by Adam Corby
At length he knew he must return. Now the thought of the city and the multitudes without the Temple walls was ominous to him. But he steeled himself, and making his last offering and prayer before Her, he left the quietude and the incense and upon grudging legs wandered down the many steps of the Temple unto the Way of Kings. But when he came among the crowds and noise this time, he found that all of it had changed. Fear had come among them, and the shadow of Ara-Karn.
* * *
Postio had fallen after many harsh assaults. Now naught but smoky rubble buried the once-fair vineyards that had married Goddess with the sea. Ernthio had been betrayed and taken. The fierce nomads of the Desert had allied themselves with the barbarians and hailed Ara-Karn as their Prophet and their king, and together they made a lesser desert of the upper Delba. The withering heat of high Summer laid the Southland and all her peoples still, but Ara-Karn moved on: and now it was rumored by the tales of the refugees that the barbarian god-king made his way toward the walls of Bollakarvil, the brightmost fastness of the Empire and the very birthplace of Elna. Even as Kuln-Holn stood trying to follow the rapid words, a score of delegations crowded up the steps of the Temple, laden with offerings and leading sacrificial beasts.
Kuln-Holn wandered in the square among the mustering soldiers and the merchants. The heat of Goddess smote against his back, and dust clung to his wet tunic. With difficulty he made his way through the crowds up the slope of the Way of Kings, to the Citadel.
There at least was some calm, and some relief from the heat in the mountain’s winds. Kuln-Holn felt the coolness of the thick stone walls about him, and sighed. Yet at the door of his master’s chambers he hesitated uncertainly. He raised his hand, which still smelled faintly of the altar’s incense, and struck upon the door. A low word answered from within, of a voice he did not recognize. Softly he opened the door and passed within. From the parapet of the balcony at the far end of the chamber his master raised his head, and regarded his servant from out of darkened eyes.
* * *
For a space no words, not even of greeting, passed between them. There were lines upon the face of Ennius Kandi where heat and winds and the sunlight of the Desert had marked him – belike, too, there was something of the horrors of those newfallen cities mirrored in his eyes. His lips were so dark and stiff it was as if they had been stained wood rudely carved. His hands, dark brown and fleshless, toyed idly with his jade-handled dagger. He reclined upon the parapet carelessly, one leg thrown over the edge of the stone, the mountain’s cooling breezes playing with the dark curls of his hair.
‘So, Kuln-Holn,’ he said at length, ‘you are back now? Where have you been – visiting with your whore in the city? You will not see her again unless I give you leave. Or did you think we have come hither for mere dalliance while others died in the dust for our cause?’
Silently Kuln-Holn crossed the chamber and knelt upon a carpet before his master. Gently, miserably, he let bow his head.
‘Lord,’ he said, ‘let us leave this place.’
‘Have you had your fill of her then, or did she cast you out when you ran short of coin? Eh, Kuln-Holn?’ His every utterance was an insult. Kuln-Holn closed his eyes. He might have wept then – but tears had saved none of the others.
‘Lord, let us leave this place. Have we not done enough here? Surely this city shall be left in peace. It is a holy city, lord. She dwells here. They say below that she is the descendant of Goddess, and that God has taken her for His consort. They call her the living incarnation of Goddess upon the face of the world – I saw her in the temple, lord, and – and I think that they are right. She is beautiful and noble beyond earthly things, and not to be defiled by such as we.’
‘She’s a whore.’
For a few moments, Kuln-Holn could neither speak nor believe his ears had heard aright. Even then, all he could find to say was, ‘Lord, she is the body of Goddess.’
‘Does she think I do not know what she has done?’ Ennius Kandi asked of the winds, ignoring his servant. ‘How could I have dreamt she might be the one, returned to me at last? Even now, she does not know me. And how might that be, unless she be some treacherous disguiser?’
In the tones of his voice Kuln-Holn thought he heard tears – or perhaps the screams of burning Gerso. Never before had he beheld his master so wild and reckless. And was this the same one who had faced death so coolly so many times past?
‘Lord, lord, let us leave this place!’
‘No.’
The word was a sneer upon the dark lips, yet at its speaking something of recognition entered the eyes of the master, as if he were reminded of where and who he was. He drew his hand over his face, as if thereby he might have taken grasp of his soul again.
