Prince of the Godborn (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  If you choose, you shall govern our port of Ephaan and marry Selona, the old Lord's daughter. In perhaps five years' time you will also marry the youngest daughter of the Governor of Tryfania and replace him in Trykis. You may, if you choose, appoint Yxin, your future brother by marriage, as Governor of Far Tryfarn. It might pacify him, but do not underrate the danger of his allying with Zyrindella against you. Well, Kerish, will you stay in Galkis and begin by governing Ephaan? Or will you throw your life away for a glimmering hope? No, don't answer yet. Let the High Priest speak.”

  The High Priest rose and bowed to the Emperor.

  “I have spoken to you, Kerish, of a quest for a Saviour who can restore the harmony of heaven to our troubled land. In wisdom, he shall excel all the Lords of the Godborn and he will bind together the divided peoples of our Empire.”

  “Empires fall and Emperors die,” said Ka-Litraan. “Glory fades and greatness is forgotten. That is the way of men. Let darkness come to the Godborn, Izeldon.”

  “If the Saviour is not freed,” answered the High Priest, “then darkness will cover all our sins. Even if he comes, you and I will not live to see it.”

  “No. There will be no light in my darkness,” murmured the Emperor, “and if Kerish chooses this quest I shall not see my son again.”

  “Father!” The word came unthinkingly to Kerish's lips. “Father, I will do whatever you ask. If you want me to stay here...”

  “No!” It was almost a shout but the Emperor's hand touched Kerish's cheek as gently as he might have caressed a half-opened flower. “Uncle, pay your Emperor no attention. You must speak on.”

  It was the High Priest's turn to pace between the banks of flowers, his hands folded inside the breast of his robe.

  “Majesty, Highness, no man in Zindar knows where the prison of the Saviour stands.”

  “It is not written in the Book of Secrets,” affirmed the Emperor. “Yet we are told to seek knowledge from the first High Priest and the last.”

  From inside his robe, Izeldon drew out a chain of cirge. His cupped hands hid whatever hung from it.

  “Ask”, he said, “and I will answer.”

  The High Priest's eyes were still open but they were like a blind man's, dull and unfocused. Or looking inwards, thought Kerish.

  “Tongue of Zeldin,” cried the Emperor. “It is time. We seek the Saviour of Galkis. Speak!”

  There was a long silence, as if the High Priest was struggling to recover something from the deep of memory. When he began to speak, it was very softly. Kerish strained to hear and at first the language seemed alien. It was High Galkian but the words were distorted into strange, new shapes.

  No, not new, Kerish realized, ancient shapes. For the first time he saw language as a living thing, spreading across the centuries, growing, changing. This was a voice from the childhood of Galkian.

  “Seven gates and seven locks, but I am the key. A key of flesh and a key of spirit in each generation. Child of the Godborn, seven keys must you win. Keys of gold, keys of death.”

  As Kerish watched, the High Priest's hands whitened until his skin was almost translucent and his bones were like the bars of a cage of light.

  “Seven cold keys but the last and the first are keys of flesh and spirit.”

  “Where?” demanded the Emperor. `Where must he seek?”

  “Where there is least safety and most hope.” The High Priest's body rocked and his voice soared.

  “Seven citadels must you breach. Seven sorcerers must you conquer. Seven keys to the last gates. Seek the Enchanter King. Seek the Tyrant of Ellerinonn!”

  Light seemed to break from the High Priest's hands and surge towards Kerish. For a moment he wondered why he had not noticed the darkness of the day before that light. Then it was gone.

  “Child of the Godborn,” Izeldon's voice rang through the Hidden Pavilion, “receive the token that you shall bear to Ellerinonn. Receive what you cannot accept!”

  Gently the Emperor pushed his son forward. Kerish knelt. The High Priest opened his hands and hung the glittering chain around the Prince's neck.

  “This jewel,” murmured Izeldon, “has been worn by every High Priest of Zeldin. On my death, it should have gone to Im-lo-Torim but I entrust it to you, Kerish. Without this burden I have no strength.”

  The High Priest crumpled but the Emperor sprang from his chair and caught him as he fell.

  “The nectar quickly, Kerish.”

  The Prince hastily poured out another cup and knelt to press it to Izeldon's lips. The High Priest's eyes fluttered open. For a moment they were as blank as a mirror facing nothingness, then Kerish knew that Izeldon saw him again.

  “Child,” he whispered, “Kerish, forgive me.”

  Izeldon's face seemed taut enough to break into a thousand fissures. He is old, so old, thought Kerish.

  “Drink, uncle,” chided the Emperor. “There is more to do before you can rest.”

  The High Priest swallowed obediently and Ka-Litraan lifted the old man with surprising ease and placed him on his chair.

  As Kerish stood up, something cold and hard swung against his chest. He squinted down at it. A purple gem with a heart of white fire hung from the chain.

