Prince of the Godborn (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  Sunlight flooding through the open doorway woke Kerish. He lay on a hard couch in a strange room and his father sat beside him. Kerish remembered the events of the evening and sat up instantly awake.

  “The sun is gilding Galkis,” said the Emperor. “You must go.”

  Kerish slid off the couch and dressed in his now dry robe. Hesitantly, the Prince knelt.

  “Father, give me your blessing.”

  The Emperor smoothed down a stray wisp of silver hair on Kerish's brow. “You have it always, child of my heart. This gift I give you.” The Lord of the Godborn placed his hands over Kerish's eyes. “The cruel gift of seeing Truth through the mists of illusion. Be brave, Prince of the Godborn, braver than I have ever been.”

  Kerish felt as if courage, as a tangible thing, flowed into him from his father's hands.

  “Come then.” The Emperor led his son out of Queen Taana's tomb to a gate in the thorn hedge. “Take the left-hand path as far as the grove of amber-leaved trees. Then cross the jasper bridge and you will be in the Maze of Eldiss. From there you know your way.”

  Kerish nodded but still lingered by his father's side.

  “Go,” said the Emperor. “Forollkin is angry and even the High Priest is failing to soothe him.”

  “Goodbye, my Lord.”

  Childlike, Kerish hugged his father. For a moment, the Emperor held him close and kissed him on the forehead. Then he pushed him gently away and repeated, “Go!”

  Kerish walked slowly through the gate. Then he ran towards the grove and all the way back to the Inner Palace.

  The Emperor of Galkis stared after him. Finally, he turned away from the morning light and opened his arms to embrace the darkness of Taana's tomb.

  * * *

  Forollkin paced Kerish's empty apartments, slapping a riding whip against his leg.

  “My dear Forollkin,” began the High Priest for the third time, “I assure you your Prince is safe.”

  “I don't doubt your word”, said Forollkin, unconvincingly, “but safe or not, why isn't he here? There were a thousand and one things to be done last night and I was left to struggle with them all!”

  “Would you really have let him help if he had been here?” murmured the High Priest but Forollkin swept on, “To be gone all night and never a message to tell me where he is! When he does come back I'll flay him. I'll...”

  “I think I'll run away again,” said Kerish, who had been standing unnoticed in the doorway for more than a minute.

  “Kerish, where in Zeldin's name have you been?” Forollkin shook his half-brother by the shoulders. “I've had the Imperial Guard out looking for you!”

  “I have been with the Emperor,” answered Kerish quietly.

  Izeldon, who had been studying the Prince's pale face said, “Don't scold, Forollkin. The Emperor must be obeyed.”

  “Well, I suppose it was not your fault,” muttered Forollkin ungraciously. “Your travelling clothes are laid out on your bed. Be quick now. The escort is waiting.”

  When the Prince had gone, Izeldon said, “Be gentle with Kerish today. Parting is bitter and he has begun to understand his father's torment.”

  Forollkin made no answer. He was thinking of his own parting with his mother and the lying promises he had made to her.

  “So all is ready,' continued Izeldon. `Your efficiency is much to be praised, Forollkin. Once you are beyond Ellerinonn, it would be wiser to travel as ordinary Galkians, not Lords of the Godborn. I will speak no names, but more than one of the Godborn would look on the return of a Saviour as a threat to their own power. The older Kerish became, the more pressure would have been put on him to side with one party or the other in the coming struggle. Now he is standing aside from both, so both may try to prevent his ever returning to Galkis. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” said Forollkin, “you don't have to speak the names. We will be wary in lands that acknowledge the power of the Godborn, though I fear Kerish will not take easily to travelling as a common man. For all he speaks of freedom, he is used to the trappings of royalty.”

  “You will both find it hard,” murmured Izeldon.

  Kerish re-entered the room. He wore the rich travelling dress of a Lord of the Godborn. His purple cloak was swathed around his head, covering all but his eyes.

  “I'm ready. I've been very quick.”

  “You have the jewel of Zeldin?” asked the High Priest.

  Kerish nodded. It hung beneath his tunic, cold against his skin.

  “Wear it always, but think of it as a trust, not a possession. Forollkin, I have a gift for you, too.”

  The High Priest held out a slim dagger. “This will kill swiftly and mercifully and never fail you. It is the first weapon that I have ever blessed.”

  Forollkin bowed and expressed his thanks.

  “There is much I could say,” declared Izeldon, “but probably to little purpose. Do whatever the King of Ellerinonn asks of you and be loving brothers. Since your escort waits, I will ride to the city gates with you.”

  Led by Forollkin on his roan mare, the escort of the new Governor of Ephaan passed through the Golden City. Kerish-lo-Taan's litter was surrounded by marching soldiers and followed by fifty pack-ponies. At the outer gate, Forollkin dismounted and Kerish's litter was set down.

  The High Priest spoke sombrely to them both.

  “You have my blessing. In trouble and torment, in splendour and sorrow, my love goes with you. May Zeldin the Gentle have mercy and Imarko the Wise guide you.”