‘Kuln-Holn,’ he said with a trace of weariness, ‘and when we met in the hall of that castle in the snowy mountains, who was it who reminded me of the cause of sacred vengeance? Now I remind you. I said then that I would follow my own path through this. Do you think now I will allow the cant of priestesses or the weakness of your will, to lay a wall across that path? Nay, O Pious One. What is your Goddess to me, or I to Her? Will you be happy with your dreams, Kuln-Holn? – then sleep you on; but bother not me, who have wakened. How dare you wish to be content when I am not?
‘I tell you, this city will be spared by no divine favor. Its temples too shall be razed – its priestesses too shall be raped! Where were your fine deities when Gerso fell, or any of the others? Why should this city live on, when so many others have been crushed? The armies come near, O Dreamer – and why should I lift my hand to stop them? For her sake? Let her husband do that task for her, if the fool know how! But let him not look behind him at the one he strives so gallantly to protect, if he will not see such blood as would send even him across the knife-edged border!’
He stood, and the dusty-stained traveling garb he wore spread the smell of him into the room, an acrid, unpleasant odor. Kuln-Holn dared not look up from the dampened carpet. Calm again as if by fits, the master stepped over Kuln-Holn and walked to the door.
‘O Kuln-Holn,’ he said, ‘I go now upon a mission to do her Divine Majesty’s bidding. Herself, the August One was indisposed; but her husband gave the message to me well enough. I go now to the realms along the dark horizon to deliver messages and wedding invitations for the coming festivities. Do you await me here, for at my return I will have tasks for you. Fear not, Kuln-Holn: the armies of Ara-Karn will not reach Tarendahardil before next year. First they go to the shores of the Southern Ocean, and then darkward. The City Over the World shall be the last attacked. And Kuln-Holn, forsake all thoughts of your whore. Whores are treacherous, Kuln-Holn, when you have run dry of what they fancy.’
Kuln-Holn, abased upon the carpet, still did not look back, as he heard the closing of the door.
* * *
Against the surging currents of the throngs in the streets of the City Over the World, the Charan Ennius Kandi rode quietly and little-noticed; but that was the quiet of a poison-jade low cloud, after whose passing shepherds will sing thankful prayers to Goddess that it did not loose its fury on their heads. Once again the Gerso left the city and went abroad upon a sending of the Divine Queen, and once again he rode alone the long Imperial highways. But now he traveled toward the dark horizon.
And he took the road northward, and passed through Rukor first.
XV
The Tent of Ara-Karn
ALONG CRAGGY SHELVES of mountains near the Empire’s brightward marches, three companies of veteran Rukorian lancemen had made their camp. Their many sailcloth tents, secured by lines of withy Delba cord, billowed in the buffeting winds. There was in the breath of those winds the very stink and tang of the faroff Desert, driving up hot and arid from the jagged defiles below, spilling dust into the tents of the soldiers.
They took it all blithely. They had served their lord, the High Charan, on rocking ships along the dusky border, where Elna’s Sea spilled down out of the light; they had seen
duty during blistering high Summer in Vapio, grand-dame of all cities and vices; they had marched the hills of Fulmine overlooking Belknule. Now they had been led by their Captain Haspeth unto this high wilderness. Off duty, they gathered round the sheltered cook-fires and gossiped of the latest rumors of the wars. Mostly their talk went wheelwise back on the same old stuff of women and home and past tours of duty. Little enough of news reached their ears there in that forgotten place, save what they might glean from the few pitiful refugees fleeing besieged Bollakarvil.
Once two evil-looking, ragged, dirty-faced adventurers rode into the base camp and demanded words in private with the captain. The riders were so foul and ill-smelling that they might well have been thieves or renegades or even barbarians. The men on duty derided their impudence, and would have swatted their broken jades down the steep path at race speed for a jest’s sake. It happened, however, that Captain Haspeth emerged from his tent just then and, giving the newcomers two glances, promptly granted their request. He was tented with them for most of a watch before he let them go their way with many respectful words, as if these hounds had been noblemen whose tunics bulged with commissions. The soldiers wondered at this unusual manner of their captain’s, but they would have marveled had they seen what went on in the tent, and stood gape-jawed had they known the identities of their captain’s ragged guests.
