight to the women's quarters, it might save her some
distress, unless she's as much of a warrior as her clothes pretend.”

“I will go with my cousins,” answered
Gwerath proudly. “Test my courage however you like.”

The Khan laughed. “Not your courage, just
your stomach.”

He turned back towards the camp and Gwerath
and Gidjabolgo soon had to trot to keep up with O-grak's great strides. Kerish
kept his eyes fixed on the Khan's broad back and ignored the stares and
muttered comments of warriors from Oraz, Gilaz and Mintaz who crowded the
camp's main thoroughfare. He was remembering their entry into another camp, as
his uncle's prisoner. Kerish almost smiled at the thought that he felt far more
akin to O-grak than he ever had to Tayeb.

The Khan's tent was pitched on a hillock
overlooking the camp and behind it lay the charred ruins of the temple of
Imarko. The great statue remained but as the prisoners came closer, they saw
that the head had been struck off, and something was dangling from the
outstretched arms.

Gidjabolgo wrinkled his nose. “A handsome
gibbet, but it makes the carrion smell no better.”

From the tattered robes that clung to the
swaying corpses, Forollkin guessed they had been priests of Imarko.

“A sight to gladden the Men of Fangmere,”
said O-grak, “if no one else.”

“Is this your gentle conquest, Khan?”
demanded Kerish. “How are the tongueless to beguile their conquerors? Is it
only a surfeit of our blood that will sicken your people of slaughter?”

“I told you that the worship of your
Foremother would be forbidden,” answered the Khan. “The Men of Fangmere hate
her with a righteous anger and those who call on her name will be silenced. Weigh
up what she is worth and die for her if you choose, but don't accuse me of
dishonesty.”

It was a subdued group of prisoners that
O-grak entertained in his tent with strong wine and florid descriptions of past
campaigns. At last an escort arrived to take them to their quarters in the
northern part of the camp.

Once they were alone, in a tent encircled
by guards, Forollkin's anger and bitterness broke out. Kerish bore the brunt of
it, until even Gwerath exclaimed, “It's not Kerish's fault that Galkis is in
such danger. You're talking to him as if he was O-grak!”

Forollkin was instantly penitent. “I'm
sorry, Kerish. I'm talking through you, not at you.”

The Prince was sitting with bowed head, the
collar digging into his hunched shoulders.

“Say what you like. I don't care.”

Forollkin knelt by his brother. “No!
Whatever happens to the rest of us, you have to go on caring about our quest.
That's just about the only thing I'm still sure of.”

“In which case, may I point out,” said
Gidjabolgo rapidly, “that there's food on that table and a pile of skins to
sleep on. Keep up your strength and see what chance brings us. “

“Surely we needn't despair yet...” began
Gwerath.

Kerish looked up with a curious smile.

“It isn't that. I'm not defeated yet. But I
am afraid of what I may have to do to gain victory.”

*****

The parley between the commanders of the
forces of Galkis and Oraz took place just after dawn on the east bank of the
Jenze, two miles below Viroc. Three longships of Oraz set out from the camp.
Two stayed in midstream, filled with armed warriors, but in the third only the
men who guarded the Galkians had daggers hidden under their cloaks.

As they approached the shore, O-grak
apologized for having to bind his prisoners' arms and hood their faces. “As a
soldier, Forollkin, you will understand that some caution is necessary.”

“And I trust that you understand,” said
Forollkin icily, “that there could be no question of treachery on Lord
Jerenac's part.”

O-grak nodded. “Like me, he might wish to
seize an advantage, but your Godborn laws bind him closer than he knows.”

“And what happens, Khan, when you wish to
seize an advantage?”

“If it is important enough to my people, I
will break any kind of promise,” said O-grak calmly, “but never without some
warning. If my enemies are too stupid to heed it, they'll die unmourned by me.
But don't be afraid, Forollkin, if I were to kill an unarmed ambassador my own
people would curse me. Their `barbarian' honor is your safeguard, not my
honesty.”

The boat crunched against shingle and
through the wispy fog the Galkians saw that their landing-place was a village,
badly damaged by enemy attacks. The people had fled. Only half-starved animals
still wandered amongst the ruined houses but above the charred portico of a
small temple flew the Imperial Banner. To Kerish it was like rediscovering some
cherished childhood toy. The golden starflower moved him but he couldn't
remember why it had once meant so much.

