Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn 2 The Divine Queen

by Adam Corby

  A light gleamed for a moment in the barbarian’s black eyes; then he frowned and shook his thick beard. ‘Nay,’ he rumbled, ‘nay. Go not so fast, Southron! You do not understand. Gundoen dared not attack me here last winter, though he had men enough and time to make a try for us, because he knew the other chiefs would grow uneasy and come to my standard. They like not overlords. If I did as you now say, then all the other tribes would hold to Ara-Karn’s tent until they drowned in their own fellows’ blood. Will you have me throw away all I have won?’

  ‘Yet if you think your men not sufficient, your majesty, we will be glad to lend you the use of Rukorian lancers. The Queen, I know, would be glad to serve you so.’

  ‘Would she? Has she said so? Ah, if I could but meet with her! But nay, it will not do. Am I to war upon my fellow tribesmen with Southrons at my side? That is the way of the barge-robber, not Karn-Gen-Karn!’ And so saying he looked sideways at his guards, noting their looks, which before had been uneasy, and now were fully approving. But Ampeánor had seen the glint of fear in Gen-Karn’s eyes when he had spoken of Ara-Karn.

  ‘What do you mean, your majesty?’ he asked.

  Gen-Karn wiped at his lips. ‘Why, that the barge-robber has swollen his ranks with mercenary Southrons,’ he said with a shrug.

  ‘Renegades? Are you certain of this?’

  ‘Gen-Karn does not lie, Southron,’ Sol-Dat said.

  ‘Southrons always were willing to betray their own for gold,’ Gen-Karn said. ‘Such rabble are beneath the notice of kings and great men such as ourselves. It is mostly these, with older and halting tribesmen, which make up the garrisons in the cities of the North; and doubtless it was mostly such that fell heaviest at Postio.’

  ‘And do you know any of their numbers, my lord?’

  Gen-Karn shrugged. ‘My spies have given them me. Here,’ he stabbed a wine-stained forefinger on the map before the Gerso. ‘Write as I direct, man, and you shall hear the knowledge of the King of Tezmon as token of his good faith!’ So upon his fingers he toted the numbers of Ara-Karn’s men abiding in the fallen cities of the North, as he swallowed more wine; and the silent Gerso noted them down.

  ‘And yet,’ Ampeánor said slowly, regarding the barbarian’s face, ‘it is a shame, your majesty, that with all your brave warriors here you dare not take these cities for your own.’

  Gen-Karn snorted, the way a bull will when it lifts its dripping muzzle from the water. He ran his forefinger down the crevice of the long scar. ‘Is this the mark of a fearful man, think you? And yet with all his tricks, the barge-robber could not rive me of life! My luck was too strong, or his heart too faint for that: nor think the tribes forget that. Give the fallen to the sightless worms: so the law says. Else is the old Warlord Warlord still: and that is me! It is but my men, my lord. These Buzrahs and the filth that followed me – even men among my own Orns – think of this barge-robber as the face and fist of God. Oh, Gundoen is clever, and the Pious One did his work well: but not all of that will outlast another Assembly. Then I will carve him daintily, chop by joint!’

  Gen-Karn gulped down the slopping wine. Thick and harsh were his words now, and his eyes blazed like pyres. When Ampeánor told him they meant to leave after the longsleep if all went well, Gen-Karn flew into a fury, overturning the heavy oaken table with one arm and striking a cowering slave-maiden senseless to the floor. He swayed then, upon heavy legs, and fell crashing beside her.

  Then the Orn guards came forward and lifted him in their arms. They bore him out into the empty banquet hall, and laid him upon the table before his great throne, where he had sat to eat. At the far end of the hall, the high stacks of gold glittered in the light of fire and Goddess.

  ‘Will he be well?’ Ampeánor asked.

  Sol-Dat grunted. ‘It is ever the way with him now, to fall asleep with wine; yet in Orn, in the far North, he ever scorned the old men and their beer. Two ship’s jugs he has had: look at it sloshing in his fat belly! He fattens as a Southron; and loves his dancing wenches better than blades or battle now.’

  Ampeánor looked from the outstretched body of the giant to the face of the lieutenant, and it seemed to him he had seen such a look of sly, ambitious scorn before, upon the faces of Vapionil herb-sellers.

  Sol-Dat spat upon the floor. ‘Shortly he will wake moody, sullen and fearful. It is not a good thing to be about when he wakes: ask the slaves that! Let him wake with his gold, Southron. The slaves will clean the mess.’