  Forollkin saluted and returned to the head of the column. Kerish looked up at the High Priest and whispered, “My Lord, I wish to thank you for the trust you have placed in me. Will we meet again?”

  The High Priest stooped to embrace him. “Not while I live.”

  Forollkin gave the signal and the Prince's litter was lifted. The escort marched through the gate and on to the Royal Road to Ephaan. Lying face down among the purple cushions of his litter, Kerish did not once look back at the High Priest or at the Golden City he might never see again.

  Chapter 9

  The Book of the Emperors: Wisdom

  The virtue of a journey rarely lies in its destination. What man is so closed to thought that he will not be brought to wonder whether it is he who moves or the world?

  In the blazing noonday sun, Kerish-lo-Taan was leaning over the rail of a ship staring down into the calm waters of the Great Harbour at Ephaan. Within its sheltering walls, the sea was the colour of pale amethysts and so clear that Kerish could see the shape of every rock that jutted through the white sand three fathoms below. The surface of the water, ruffled by a slight breeze all morning, was now smooth as glass. A glass that offered the Prince his reflection.

  How often he had longed for one forbidden glimpse of his face. Kerish made out a dark shapeless figure. His head and half his face were swathed, as custom demanded, in purple cloth, but Kerish could see a band of white where his skin was uncovered and the dark hollows that were his eyes...

  A stone, dropped from above, shattered the glassy surface and broke the Prince's reflection into a thousand ripples. Kerish turned angrily to face a smiling Forollkin.

  “Do you remember how the priests ceremonially beat you once for staring into a pool? Don't forget the law. It was made for more than the checking of vanity or so the priests tell us.'

  “I was watching a shoal of silvery-green fish,” said Kerish quickly.

  “Indeed? I saw none.” Forollkin was sceptical.

  “They have just swum under the ship,” insisted the Prince.

  Forollkin was tempted to ask what kind they were but he knew he could never catch his brother out on such details. Kerish was perfectly capable of inventing a dozen different kinds of fish and describing them minutely. Instead, he merely delivered his news, “We are ready to sail.”

  * * *

  Forollkin's efficiency had made the long journey from Galkis to Ephaan swift and trouble-free. They had ridden hard each day. At night, they had
either camped by the Royal Road or been obsequiously received into the homes of nobles and officials. The people might curse their ineffectual rulers in distant Galkis but the presence of an actual Prince of the Godborn still inspired awe. For the first time in his life, Kerish had been treated not as the youngest son but as a mighty Prince. Everything that he admired in the house of his hosts was instantly offered to him. Had he been of age, it would have been not just jewels and ornaments but their wives and daughters too, since to bear a child to one of the Godborn was considered a high honour. Forollkin certainly didn't lack for willing bedfellows.

  Kerish was not too young, however, for people to flock to the roadside and dart forward to kiss the hem of his cloak. Craftsmen begged Kerish to touch their hands or the tools of their trade and farmers beseeched him to tread on their soil and bless their animals. Intoxicated by their faith, Kerish-lo-Taan had graciously done all they asked. Disgusted, Forollkin had seen his brother begin to accept such worship as his due. To the young captain, the people's faith was a forlorn and pitiable thing.

  So at last they had come to Ephaan, the great copper-walled city by the shores of the purple sea. After a ceremonial welcome, the puzzled Governor had humbly asked for some explanation of his Emperor's strange orders. Kerish had told him that he was on a secret mission of great importance and that he required a ship to cross the Sea of Az. It was to be announced that the new Governor was visiting the Jorgan Isles. The anxious Governor protested against the dangers of such a journey. The Jorgan Islands now paid tribute to the ships of Fangmere that hid in their harbours, waiting to attack the traffic in the sea lanes. Kerish-lo-Taan had rebuked the Governor for his lack of faith in Zeldin's power to protect his children but the old man had been politely obdurate. In the end, the Prince had been forced to accept an escort of three triremes. Kerish and Forollkin themselves were to travel in the swiftest and most beautiful ship in the Galkian fleet, the Zeloka.

  On their fifth morning in Ephaan, they had visited the ship. Kerish had admired the great figurehead carved and gilded like a zeloka with wings outspread, and approved his small but sumptuously furnished cabin. He had also sent aboard a ridiculous quantity of luggage and refused to give the captain any information about the destination of their voyage. Forollkin had quietly had some of the luggage offloaded and had taken Captain Engis aside. Over a cup of iced wine, he had explained the probable length of their journey to the worried Captain so that he could arrange the necessary provisions.

  Two days later, there had been a formal banquet to welcome Kerish as Governor. The old Governor's daughter, Selona, had sung and played the zildar. She was a curly-haired girl who laughed as often as she spoke. Kerish watched Selona, wondering what it would have been like to be married to her. She was not like the picture he had long ago formed in his mind of his perfect love; a picture based more on images of Imarko than on any real woman. Yet he was attracted to her gaiety and love of music.

