Prince of the Godborn (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  Elmandis looked from the Prince's eager eyes to Forollkin's anxious frown. “Follow the river,” he repeated, “when all other guides fail. Follow it beyond the last town and village, beyond the Forbidden Hill, beyond mountain after mountain, to the edge of Zindar. Only then will you find Tir-Zulmar.”

  Kerish found that he was already shivering as if the Enchanter King breathed out the cold of the Ultimate Mountains.

  Forollkin seemed unaffected. “Can you tell us something about this mountain sorcerer?”

  “I could,” replied Elmandis, “but I shall not. I have fulfilled the terms of Zeldin's bargain. He can ask no more of me.”

  “I'm sure that you have done more for us than Zeldin asked of you,” declared Kerish.

  Elmandis stood up. “Prince,” he said curtly, “your ship sails with the noon tide.”

  Kerish got out of bed and dressed, feeling weaker than he cared to admit. Very slowly, he and Forollkin walked down towards the beach. It was a glorious morning. The sunlight splintered on the dazzling white of Ellerinionn marble. Flowers defied the noonday heat and on the beach children were being taught to write, drawing characters in the sand.

  A small boat was waiting in the shallows to take them out to the Zeloka. Elmandis stood close by, the waves breaking over his feet. He watched Forollkin leap into the boat and merely said, “Remember what I said to you here.”

  Ekmandis kissed Kerish on the forehead and for the first time the Prince noticed strands of grey in the flaxen hair.

  “Will I meet you again?”

  “Not in Ellerinonn,” answered Elmandis.

  Reluctantly, Kerish stepped into the boat. Two men from the Zeloka pushed it out, climbed in and began to row. Elmandis waded after them till the water was above his waist. Kerish looked back until he was forced to concentrate on climbing the swinging ladder to the Zeloka's deck. When he reached the top and turned towards the shore again, Elmandis had gone.

  The Prince became slowly aware that Captain Engis was welcoming him aboard and saying something about finding room in the crew's quarters for Gidjabolgo.

  “Gidjabolgo?”

  “He came aboard last night, your Highness. I didn't quite know...”

  “His Highness is tired,” said Forollkin brusquely. “Talk to me about it later.”

  Kerish found himself being led to his cabin and forced to lie down. While Forollkin fussed over him, talking of potions and keeping warm and resting, depression crept over Kerish. He was glad he did not have to watch the coast of Ellerinonn as it receded but nor did he want to lie in his cabin with no company but his own dreary thoughts.

  “I brought some inks and parchment with me for drawing. Do you think you could find them?”

  Surprisingly, Forollkin did not argue. Kerish was soon propped up in bed meticulously copying a text from the ‘Book of Sorrows’ and framing it with garlands of inter-woven flowers and birds.

  The Zeloka sailed north. She would call first at For-Lessel to bring the news of Gankali's death to her father and then at Pin-Drouth, capital and chief port of the Land of Four Rivers. For three days they sailed through waters choppy enough to make Forollkin queasy again. Kerish kept to his cabin, quietly absorbed in the texts he illuminated, but on the fourth evening he came on deck to share a meal with Forollkin and Engis.

  Wrapped in a fur cloak against the sea breezes, Kerish sat eating kardiss from a porcelain bowl and drinking the hot spiced wine beloved of Galkian travellers.

  “What light is that?” asked Forollkin suddenly.

  “Where?”

  Forollkin pointed but the Prince could see nothing.

  “It's gone now,” admitted his brother. “We must be a long way from land. Perhaps it was a ship. No, wait! There it is again.”

  In the distance a blue light flared.

  “My Lords,” Engis strode over to his passengers. `Don't look. Turn your faces away.”

  “Why, Captain? Surely a light can do no harm?”

  “Not to Your Highness, perhaps, but I have known men turned mad by the light of that blue flame. Mad enough to leap overboard and drown trying to reach it.”

  “Where does the light come from?”

  “From the rocks of Lind, Lord Forollkin.”

