Prince of the Godborn (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  “I did not know myself until today,” said the Prince hurriedly.

  “The Emperor must have sold his wits to the wind to send a child to govern Ephaan,” began Rimoka, “but then he was always bewitched by...”

  “No doubt the Emperor was advised by His Holiness,” put in Im-lo-Torim.

  “No doubt, my dear,” Rimoka checked her anger. “Well, we must wish you Zeldin's favour in your new appointment, Kerish. I fear that one so young and with so little experience of the world may need it.”

  Kerish answered with quiet dignity, “I thank you for your gentle wishes. I have faith in Zeldin's mercy.”

  “Such piety is most commendable,” said Rimoka flatly. “We must pledge your health.”

  The Godborn rose, Gankali leaning unsteadily against her husband, and drank to the new governor of Ephaan.

  “Now, let the temple actors begin,” commanded Rimoka.

  O-grak turned to Kerish.

  “My congratulations, Prince. Ephaan is a fair city, if hard to defend.”

  “Lord Forollkin will be military commander,” answered Kerish. “No doubt he has plans to strengthen the defences for these are troubled times.”

  “Indeed, indeed. I know you are plagued in the north by the Brigands of Fangmere.”

  “A few paltry raids,” said Kerish, sipping at his wine.

  “I hear also,” continued the Ambassador, “that the Jorgan Isles are now so infested with the ships of Fangmere that the passage of the Sea of Az is safe for no vessel.”

  “I will take your word on it,” replied Kerish. “The Ambassador of Oraz should certainly know the movements of the fleet of Fangmere.”

  O-grak duly noted that rumours of the alliance between the Five Kingdoms and the men of Fangmere had reached Galkis and changed the subject.

  “A pretty ornament, Prince.” He took Kerish's wrist and examined the silver and crimson bracelet. “My new wife would walk barefoot over swords for such a jewel as this.”

  Kerish at once unfastened the bracelet and gave it to O-grak.

  “She shall win it by a word,” he said, smiling.

  The Ambassador stared at him for a moment. “You are generous, Prince.”

  “It is nothing,” answered Kerish carelessly. “The wealth of Galkis can pay a dozen armies as easily as it can spare a bracelet.”

  O-grak nodded reflectively. “I will remember your words, Prince, when I return to Oraz.”

  “My Lord Ambassador,” Kelinda leaned across the table, her copper hair gleaming in the torchlight, “see, the temple actors are about to begin. They are to tell the story of Prince Il-Keno and the Enchantress. Do you know it?”

  A smile twitched at the bearded lips. “We have no such dainty tales in Oraz. Only legends of war, of bloody vengeance and the slaying of monsters.”

  “Then we will tell you the story as the action passes. Perhaps you will learn to love our gentle tales.”

  “I think not, Princess,” said the Ambassador of Oraz.

  The open space between the lower tables was now filled with brightly-clothed actors and dancers. Six musicians sat in a semicircle holding zildars, cymbals, drums and flutes. They began to play a soft beguiling tune and the high, sweet voice of the chief singer thrilled through the hall. He sang of the glorious reign of the Emperor Ke-no-Kaatan and of his son Il-Keno. The chief of the temple actors entered robed in purple silk and glittering with false jewels. He wore an ancient ivory mask to represent the face of Prince II-Keno.

  A chorus of Jenozan women sang of their terror of the Enchantress of the jungle and the banebirds that were her servants. Kelinda and Kerish whispered explanations to the Ambassador, who nodded and smiled. Though the chorus warned him of its dangers, Prince Il-Keno resolved to enter the Forbidden Jungle of Jenze and seek out the evil enchantress. Flutes and zildars played weird, discordant music as the actor mimed his perilous journey through the jungle. Suddenly twelve dancing banebirds erupted on to the floor. They wore grotesquely carved and painted masks and long trailing cloaks of scarlet feathers. The banebirds darted at the Prince, shrieking harshly above drumbeats and the clash of cymbals.

  Prince Il-Keno raised his hands and cried out to Zeldin for aid. For a moment, there was silence and then from the back of the hall, strode a tall figure in a glorious golden mask. Kerish's heart leapt as the singer burst into a hymn of praise to the Gentle God. When the golden figure approached the banebirds fell to the ground, heaving and shaking with terror so comically that the Ambassador roared with laughter. The Prince prostrated himself before the god whose hands were raised in blessing. Zeldin spoke, telling Il-Keno the way to the lair of the Enchantress and what he must do there.

  Kerish's concentration was suddenly broken by a choked cry from someone at the high table. He turned to look just as Gankali slumped forward, retching. A flagon overturned, spilling amber wine. The Crown Prince struggled to his feet and held his wife by the shoulders. Gankali moaned with pain and vomited a noisome green liquid on to the silken cloth.

  Yxin and Jerenac got to their feet and the courtiers at the lower tables noticed the confusion on the dais and were distracted from the performance. Between spasms, Gankali whispered something and the Crown Prince cried hysterically, “Poison. She is poisoned!”

  The actors faltered. The golden mask of Zeldin was turned towards the dais and silence crept over the hall.

  “Poisoned,” repeated the Crown Prince dazedly.