  In the last of the sunlight, Kerish had looked out at Ephaan, with its steep streets of copper-roofed houses running down to the great harbour. He thought how pleasant it would be to live in this elegant mansion, far away from the sombre splendours of the capital city. `When the quest is over and the Saviour is freed,' Kerish said to himself, `I will ask for Ephaan and marry Selona,' but words from the Book of Proverbs rang in his head - `The chance that is not taken never comes again'.

  * * *

  “We're ready to sail,” repeated Forollkin.

  Half an hour later, they stood together on deck as the Zeloka sailed away from the crowded wharf, past the slave market where Kerish's mother had once been sold.

  “I would have forbidden it,”' he said abruptly.

  Forollkin understood him. “Slavery is against our ancient customs, but at least slaves are better treated here than in any other land.”

  “Yes. We burden them with gratitude to complete their slavery.”

  The Zeloka passed a dozen merchant ships of Forgin, two royal galleys of Seld, a quinquereme of Mintaz and five longships of Dard to reach the entrance to the Great Harbour. As they came out into the open sea, the ship plunged and the wind assaulted the purple and golden sails. Forollkin stared back at Ephaan till, all he could see was the occasional flash of sunlight on the copper walls.

  Beside him, Kerish unwound his purple headcloth and veil and tossed them into the wind.

  “Kerish!”

  “I am sick of being veiled. While we're at sea I refuse to hide my face.”

  “It is the law,” protested Forollkin.

  “It is now but Mikeld-lo-Taan never hid himself from his people and nor will I,” declared Kerish. “Besides, we're beyond the reach of the law now.”

  “That's not what the priests say. Zeldin is Lord of all Zindar,” said Forollkin stiffly.

  “But Zindar is full of gods and goddesses.”

  “Kerish! That's sacrilege. Someone might hear.”

  The Prince laughed. “Don't sound so shocked, brother. I think the High Priest would say that Zeldin is the god of Zindar only if your prayers make him so. Do you pray to him?”

  “Yes. No. You shouldn't ask.”

  Kerish relented.

  “I'm sorry. You're right, I shouldn't ask you that, but don't you feel a thousand times more alive in a swaying ship in a fair wind on a shining sea?”

  “No, I feel a thousand times more in peril of my life,” snapped Forollkin, “and who knows what dark things lie beneath your shining sea?”

  “You sound just like our father.”

  “I don't have the time to fool with such thoughts.”

  Forollkin went below to check their baggage for the third time.

  To the captain's despair, Kerish spent the rest of the day exploring the Zeloka, disrupting work wherever he went. Each time he passed, the sailors prostrated themselves and avoided looking at his face. In the small space of a busy ship it was difficult to observe these courtesies. Sometimes he stopped to talk to members of the crew who stared fixedly at the deck and stuttered timidly. Having found out everything about the workings of the ship he settled on the poop-deck and harassed the captain further by constantly despatching sailors to fetch him books, glasses of wine, cloaks and scarves.

  In the late afternoon a strong tail wind blew up, sweeping them along their route and making the Zeloka rise and dip in the swell. This did nothing to mar Kerish's enjoyment but Forollkin was humiliatingly sick. He lay in his cabin, vomiting every few minutes while his world heaved as if trying to give birth to a monster.

  After an excellent supper, Kerish came down to his brother's cabin, carrying a bowl of soup.

  “Oh Forollkin, so brave a soldier and so poor a sailor! You're missing a night thick with stars but in my brotherly solicitude, I've brought you some fish soup.”

  Forollkin smelt it and was sick again. Kerish chattered brightly until his half-brother hissed at him to go away. Forollkin consoled himself through the long rough night with visions of strangling Kerish.

  The Prince was up early and still feverishly active. He paced round and round the deck staring at drifts of seaweed, green and gold against the purple sea, leaping shoals of coppery fish and skeins of sea-birds flying eastward. Near mid-morning, Forollkin staggered on deck. Kerish steadied him.

  “I'm glad to see you looking less green. The seaweed was more companionable than you yesterday.”

  “It is hard to be entertaining when you're spewing like a geyser,” retorted Forollkin.

  Kerish opened his mouth to say that he had found that very entertaining, but thought better of it.

  “Never mind, you're recovering. Let us take a cup of wine with the captain.”

  Before Forollkin could say that his stomach felt too frail to take a cup of anything, Kerish was half-way across the poop-deck.

  The captain of the Zeloka and half his crew, including the man at the wheel, knelt while Kerish arranged himself comfortably on a couch beneath a purple awning. He then gave them permission to rise.
>
  “Captain Engis, you will drink some wine with us.”

  “Your Highness I am deeply honoured,” answered Engis with a melancholy smile, “but at this moment I have much to do. With so strong a tail wind, we are getting too far ahead of our triremes and...”

  “Captain Engis, I am not interested in our triremes.” Kerish's tone was very sweet but the captain winced. “As you said, you are deeply honoured.”

  The Prince signalled for the wine to be brought. Engis stifled several sacrilegious thoughts and bowed submissively. Stools were brought for Forollkin and the captain and the hot spiced wine was served.