  “I have heard of them,” said Kerish. “I think they have an evil name.”

  “True, your Highness,” muttered Engis. “The rocks form a circle and for miles around them the sea is shallow and treacherous. Many ships have been lost there. Yet what causes the light no one knows. Some say that within the rocks lies a small island and that poor souls washed ashore from the wrecks light fires to signal for help, but what ship could rescue them from there? Others say that blue demons live among the rocks and delight in luring ships to their doom. I don't know, and this is the nearest I ever sail to Lind.”

  “Why Captain Engis, are you afraid of fanciful tales told to frighten children? Shame on you. You've made Lord Forollkin tremble like an arrow just struck.”

  Engis swore under his breath. Forollkin stood up and Kerish twisted round to discover the owner of the rasping voice.

  A man, short and broad, stood in the dimness about the hatchway. Kerish could not see him properly until the stranger moved forward into the torchlight. Then Gidjabolgo the Forgite and Prince Kerish-lo-Taan stared at each other, both equally startled.

  Kerish had never in all his life seen anyone so ugly. Colourless eyes bulged in the Forgite's moon-face with a broad nose squatting between them. Thin lips were twisted back to show broken teeth and a tongue too big for the mouth. The dome of his huge head was barely covered by wisps of reddish hair. The body was as misshapen as the head, with arms that were far too long and hands that looked as plump and clumsy as a baby's. There was nothing frightening or sinister about Gidjabolgo's ugliness, he missed even that dignity. The Forgite was merely ridiculous. Helplessly, unforgivably, Kerish threw back his head and laughed.

  After a moment, Gidjabolgo answered with a sneer, “So this is the sickly Princeling who can't stand a ducking without taking to his bed like a woman in labour?”

  There was an appalled silence. To a loyal Galkian, Gidjabolgo's words were not merely insulting but verging on sacrilege. Even so, Kerish tried to control the anger surging through him.

  “Perhaps you have never been near to drowning? That is why you speak of it so lightly. It is an experience you may try if you let your tongue run away with your wits again in my presence.”

  Gidjabolgo bowed with a derisive flourish. “I see Your Highness rules by tyranny and a poor Forgite can be drowned at your whim.”

  “This is a Galkian ship and all aboard it are subject to Galkian law,” said Kerish. “I will spare you the penalty for insolence to the Godborn, since I take it that you are ignorant of civilized manners.”

  The Forgite's face contorted into a fiercer ugliness. “I see no gods here, only a spoilt child prattling threats in imitation of his elders.”

  “Throw him over the side,” said Kerish calmly.

  After a moment, men moved to obey but Forollkin sprang forward to stop them. “Highness, you promised to take him with us!”

  Trembling with anger, Kerish said nothing. Three of Engis' crew dragged Gidjabolgo towards the rail. As they reached it, the Forgite began to shriek.

  “Kerish, order them to stop!” whispered Forollkin.

  The Prince's face was blank. He stared through Forollkin as if he no longer acknowledged his brother's existence but, at the last possible moment, Kerish called out, “Stop. Bring him here to me.”

  The sailors tossed Gidjabolgo down at their Prince's feet.

  “I have brought you to the edge of death to teach you courtesy. Take him below and be sure to keep him out of my sight.”

  “I am privileged to have witnessed the famous justice of the Godborn,” hissed Gidjabolgo as they dragged him away. “Ever merciful to their victims, ever...”

  The rest of the speech was cut off by the slamming of the hatch.

  Hi
s anger ebbing, Kerish was already ashamed of himself. Forollkin gazed warily at his brother wondering if he had, even for a moment, intended to see the Forgite drowned. `A moment may kill.' Forollkin tried to dismiss the echo of Elmandis' words. What had possessed the Forgite to provoke the Prince so?

  Kerish was uncomfortably conscious of the stares of Engis and his crew. Perhaps they were wondering why a Prince of the Godborn could not strike the Forgite dumb? `What faith will they have left in the Godborn', thought Kerish bitterly, `when this voyage is over?'