  The Rukorians returned to their chambers in the upper story. Now it was the first hour of the longsleep: Ampeánor set the watches with Ferrakador and heard messages from Elpharaka at the ship. All the gold had been unshipped, the messages went, and the bundles of bows, barrels of arrows, and supplies were being taken aboard. The crew would work through the sleep to ensure that all would be ready for the tide’s change.

  The lancemen had drawn heavy hangings across the opening to the balcony, steeping the room in soft gloom. Those whose watch was not yet begun, laid themselves upon couches and the floor to sleep. Ferrakador stood without the door with the watch, wary of any treacheries. Ampeánor took up the copper tube with the map, and stepped out upon the balcony. Below him were the gardens of the inner courtyard and the great outer doors of the banquet hall.

  He thought of Allissál then, and of her anger with him when he had departed. Then he had thought she but cursed Dornan Ural for his foolish obstinacy in refusing to confirm him as General Extraordinary; but now he knew some of it had been meant for him. Yet what else could he have done? Surely he was not responsible for Dornan Ural’s every oddity? He remembered the vows he had sworn in the prison of this city: vows as yet unfulfilled. The period of mourning for Elnavis, which would last a year, had delayed him; but when that was over, he would go to her and declare his love. Once again he swore it, his fist a tight ball touching his brow after the manner of suppliants before the statue of Goddess in the Temple.

  The hangings behind him parted to reveal the Gerso. ‘My lord,’ he said quietly, ‘I will wish you fair sleep now, and retreat to my dimchamber.’

  ‘Did you find the voyage wearying, Charan Kandi?’

  ‘No, my lord: I was glad to be at sea again. I was born at sea, you know.’

  ‘Gerso is a long way from the sea, charan.’

  ‘I reached Gerso eventually.’

  Ampeánor looked at the man closely, feeling his curiosity stirred. Surely Qhelvin could not have been so mistaken about him. ‘Tell me something of yourself, charan. As a youth I traveled to Gerso. It is part of the pilgrimage of the Imperial highborn to go on what we call the Route of Elna, beginning in Bollakarvil and ending at the great Gates of Gerso. But, of course, as a Gerso yourself, you knew that.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I made good friends there – perhaps we have some in common. One man in particular, I recall, Charan Fallchio, a highborn merchant, than whom there was no more honorable man in the world.’

  ‘My lord, I cannot say I ever knew the man. I was never one for the company of honorable men. In fact, I never met one. But if you recall any of the more notable brothelkeepers – Orand dal Epharlen, or Kiva Haril?’

  ‘Of them I know nothing,’ Ampeánor replied brusquely. He drew out the rolled map and examined it, aware of the Gerso’s strange eyes upon him. Casually he asked the Gerso what he had thought of Gen-Karn.

  The Gerso smiled. ‘I thought he would make you a worthy ally.’

  ‘And are you not curious as to how he got such a hideous scar?’

  ‘I assumed it was in combat with his betters.’

  ‘It was in a duel with Ara-Karn he received that scar, when Ara-Karn wrested from him the rule of all the tribes of the far North. And it is that scar, which he must bear openly before the sight of all men, which so inflames his hatred of Ara-Karn. Whenever he beholds his own image, it reminds him how his foe humiliated him: it is why he allows no mirrors about him. He hates Ara-Karn even more than we, with a hatred as great as the c
hest of a man can withhold.’

  The Gerso nodded, and looked below them. Beneath the balcony were the oval gardens and fountain that once had been Armand’s. Goddess sent down Her shafts among the verdure, and the blossoms opened to greet Her.

  ‘You were very quiet when we were before the barbarian,’ Ampeánor noted. ‘I hope that your hatred against these, for all they took from you, does not blind you to the advantages of dealing with this one barbarian. He did not lead them into Gerso, Charan Kandi – that was another. And Gen-Karn will help us against your larger enemy, Ara-Karn.’

  The Gerso nodded, but did not speak right away. Still he looked down the ornately carved wall of the mansion, studying the quiet peace of the garden. At length, ‘I understand you, my lord,’ he said. ‘But are these bows so vital to your interests?’

  ‘You have seen what they can do, and ask that? Why, they alter the very nature of combat. A pauper could down a king with one. Even so brave a man as yourself, if you had a bow and knew its use, could slay the awesome Ara-Karn, all by yourself!’