  “You wear the Jewel of Zeldin,” said the Emperor. “Nine chapters of the Book of Secrets do not suffice to describe it, but it has no worth unless you can discover its virtues for yourself.”

  “The Seven Sorcerers...” began Kerish.

  “Ah, the Book also speaks of their long search for knowledge. Immortality was the reward of their compact with Zeldin. Even I do not know where all their citadels stand,” admitted the Emperor. `Elmandis rules fair Ellerinonn. A second sorcerer lives on the Isle of Cheransee and is a terror to all ships that pass through the Straits of Rac. In the Red Waste, in the Queendom of Seld, there is a third whose citadel is a place of dread. Of the rest, I can tell you nothing. They have withdrawn from the world.”

  “But King Elmandis will know!” declared Kerish. “I will seek him in Ellerinonn.”

  Izeldon sat upright again. When he spoke his voice was very tired. “You are resolved then to search for the keys to our Saviour's prison?”

  “Yes,” cried Kerish. “How could I bear to stay mewed up in Galkis when you have shown me what my life could be? Yes, yes.”

  “You would go beyond the shadow of the Godborn?” asked the Emperor.

  “Yes, my Lord. If I have your blessing?”

  The Emperor stretched out a thin hand, but this time he did not touch his son.

  “You have my blessing, but you cannot go alone.”

  Sound shivered through the crystal pavilion as the Royal herald struck the door with his rod of cirge.

  “Kerish, I have sent for your half-brother,” said the Emperor. “Bid him enter.”

  Kerish hurried to the doorway where Forollkin stood, looking curiously about him. He had always kept to the fringes of the garden before because he did not know the paths and had been warned of the dangers mingled with the beauty.

  Kerish dismissed the herald and Forollkin cast himself down to make the seven proscribed obeisances. The Emperor coldly ordered him to rise. Forollkin looked at the Emperor of Galkis, at the Prince standing by his side and at the pale figure of Izeldon. He sensed an affinity between them that he could never share, no matter how close he was to Kerish.

  “It is known to me,” began Ka-Litraan, “that you wish to go with my Lord Commander to Jenoza and serve him as chief Captain.”

  Forollkin was silent, wondering how the Emperor knew.

  “Is this not so?”

  “Yes, Majesty,” said Forollkin.

  Kerish would have spoken but Izeldon laid a warning hand on his wrist.

  “Lord Forollkin,” began the Emperor, “for five years you have been a Captain in the Imperial Guard and the chosen companion of my royal son. Does this life no longer please you?”

  “No, Majesty,” answered Forollkin bravely.

  “Why is this?”
enquired the Emperor. “Is it because of the new scar on your cheek? If so, the Prince shall pay you blood fee. You, yourself, shall draw the dagger across his face, scar for scar. He will submit, I promise you.”

  “No!' No, I couldn't.”

  “Your anger, then, is dead?”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  “Well, we must seek elsewhere for the causes of your discontent.”

  The Emperor sat down, leaving his sons to stand facing one another.

  “Perhaps Forollkin will name them himself,” suggested Izeldon.

  “Speak freely then,” commanded Ka-Litraan.

  “Your Majesty, Your Holiness,” began Forollkin, “I was trained as a soldier but the Inner Palace is no place for swords. It is beautiful but it chokes me. I am no courtier and there is so much here that I could never understand. Let me serve you with my body, guarding Jenoza or fighting against the Brigands of Fangmere. Let me do what I know I can do, away from...”

  Forollkin faltered but the Emperor said calmly, “You desire action, danger, freedom?”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  “Forollkin, I may send you into even greater danger than you desire,” murmured the Emperor. `Do you know why I chose you as a companion for Prince Kerish-lo-Taan? It was for your faults. They are the mirror to your brother's virtues and his failings are checked by the wall of your strengths. I am glad when you quarrel for it confirms your differences but you should not separate. Together you may achieve much, apart, very little. For the sake of Galkis you must not be divided. I wish you to swear that you will never leave Kerish unless he commands it. As your Emperor I could order you to do this. Instead, I beg you.”

  Ka-Litraan held out his hand to Forollkin and touched him for the first time in their lives.

  “Majesty, I...”

  The young captain looked helplessly from Izeldon's calm face to Kerish's imploring eyes.

  “I swear it,” he said desperately. “I won't leave Kerish.”

  “The Emperor of the Godborn witnesses your oath,” pronounced Ka-Litraan. “If in the long night of eternity you break it, may the Bird of Truth devour your soul.”

  After a moment's silence, Kerish said, “Majesty, may I tell him now?”

  “Surely,” answered the Emperor, with a curious half-smile. “Does not the Book of the Emperors say that obedience without knowledge shall have a fitting reward?”

  “Forollkin, I have been chosen to search for the promised Saviour and you are to come with me. The Seven Sorcerers hold the keys to his prison and we must persuade them to give the keys up. First the Enchanter King of Ellerinonn...”