  “Highness.” It was Forollkin's voice. “You look very tired. Perhaps you should go to your cabin.”

  For the rest of the voyage, Kerish-lo-Taan rarely left his quarters.

  * * *

  Before the Zeloka entered the harbour of For-Lessel, chief port of Forgin, Kerish's standard was lowered from the mast and the crew members who were going ashore were forbidden to mention the Prince's presence. News would travel faster from Forgin, the centre of all trade-routes, than from anywhere else in Zindar. Kerish stayed in his cabin and Gidjabolgo showed no inclination to emerge from the bowels of the ship to visit his home. Forollkin went ashore with Captain Engis to visit Gankali's father and deliver a letter of condolence from Queen Rimoka. The Merchant Prince received the news of his daughter's death with little emotion. The only distress he showed was at the prospect of lengthy negotiations over the return of her dowry. Forollkin wondered if Gankali's mother would take her loss so calmly. Perhaps she hadn't regarded her only daughter as merchandise.

  Forollkin and Engis walked back through the vast market square at the heart of the city. Vessels from all over Zindar traded their cargoes in For-Lessel. Amber and furs made the perilous journey from frozen Dorak. Roon nuts were carried from the oases of Kolgor to be crushed with herbs from Ranin to make a potent liquor. Galleys from Proy brought the precious irivanee mined by slaves. The luxurious land of Losh sent perfumes, love-potions and poisons. The Five Kingdoms traded in gems from Gilfalsotaz, swords, spears and snakeskins. From Seld came delicate porcelain, fine silks and musical instruments. The Dardik islanders caught the stupid Dik birds and plucked their shining feathers to be made into cloaks for the rich. From Lan-Pin-Fria came the rare Marsh cats to be the pampered pets of noble ladies and Gauza, costliest and deadliest of drugs. Galkis itself supplied jewellery, carvings and embroideries, made by the famous craftsmen of the Nine Cities, and horses from the northern plains. These and hundreds of more basic commodities were bought and sold in the city every day.

  The people in the market place were equally varied. The Forgites themselves tended to be short and plump with brown or red hair. They dressed in jewels, furs and velvets to display their wealth, yet vociferously protested poverty when bargaining. Forollkin saw bearded colonists from Further Eran, a group of gaily clad dandies from Mel-Kellin, two stately black-skinned Kolgorn women, a hard-faced merchant of Mintaz waited on by iron-collared slaves, a green-haired Frian staring like a savage, even a few men who were obviously from Galkis.

  Forollkin spent a long time looking for a belated birthday present for Kerish. The ebony and silver pen-box he chose seemed dear even after he had attempted to haggle with the stall-holder. Trapped in his stuffy cabin, Kerish was in the mood for surprises. He hugged his brother, exclaiming, “Forollkin, it's beautiful! I never knew you had such good taste.”

  “You're not the only one with an eye for beauty,” grumbled Forollkin, but he was pleased that Kerish seemed to value his gift.

  The Zeloka left Forgin the next morning. Three days later, they sighted the coast of Lan-Pin-Fria. The capital, Pin-Drouth was built on a marshy island in the middle of a delta. For most of the year the river rolled sluggishly around the island but in the rainy season it flooded the city so all its wooden buildings had to be raised on stilts. In autumn, the streets were free of water but coated with dried mud and slime that bred disease. Kerish wrapped himself in his plainest cloak and came on deck to face a moist, suffocating heat.

  Already the Zeloka was besieged by pedlars offering paper fans, cheap sandals, gilt trinkets, amulets, dried obfish and other Frian delicacies. There were beggars too, some horribly mutilated or deformed. Appalled, Kerish wanted to distribute alms at once and sent Forollkin to fetch a purse full of coins. Engis asked him not to be too generous, “Or we shall have every beggar in the city on this quay, with thieves in their wake eager to fleece a wealthy stranger.”