In the tent, the three men had stood over a great parchment map that Haspeth had flung wide over his table so that it took up most of the room of the little tent. Captain Haspeth was a short man of strong build. His hair was dark and his cheeks clean shaven, and he held himself always as if he were a part of a triumphal march with all the eyes of the populace upon him. With his dagger on the map, he pointed out all that his men had accomplished along the defiles they guarded.
‘Mostly it goes well,’ he admitted. ‘Mark you, along here I have had the men pile up stones, and lay traps in the ground below. Not even death-birds could reach where my men will be positioned. Even were Ara-Karn the Demoniac Mage they call him, he could not pass this way without the loss of half his armies. Still, it seems to me all our work here will go unheralded. Ara-Karn will not pass this way. He does not mean to go for Tarendahardil yet – had he done, he would have followed the course of the Delba to Elna’s sea, and made for Tarendahardil by the sea road. Yet instead he goes on to the deeper South, and besieges Bollakarvil. It was an odd move – not what I should have done. Perhaps he has some fear of us after all.
‘Here,’ he continued, sweeping the knife in a wide half circle around the lines of the Empire etched upon the parchment. ‘There are as I deem it, but five good roads that will take an army of the size of the barbarian’s to Tarendahardil. First is Elna’s Sea, well guarded by Rukorian warships and ramming galleys. Besides which, the barbarians have no fame as seamen. So they will not come at us from that quarter. Second is the sea road along the coastline, the Way of the Delba – that he has passed by. Third is this road below us, which runs between Bollakarvil and Tarendahardil – and now, it is secure. Fourth, here to the dark horizon, is the corridor connecting Fulmine and Belknule, which the men call Yorkjax’s Gullet. If Ara-Karn can come through there, it will only be after he had conquered all the South but the Empire. Here to the south is the fifth, and most dangerous. This was the ancient trade route between Vapio and the deepmost South, from whose building the ancient Kings in Vapio gained their power and their wealth. There are a hundred fastces of open plain here, and no way to oppose the enemy save by open conflict: and so it goes all the way through Vapio, Fulmine and the Eglands to Tarendahardil herself. We would need great forces indeed, and need to make him pay heavy tolls at every resting-post with blood and iron, when once Ara-Karn gains the Way of Vapio.
‘But heed my words, and we need never come to such straits,’ Haspeth said, passion thickening his voice. ‘Bollakarvil need not fall. Her walls are strong – her position is secure. Let me and my men give over our useless digging and carting here, and go to defend the city of Elna! My men are as eager for it as I. Believe me, a good captain could hold that fastness for a month or a season or a year, opposed by bows or not! Will you not reconsider, sir, and let me at least try for the glory of it? For it seems to me the greatest of shame and dishonor upon us, if we let that city be cut down without even venturing to aid her. Trust me for it, sir, even as you would have trusted Ferrakador; I can lead men in war as well as he could. Let me prove my boast, and gain for Rukorian lancers the great honor and glory of at last saying no to Ara-Karn!’
The taller of the filthy, ragged men smiled grimly, but he shook his head. ‘You know if the thing lay in my hands, Captain, you would be in Bollakarvil now – not with a mere three companies, but a score or more. It was not my decision, but the High Regent’s, that Bollakarvil should be forsaken. And for now, while the other lords are in their provinces, the law sits firmly on the side of Dornan Ural. Hold these defiles now until you have gained sure intelligence of Ara-Karn, that he has gone southward from Bollakarvil; then leave two companies here against all doubt, and return with the third to Tarendahardil. Belike the Queen will have her uses for you. I will give you a letter to deliver to her. In the meanwhile fear not, for there will be more than enough of glory and honor in this for all. And it may well be you will have word of me before you think.’
‘But, my lord,’ Haspeth said doubtfully, ‘still you have not explained to me – what do you here, and why are you garbed so disreputably?’
Ampeánor set down the silver winecup and pulled his stained and torn traveling-cloak more closely about his shoulders. There was little mistaking the quality of him even in so simple an act. He smiled faintly, almost boyishly, as he answered his captain, ‘I mean to go with Jakgron here unto the siege of Bollakarvil, enter the camp of the barbarians, and assassinate Ara-Karn.’