A group of Galkian soldiers, in Jerenac's
lilac and silver livery, stood in front of the temple. One of them advanced
towards O-grak, holding out the white Flower of Peace. The Khan took the
blossom, his huge hands accentuating its frailty. A blunted sword, the Orazian
symbol of truce, was offered in return.

“Be welcome, Khan. Lord Jerenac has been
informed of your arrival and will attend you presently. May I offer wine?”

The Galkian captain spoke Zindaric with the
familiar lilt of the men of the Golden City, and Forollkin suddenly ached to be
truly home. `If I had not gone with Kerish,' he thought, `I would be in this
man's place.'

Goblets of hot spiced wine were brought and
accepted by O-grak and the four warriors attending him, but the servitors were
ordered not to approach the two hooded figures, or the men who stood so closely
behind them. The formal courtesies over, there was a heavy silence and the two
groups stared at each other. O-grak's dark eyes darted to and fro, observing
everything as he gulped down his wine. Forollkin noted that several of the
Galkians were wounded and that all of them looked desperately tired. Staying
with Jerenac would not have brought ease or safety.

Across the entry to the sanctuary hung a
tapestry. It showed the Gentle God throwing his most precious ring into the
Jenze as a ransom for the lives of all those who would ever sail the dangerous
river. Shortly after O-grak's first attack on Viroc, a fisherman had found an
ancient ring, tangled in his nets. The priests of Zeldin had thrown it back but
the people had begun to leave the banks of the Jenze.

Suddenly the tapestry was flung aside. Two
captains preceded the Lord Commander of Galkis and a third walked close behind,
but Jerenac leaned only on a black staff. Each step betraying agony, the Lord
Commander hobbled through the portico to greet his enemy.

“I was sorry to hear that your wound will
not heal,” said O-grak. “It looked a clean enough slash when I made it.”

“If I wasn't aware that you lack such
skills,” growled Jerenac, in the way that Forollkin remembered, “I would swear
that the swords of Oraz were poisoned. As it is, I must chide my own bones as
my betrayers.”

“Your Lordship is right,” said O-grak
promptly, “we leave the art of deceitful death to Galkis. The Men of Oraz deal
in swift destruction, but to the sick and to the weary, we offer rest, so
perhaps you will welcome my message.”

“As a shield welcomes a spear,” answered
Jerenac, “and rest brings new strength.”

“But not, I think, new troops,” said O-grak
dryly.

Sweat beaded the Lord Commander's face and
one petal dropped from the withering Flower of Peace. “Say what you have to
say,” rasped Jerenac, “and be as swift as the destruction you boast of.”

O-grak set down his cup and tucked his hand
in his sword belt. “Then hear. The Princes of the Five Kingdoms say to the Lord
Commander of Galkis, the Governor of Jenoza, you are betrayed by your own
Emperor. Surrender now or your people will die unaided and unthanked. I hide
nothing. If you give your authority into my hands, the walls of Viroc will be
razed, the palace will be stripped of its treasures, the temple of the false
bride destroyed and a heavy tribute levied, but . . . I offer life.”

“And slavery,” Jerenac smiled grimly. “You
do not offer a high price for our dishonor.”

“Only fools offer everything they might
give when they know they will be refused.”

A second petal fell and Jerenac bowed his
head sardonically. “I thank you for that at least. Now, if this is all you have
to say, I order you to leave the sacred soil of Galkis.”

Jerenac stood unmoved but his captains
winced at the Khan's booming laughter.

“The power of the Godborn is turned in on
itself. I admire your loyalty to those you scorn, Jerenac, so I will offer
more. What do you say to peace under a new Emperor? He would be a vassal to our
Princes, but born of the blood you cherish.”

Jerenac's mouth twisted with contempt. “My
poor crazed cousin? Have you been listening to Zyrindella's whining, Khan?”

“Among my people,” answered O-grak, “we honor
those whom the Goddess scourges, but we do not crown them. Not Li-Kroch.”

“Who then?” demanded Jerenac, as the third
petal fell. “How many tame Emperors do you keep to feed from your bloody hand?”

O-grak smiled. “Only one, and not yet
tamed.”

He motioned to the Prince's guards and they
thrust Kerish forward and stripped off his cloak and hood.

“No!” cried Jerenac, but one by one the
captains of Galkis knelt. “No. Princes of the Godborn looked like that once,
but not in this mewling age.”

“Do you not recognize your own
half-brother?” murmured O-grak. “Prince Kerish-lo-Taan.”