  “My son, you forget yourself,” hissed Rimoka. She spoke loudly to the company. “Do not be alarmed. Sickness is common in the Lady Gankali's happy state.” She turned to the temple actors. “Play on.”

  The actors spoke their lines and the musicians played again, but all eyes were on the dais. Her gaudy robes streaked with blood and bile, Gankali was helped from her seat by the Crown Prince and Kelinda. Rimoka spoke calmly to the Ambassador.

  “The Princess is far gone with child. No doubt the food and wine have proved too rich for her.”

  “No doubt, Majesty,” growled O-grak.

  Before Gankali could be helped from the hall, she gave a wild shriek and broke away from her husband and Kelinda. She staggered a few steps, vomiting blood and then collapsed. Gankali heaved once and lay still.

  Kerish ran to her and knelt. The Crown Prince was already stooping over the sprawled body. Kerish took her wrist and then felt among the spoiled silks for her heart beat. He drew back a stained hand and whispered, “She is dead.” Poor stupid Gankali, whom he would never mock again.

  “No, no!” The Crown Prince shook the pathetic body, trying to force life back into it.

  Conscious of all the watching eyes, Kerish said sharply, “Carry her out of the hall. Carry her!”

  Obediently the Crown Prince lifted his wife and, staggering under the weight, carried her from the hall.

  Kerish took Kelinda's hand and led her back to the high table. His look told Rimoka that her son's wife was dead. Grim-faced, she ordered the banquet and the play to continue. In front of half their court and the Ambassador of Oraz, the Godborn must show neither grief nor concern.

  No one touched the food or wine at the high table as Il-Keno confronted the beautiful golden-haired Enchantress and compelled her to do no more evil. When the actors had withdrawn, O-grak enquired after Gankali.

  “She has fainted,” answered Kerish.

  At midnight, Queen Rimoka rose to end the banquet in honour of her Name Day. Kerish managed to walk calmly out of the hall and then fled along a corridor into an empty room and was violently sick.

  Forollkin hurried after him and gripped his shoulders. “Kerish, you're not...”

  “No, but Gankali is dead. Poisoned.”

  “But how? We all ate much the same food, drank the same wine.”

  “Crimson is the colour of death,” quoted Kerish. “Each of our nectar cups is different.”

  “You don't think that the Emperor...” began Forollkin, appalled.

  “No,” Kerish said hastily, “but he k
new what was going to happen. He knew.”

  A servant knocked respectfully and entered.

  “Your pardon, Highness, but the Queen and the Lord Commander request Lord Forollkin's attendance.”

  “Highness, can you spare me?”

  Kerish nodded. Forollkin ordered the servant to assemble torch-bearers to escort the Prince back to his apartments and then made his way to the Crown Prince's chambers.

  The Queen, Jerenac and Im-lo-Torim were seated at a lacquered table. They were already discussing Gankali's death as a danger to the reputation of the Godborn rather than as a tragedy but in a side chamber the Crown Prince sat hunched over his dead wife, stroking her bright hair. Standing at his side, Kelinda tried to comfort him but he did not hear her.

  When Forollkin arrived, Rimoka left the table and went in to her eldest son. She spoke his name and when he didn't answer, struck him hard across the face. The Crown Prince gasped and the life came back into his eyes.

  “Even the Third Prince behaved more fittingly than you tonight. You disgrace your destiny to mourn excessively for a merchant's daughter. She has borne you a child. She was of no further importance. Get up! There are decisions that must be made now. Behave like the son of an Emperor. The Godborn have no use for grief.”

  * * *

  Long after midnight, Kerish's servants tapped timidly at his bedroom door to ask if his half-brother should be admitted. Soon, Kerish was fully awake and Forollkin was sitting on the end of his bed, anxious to talk.

  “You were right, it was the nectar cup. Im-lo-Torim tested it and thinks the poison was ulgan. It is tasteless and swift though it has a bitter smell.”

  “Which the sweet scent of the nectar would have hidden.”

  “Exactly. I helped Lord Jerenac to question the steward and the four servants who had handled the cups but none of them admitted anything.”

  “The Emperor would know which of them is lying.”

  “But he has declined to help. Jerenac sent the servants to the men of his escort for...further questioning.”

  “Do you mean torture?” Kerish sat upright. “That's barbaric. The Godborn have never used such methods.”

  “The Godborn have never been murdered before,” said Forollkin dryly.

  “But some of those men must be innocent. Don't you care?”

  “I don't like it,” admitted Forollkin, “but I don't see any alternative.”

  “You'd think differently if you saw it happening.”

  “Probably I would, but, thank Zeldin, I don't have your imagination.”

  “So the innocent must suffer for the real murderess!”

  “Yes. Zyrindella's name was never spoken but it was obvious what the Queen was thinking.”

  Kerish frowned. “The Emperor will never let her punish Zyrindella.”

  “He could not,” said Forollkin grimly. “Not openly or who would honour the Godborn then?”

  “Torturers of the innocent deserve no honour,” answered Kerish sullenly.

  “Kerish, we cannot always be gentle or we will lose everything it is our duty to guard.”