  The Gerso smiled palely at that. ‘You may be sure, my lord, that I will do my best. Now it is late, and the tide will turn before the second meal.’

  ‘Of course. Go to your dimchamber and sleep. I confess that the spectacle of that feast, and all the prospects of our gains here, will not let me sleep. With these bows, and the alliance of Tezmon, we have won a great victory here, greater even than you know.’

  The Gerso rose, but did not leave just then. ‘My lord,’ he asked, ‘would you answer me a question? I know why her majesty is so eager to war upon the barbarians. Yet you, alone of all the regents, support her in it. Why?’

  Ampeánor smiled. ‘The menace of the barbarians is rightly the concern of us all, Ennius. Yet beyond that, I have a debt to settle with Ara-Karn: a debt of vengeance.

  ‘My ancestor Torval, who fought at the side of great Elna all the way to Urnostardil, once went against one of the barbarian kings, whose name was Born-Karn. There is an ancient Rukorian ballad about it: the ballad tells that Torval was defeated, and forced to step down from Urnostardil to save his life, in the final battle against the few remaining barbarians, when even Elna was forced to give back and forego his strong vows. It is this dishonor I must avenge upon Ara-Karn.’

  ‘Then pray to dark God,’ suggested the Gerso. ‘Is it not said that He hears all such prayers of vengeance?’ He did not await an answer, but stepped into the chamber and drew the hangings behind him.

  Slowly the High Charan of Rukor shook his head, wondering about the man. He opened the map and read the marks the Gerso had put down there, deciphering with difficulty the man’s odd style of script. So many barbarians were in Eliorite with so many renegades; so many in Mersaline. He compared the figures with what he recalled Gen-Karn had said; apparently the Gerso had put it all down correctly.

  He shook his head, filled with images of that barbaric feast. Still he could not sleep. Being here, among these barbarians, woke strange feelings in him, dangerous longings. He grew impatient at the delays of Dornan Ural, when all he really wanted was to meet the barbarians on the field of battle.

  He drew forth and held the Darkbeast-tooth in the returning sunlight. He had thought it ugly at first, yet now he found it strangely, cruelly beautiful. He thought of Ara-Karn. Perhaps, before all was done, he would have the fortune to meet the man and challenge him in combat. The image of it swam before his eyes, like the final reward of all his lifetime’s training and abstinence. And in that contemplation he fell at last into slumber, warmed by Goddess on the balcony.

  So was he unaware of the soft sounds that came from farther down the wall. There two hands and a head emerged from the narrow opening of a dimchamber window: and they were the head and hands of Ennius Kandi. He looked where Ampeánor slept, and smiled. Carefully he emerged from the window.

  The walls of the mansion of Armand the Fat were beautiful with designs carved deeply into the stone. With strong fingers the Gerso gripped these decorations, and crawled down the wall. There was but the slightest of sound to mark his descent, a sound a passing wind from the dark horizon might have made. Above him on the balcony, the High Charan of Rukor dreamed on.

  The Gerso straightened his gaudy robes. Before him rose the doors of the banquet hall – behind him the overgrown garden. Quietly he opened the wide, lovely doors and closed them behind him.

  Some flames still hissed within the hearth; but aside from this, there was no sound within the long, high chamber. Along the wall beside the doors, the accumulated gold gleamed smilingly under the slanting light of Goddess-sun. The long tables were yet half-strewn with food and vessels. A gray rat moved silently among the platters, sampling the many offerings. Only one other sound accompanied the hissing of the flames: Gen-Karn lay upon his back on the high table before his seat, and snored and wheezed. The heavy black beard, so horribly cut away along the side Ara-Karn’s blade had fallen, moved faintly with the muttering movements of his lips.

  Over the sleeping man, he shook a small silver plate, so that the three embers he had gathered from the fire over-leapt the rim and fell upon the broad, sighing belly of Gen-Karn. There they settled, thin ribbons of dark smoke rising from them. Eagerly they ate into the blackening linen tunic.

  Gen-Karn snorted as if he smelled the reek of the burning; then growled sharply and swept his belly clean, sitting bolt-upright. For a moment, his great dark eyes were liquid with drink and incomprehension; then he blinked, and growled without meaning at the shape that stood before him.

  Ennius Kandi nodded, and threw the yellow braided Vapionil wig to the floor. ‘Now do you know me, Northling?’