  As Kerish spilled out his news, Forollkin gradually caught his half-brother's excitement.

  “You mean we are to be trusted with all this? Kerish, why didn't you tell me?”

  “Because I forbade it,” said the High Priest quietly.

  Forollkin suddenly remembered in whose company he stood.

  “Forollkin,” said the Emperor, “this is a journey that will take you far from Palace and Empire, to lands where the Godborn are not honoured. You will have to make your own respect. There will be difficulties and dangers. To protect your brother will take all the skill and courage you have. Are you resolved to go?”

  “Yes, Majesty,” answered Forollkin steadily.

  “Then you, Kerish, will shortly be proclaimed Governor of Ephaan,” announced the Emperor. “Forollkin will accompany you as the new military Commander. You will travel in state. I shall, however, send letters to the present Governor of Ephaan ordering him to fit out a ship for your voyage to Ellerinonn. You will be long gone from Galkis before anyone in the Palace guesses your absence. Will this serve, uncle?”

  “Most well,” exclaimed Izeldon.

  The Emperor smiled in bitter acknowledgement.

  “I should rather have been the last Lord of the Godborn, but I will play my part in Zeldin's dance. Kerish, lead your half-brother back through the gardens. You must hurry if you are to attend the Name Feast of our dear Queen.'

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  Kerish and Forollkin began their parting obeisances but the Emperor stooped to whisper to them, “Feast then, but never drink from a crimson cup. Crimson is the colour of death.”

  When his sons had gone, the Emperor murmured, “There is perhaps one other thing I should have told them about their journey.”

  “And what is that?” asked the High Priest reluctantly.

  “That for one of them,” said the Emperor, “this quest will end in death.”

  Izeldon did not ask for which one. In his soul he already knew.

  Chapter 7

  The Book of the Emperors: Sorrows

  And the Godborn must look into the eyes of death and smile, for death is the gift of Zeldin to men.

  As they walked back together through the gardens, Forollkin started to plan.

  “A state journey along the Royal Road would take an age, but you need not travel by litter all the way. No, we will take good horses and use them once we are well clear of the city. We should reach Ephaan just when the seas are calmest.”

  Forollkin went on to talk about their escort and what baggage they should take. Kerish stopped listening. He should have realized that Forollkin would take over the leadership of the expedition but he was the one that the High Priest had chosen. That must not be forgotten.

  “What will you tell your mother?” asked Kerish suddenly.

  Forollkin halted in the middle of a list of necessary provisions and thought for a moment.

  “Just that the Emperor has ordered me to go with you to Ephaan as Commander. She can't expect me to refuse an Imperial order.”

  “Be careful, you were never good at lying.”

  “No, that's another royal talent that I lack.”

  “Well guard your tongue or your mother will drag the truth past it,” said Kerish.

  “What do you know about mothers?” retorted Forollkin. “You don't even remember yours.”

  Even so, Forollkin knew that the Prince was right. He was on his guard when he entered his mother's pavilion. Follea was already dressed for the banquet. One of her slaves was holding up a mirror, while another fastened gold pins in the thick braids of her hair.

  Before Forollkin could speak, she snapped, “Where have you been this last hour? Lord Jerenac has had men searching for you all over the Palace.”

  “The Emperor sent for me.”

  Follea studied his face, reflected in the copper mirror.

  “And what did the Emperor of Galkis, may his reign be eternal, have to say to his son?”

  Forollkin stood as stiffly as if he were talking to his Commander.

  “I have been ordered to accompany Prince Kerish-lo-Taan to Ephaan. I am to be in charge of the city's defences and the Prince is to be Governor.”

  Follea dismissed her slaves and then asked, “Did the Emperor know of Lord Jerenac's plans for you?”

  “He knew,” answered Forollkin steadily, “and he made it clear that I would not do well to accept Jerenac's favours.”

  “But Jerenac holds Viroc, he is the strongest Lord in Galkis,” protested Follea.

  “Mother, if the Emperor chose to destroy the Lord Commander I believe he could do it at a word. He masks his power, but he is Emperor still.”

  “But for how long?” Follea fastened an amber necklace about her throat. “It is said that the claws of death have marked his face at last. Death must soon follow.”

  “It is a false rumour,” said Forollkin.

  Follea considered.

  “Well, perhaps you are fortunate. Jerenac's pride and plain speech may trip him yet. If only you would pay court to the Crown Prince or the Lady Gankali...but of all sons you are the least likely to bring your mother fortune and glory.”

  “Mother,” Forollkin put his hands on her shoulder. “Mother, you should be glad. Ephaan is a great city and I shall command all her defences. The fleet too. Would you care for a son who was Lord Admiral of Galkis?” />
  “The sea is fickle and a drowned son will not protect me in my darkening years.”

  “Mother, you are loved and honoured here.”