  “Our ancestors were both strong and gentle.”

  “Long ago,” said Forollkin, “but the world changes and harsh winters follow gentle summers. You are still very young and you don't...”

  “Oh, Imarko have mercy, not you as well!” cried Kerish. “I'm only four years younger than you and I won't be treated as a child, especially by you!”

  He looked so absurdly angry that Forollkin laughed. “Kerish, I only meant that you've seen so little of the world beyond Palace and temple. You're as prickly as a Gilazian spike palm.”

  “You give me cause,” muttered Kerish. “You all do.”

  “Nonsense,” answered Forollkin briskly. “You imagine insults everywhere as thick as thorns and bleed from your own fancies. Now let me go, Kerish. It's been a long night and I am to be in charge of the funeral escort tomorrow.”

  Forollkin stretched out a hand to ruffle the Prince's hair but Kerish shrank back. Awkwardly, Forollkin withdrew his hand. “Goodnight then.”

  When he was gone, Kerish's stared fiercely after him. `I will show you', he thought, `I will show you on our quest whether I am a child or a man.' Later, just before he fell asleep, he remembered that he had not thanked Forollkin for a lie told before all the Godborn.

  Chapter 8

  The Book of the Emperors: Warnings

  Treat even the lightest parting as though it were the last, as though you set out, not to ride into the foothills or to fetch a jar of water, but to cross the irrevocable gulf of death. That gulf may open at your feet at any hour and you may never return to dry the tears of one you left weeping.

  Kerish awoke the next morning to the melancholy sound of flutes and the wailing of horns. It was the only sound permitted in the palace. The Lady Gankali, Second Wife of the Crown Prince and mother of his daughter, was dead. All work, all entertainment, all idle noise was forbidden until her body had been carried out of the city. A strict fast was observed by everyone from the Emperor to the hungriest street urchin. In silence, Kerish put on thin robes of white and gold, the mourning garments of the Godborn.

  At noon, an escort of fifty soldiers of the Imperial Guard, all cloaked in white, assembled in an inner courtyard of the Palace. The place was thronged with silent courtiers. The women held bitter herbs to their eyes to make them seem red with weeping. The men huddled together, exchanging knowing glances. Beneath the enforced solemnity, the court was alive with rumour and speculation.

  The city was stunned. Always before, the Emperors had announced the impending deaths among the Godborn so that everyone had time to prepare. Rimoka had given out that her daughter-in-law had died of a miscarriage. Even those who had not been present in the banqueting hall were heard to doubt it. If Gankali's child had proved to be a boy, he might well have become Emperor. Now the succession was in doubt again.

  Musicians entered the courtyard, playing the discordant music of death, the destroyer of harmony. Behind them walked Lord Izeldon leading a phyle of priests. Next came a magnificent, golden palanquin hung with white. Inside lay Gankali, dressed in her bridal clothes, the fine silk strained over her belly. The litter was borne by the eldest of the male Godborn present, Jerenac, Yxin, Im-lo-Torim and the Crown Prince.

  Gankali's husband now seemed perfectly composed but his cheek bore the traces of Rimoka's blow. Powerless to punish the murderess, Rimoka had turned her fury on her son. She had spent much of the night railing at him for betraying weakness before the court and the Ambassador of Oraz. Now, she too appeared calm as she walked barefoot and white robed behind the litter. Next came Kelinda, her pale face drawn with tiredness, leading her husband's three-year-old daughter. Kerish-lo-Taan and the ladies, officials and pages of Gankali's household followed.

  Forollkin mounted a white horse and led the escort through the Palace and out into the city. The wailing of horns warned the citizens of their presence. There was no one to watch the funeral procession go by, for the Galkians were forbidden to look at the unveiled faces of the royal mourners.

  It took two weary hours to pass through the city. The distance from the gates to the Valley of Silence was more than four miles. It was a long and exhausting walk. No-one was allowed to stop and rest. Tired and bewildered, the little Princess Koligani began to sob. Rimoka turned round once to cuff her grandchild into silence but a mile from the city the sobs turned into screams. Koligani crouched down and refused to move.

  Kelinda did her best to soothe the child without actually speaking but Kerish slipped forward and lifted the girl in his arms. Ignoring the Queen's scowls of disapproval he carried the little Princess all the way, though his back and shoulders ached with her plump weight. He even allowed her to amuse herself by tugging at his hair and making him pull faces.

  At last, in late afternoon, they reached the gateway of the Valley of Silence. Lord Izeldon motioned for the litter to be set down and the weary bearers gladly obeyed. The C
rown Prince knelt and drew back the white curtains. He lifted Gankali from the palanquin.

  The escort and the Gankali's household halted at the archway. Only the Godborn entered the valley itself. The place was as beautiful as when Kerish had last seen it. His tiredness dropped away as they descended into the gulf of silence. The grass was soft and moist beneath his feet and the air was heavy with the scent of a million star-flowers.

  The pale figures of the Godborn moved like sleepwalkers towards the heart of the valley. There, ugly amid the rich beauty of the iranda, the dark earth gaped. Gently the Crown Prince laid Gankali in her shallow grave. At a touch from Kelinda, he released her hand.