  The mouth of Gen-Karn fell open all the way.

  Again the Gerso nodded. ‘I see you do. What has become, I wonder, of all the fine brave words you spoke when Gerso burned? Gone with the palaces of that city, I suppose.’ He reached to the table with his sword, and struck it with a little ringing sound against Gen-Karn’s blade. ‘And now,’ he muttered, ‘I think it is time that Gen-Karn was rewarded for all his crimes and blasphemies. Don’t you?’

  * * *

  Ferrakador woke Ampeánor before the sleep was over with word that the ship’s hold was fully stocked with food and bows, and that they need hasten to catch the tide. When they had eaten, they descended in order to take leave of Gen-Karn. But the doors of the banquet hall were still barred and guarded by three Orns. Sol-Dat only shrugged to their questions and demands.

  ‘He’s in there alone, his head bursting with wine. He usually comes around thus. He woke in the sleep and called for wine – he must have been mad with it: the guards heard him later, roaring and upsetting all the benches. No man has dared enter there yet. But if you want to wake him just to tell him you’re leaving, and like as not get a sword in your soft guts for your pains, go on.’

  So they descended again the haunted streets of ruined Tezmon, surrounded by ash and the poor of the city, and the motley beast-men glaring. Captain Elpharaka greeted Ampeánor, greatly relieved to see him safe, and gave orders to unship the oars and push the ship out of the empty harbor on the wings of the tide.

  ‘The ragged barbarians tried to storm the ship once,’ the captain told Ampeánor. ‘But the lancemen and the Orns left to guard us had no difficulty with them. All the supplies are good: I had every barrel and sack examined to make sure. Also I had the Orns show us that the weapons were usable. Gen-Karn seems to have kept his word. Now if only we are not attacked by the barbarians of Ara-Karn on the way out. For he must be watching this city.’

  Yet they swept past the awe-inspiring barriers of white stone and met with the warships without incident, and alone, in a triangular formation with the merchantman in the center, they sailed south across the undulating sea.

  Seven passes they sailed, and saw no sight of any ship of Ara-Karn’s. Ampeánor could not resist opening one of the bundles of bows and having his lancemen practice the use of them amidships. But on the eighth pass Elpharaka ca
me to Ampeánor, and there was a dour expression on his grizzled face.

  ‘My lord, a storm is coming, and a bad one. I do not worry for this ship – she has weathered worse storms than this one bodes to be. The warships concern me, with their low lines.’

  ‘How can you be sure a storm broods?’ Ampeánor asked.

  ‘I know, my lord. Look to those clouds on the dark horizon, and see how they pile and threaten. Trust an old seahorse for this. I like it very little. The warships will have a hard time of it.’

  ‘How far are we from Rukor?’

  ‘Had the winds stayed at our backs, we had come within sight of the Isles in another three passes. Do you remember the campaigns against the pirates we fought among these Isles, lord? Be sure, they will never be so bold again!’

  ‘I remember,’ said Ampeánor fondly. ‘Signal the warships to row with all speed for Torvalinal. We are far enough from the danger of any barbarian, I think. We will follow with what speed we may.’

  ‘That is well, my Charan.’

  The storm came upon them shortly after the last of the warships had disappeared over the lip of the sea. Winds gusting and cold drove violet-green clouds across the sky. The ship fell into darkness deeper than the dusky border. God was lost from sight, and Goddess dimmed to no more than a vague glow upon one end of the vault of heaven; then the clouds piled higher and fell lower, and even She was obscured. The winds turned and twisted, driving the ship over high swells. Vague ominous thunderings came from behind the winds, and the sailors muttered among themselves, recalling old sea-songs of ships driven over the dark horizon, to be swallowed by monstrous reptilian fishes. Yet the Gerso, wandering the decks, only laughed at their unease; whereat the sailors made the Sign of Goddess to ward off his evil influence.

  With a clap the rains came, pouring out of heaven as if the whole bowl of the sea had been inverted. The ship’s decks were awash with rain and sea, she was torn to port, to starboard, she ascended mountainous swells and pitched headlong down their farther sides. The crewmen swarmed over the decks, reefing the sails, lashing the coverings of the holds, passing buckets down to bail the holds. The Gerso laughed again, in such tones that even Ampeánor shuddered to hear him. ‘And does your luck still hold, my lord?’ the Gerso asked.