* * *
In the midst of Tarendahardil’s celebrations for the announcement of the Queen’s betrothal, a lovely, teary-eyed slave had come to Ampeánor in the Hall of Rukor. Allissál’s illness had returned with redoubled evil, so that she was unable to rise from her bed. Ampeánor hastened to the White Tower, shaken with fear and foreboding. The physicians he met there looked very grave. For two passes the Queen had eaten and drunk nothing. Such fevers as this, they warned him, were most greatly to be feared during this season of Goddess.
Ampeánor entered her dimchamber silently, through the hangings from the slaves’ chambers. In the aureate shadow of the filmy saffron canopy her arms and streaming hair suggested rather than bespoke her features. He saw her then in the image that never left him, of the dead and perfect image of Qhelvin’s painting. Gently he brought the small, crumpled hand to his lips and kissed it. Never had she seemed more desirable to him as now, so fragile and helpless. That she was now (it shook him to think on it) within his power, a portion of his domain, as much his as that painted panel, only strengthened his desperate wish to shelter and guard her. That wish ran like a fire in his brain as he thought fleetingly of the yielding body buried beneath the many coverlets.
Why, he wondered, had he waited so many years to approach her? What good now were his sentiments and delicacies and honor, when she lay still as a voyager in her barge? He was unworthy of her. Goddess, he prayed mutely, do but grant that she shall live, and I will grant you anything, even my life. Underneath his tunic as he sighed, he felt a thing scratch against his chest. It was the Darkbeast-tooth he had had of Gen-Karn, and it reminded him of the dream that had come to him in Tezmon, of battling Ara-Karn lance to lance. That too was a wish that harried him peacelessly.
The weeks passed, and Allissál was little better. News of Ara-Karn’s victories reached Ampeánor’s ears, making him restive. It had seemed for a long moment that Ara-Karn had come too far and landed in dire waters, trapped between the armies of Jalzir of Ernthio and Druonil, the general of the armies of the city-states of the upper Delba. But then the Desert-dwellers joined the invaders and Ara-Karn triumphed yet again, utterly and at lit
tle cost. Even the battle of Elna’s Sea had taken an ill turn, for the pirates of the Isles had risen in strength anew, manning ships the barbarians sent them from the conquered ports of the North.
Ampeánor tried to work with the agents and continue the negotiations, but the subtleties and patience required seemed beyond him. This side of things he had ever left for Allissál. And now the foreign ambassadors seemed reluctant to go forward, when the one with whom they had dealt might soon be voyaged and powerless. He tried to convince Dornan Ural again, to confirm him in the offices of General Extraordinary; but the old fool regarded him but coldly, and spoke cryptically of jests and games.
When the word came that Ara-Karn marched on Bollakarvil, Ampeánor felt he could bear no more. Even though Allissál still lingered upon the shore of death and seemed to have no will to recover, Ampeánor knew that he must go.
He had been toying with the idea ever since he had learned that renegades had joined the ranks of Ara-Karn. He had seen the way of the barbarians when Tezmon fell. All was chaos, each man running to slay and steal as he might. With Ara-Karn’s death, the barbarians would be thrown into confusion. There would be quarrels between the chieftains, and perhaps they would even fall to fighting among themselves. All their pride and superstitious glory were wrapped in the cloak of their mysterious god-king. Ara-Karn, therefore, must die.
He lingered at the fragrant bedside some passes more, delaying; but she got no better and there was nothing he could do for her here. It tore at him that he must go without being able even to tell her. Still, surely, she of all people would have told him to follow his duty even before his love for her. And by this deed he would prove himself worthy of her love, and make up for all the years he had made her wait for him. It would be his wedding gift to her, the death of Ara-Karn and the salvation of Bollakarvil. It was a hard gamble, he knew, but his man Jakgron, whom he had sent into the camp of the barbarians, and who had gone freely among them several times, had conceded it might be done – that is, if Ampeánor had read his spy’s carefully worded reports aright. Better communications might not pass between them, for secrecy. Not even Allissál had known of Jakgron.