  Several of the Zeloka's crew went down among the beggars to see that the money was divided equally. Even so, scuffles broke out and the blind and the lame scrabbled in the dust for fallen coins. Trying to distract his passengers from the ugly sight, Engis pointed out some of the Frian castes from among the crowd on the quay. There were shaven-headed serfs, their thin brown bodies beaded with sweat. The free artisans, distinguished by their short hair and copper bracelets, looked scarcely happier or more prosperous. Both these castes bowed obsequiously when a Merchant or a Hunter passed. The Merchants were greyer-skinned with distinctive moss-green hair. They wore ankle-length pleated kilts and a fortune in bracelets, collars and ear-rings of green bronze. Most of them looked too fat to walk and were carried in wicker chairs by their panting serfs.

  Forollkin watched them with contempt, but his expression changed when Engis pointed to a Hunter. “That is a killer of Or-gar-gees.”

  “Of what?”

  “An Or-gar-gee is a water serpent,” explained Engis. “They grow huge in the northern marshes. Their skins are highly prized.”

  The Hunter was tall and lean. He wore only a brief linen kilt and boots and a wide collar made of scaled skin. His shaven head was crowned by a knot of green hair passed through a ring of bronze. Long, curved teeth dangled from his ears. The Hunter held a slender spear and strode proudly through the crowd without acknowledging their greetings.

  A jingling noise drew the Galkians' attention to an old man pushing his way through a group of serfs. Hundreds of bronze rings were fastened to his tattered clothing and they clashed together as he moved. His hair hung loose to his waist and his face was garishly painted. The old man lifted up a crude, wooden idol and began yelling at the top of his voice to extol the virtues of his god.

  “The Frians have more gods than there are reeds in the marshes,” said Engis with disgust. “That is one of their holy men, promising to cure all the ills of life for a mere three rings of bronze. This is a savage place. Still, my Lords, there are some merchants who have travelled and learned a little of our ways. I'll visit those I know and try to arrange a passage north for you.”

  When Engis had gone the brothers did not linger on deck. The beggars were already shouting again for alms.

  “How long will our journey through Fria take?” asked Kerish.

  “Months,” said Forollkin gloomily.

  Engis returned with the news that if they were prepared to leave the next day, the Prince and his brother could travel north on the ship of a merchant named Ibrogdiss.

  “I don't like the man,” reported Engis, “but he speaks good Zindaric and should honour a bargain sealed with gold.”

  “He accepted our story?” asked Forollkin.

  It had been Kerish's idea to pose as Galkian noblemen collecting specimens in the marshes for the Emperor's garden.

  “Without a flicker. Frians expect all foreigners to be madmen,” said Engis. “Begging your Lordship's pardon.”

  Forollkin went with Engis to his cabin to give him his final orders. The Zeloka was to sail next to Mel-Selnor, the chief port of Seld, with letters for Queen Pellameera. She would call at Pin-Drouth on her return and on her next outward voyage, to seek news of the Prince. Engis begged Forollkin to take some Galkian soldiers with him into the wild Frian interior but he refused. They must travel as inconspicuously as possible. Gidjabolgo had been warned that he must pose as the Galkians' servant or be left behind.

  Forollkin did not, however, decline a farewell cup of wine. The cup became a flask and the flask a flagon and Engis' tales of
seafaring adventures more and more improbable. In a life hedged by ceremony, Forollkin had few opportunities to get drunk in good company. He took this chance with a will. The sound of raucous but contented singing soon floated out across the harbour.

  As the sudden Frian night descended, Kerish lit a lamp of translucent jade and wondered how many of his clothes, jewels and possessions would fit into the single light chest that was all Forollkin would allow him to take on the journey. There were three things he definitely could not bear to part with: his copy of the Book of the Emperors, the jewelled pieces of his Zel set and his zildar. The zildar he would carry slung over his shoulder, so Forollkin could not object. To these he added three gifts: Forollkin's pen-case, the painted flask from Ellerinonn, filled with the Blood of the Sun, and a casket of pale ivory.