Delerium's Mistress: Tales of the Flat Earth Book 4

by Tanith Lee

  All the night, therefore, was a riot (if what they said was so). Many many miles, and after those, many many miles after, till Azhrarn, letting the chariot of bronze and silver idle at last, remarked to the girl on the lion, “Yes, that is fair. You have a cunning mind, though you are yet a child, a demon’s mind. A dutiful and obedient daughter for sure.” And his smile froze to hail the fringed icy beryls and pearls along the reins, and the very dew that was beginning to form upon the leaves below, that froze too.

  Soon after this a city swelled before them. There had been several such, but this one was mighty, and lay along a river, among fields of flowers. Animals of stone guarded the quays and the city’s two gates, and even here and there stood up on a roof. They were white as salt. The river itself was white, kissed by the sinking moon, and on all the spires of the city, the moon had set, in parting, silver rings.

  “And here,” said Sovaz, “what must I do here?”

  “I have heard how you deal with a city by a river. Shudm of the ghouls may speak for you in that. Let this place be. Or shall I give it you to be a goddess in?”

  “Am I to want such a gift?”

  “Oh, dutiful daughter,” said Azhrarn. “You are to be a goddess somewhere, for I would teach this world the nature of gods.”

  “And what is their nature?” she said.

  “Indifferent and cruel. And loving not mankind.”

  “In Bhelsheved,” said Sovaz, “I have seen a notion written on a rock: that the kind gods saved the people there from a monster they call in that land Azhrarn. Nor did the gods save them only once, but twice over.”

  “It is by such notions they have earned the lesson I will teach,” said Azhrarn. Then: “I have not rebuked you for your discourtesy,” said Azhrarn. The dew which had frozen turned to steel and dropped down the trees to concuss little slugs. “Do not forget that I do not forget I have not.”

  “I am rebuked,” said Sovaz, “by the very life you gave me. And since it is an immortal, never-ending life, I shall be rebuked by it forever.”

  Then Azhrarn reached out to her and put his hand upon her head, very gently, and he said to her, “The Vazdru do not weep.”

  “Who weeps? Not I.”

  “Each word spoken was a tear.”

  But, though he gazed at her intently, when she turned her eyes to him, Azhrarn looked away from her, out over the night. Whatever he might say, she could not help but recall for him Dunizel. The first sight he had had of her, this child of his, an adult woman, had gone through him like a sword, and there can be no doubt of it. And he could not help but dislike her, too, perhaps; since he had created her to do his work upon the earth, she was his own wickedness, externalized and incarnate. And had Dunizel, maybe, caused him to question his wickedness, his character, as it seemed she had meant him to?

  The chariot, and the lion, hovered in the air, and the city moon-gleamed below. Azhrarn removed his hand from the girl’s hair, revoked his caress (the lion shuddered), but said to her, “What now, then, is your name?”

  And she replied, “Azhriaz.”

  The meaning of which is merely this: the Sorceress, Azhrarn’s Daughter.

  7. The Story of the Stallion’s Back

  THERE WAS a king who ruled the city and lands of the white stone cats, the name of which was Nennafir. His name was Qurob. The very day that he was born, a witch-woman came to his mother, even as she lay swooning with fatigue on her bed, amid the fans of her handmaidens. “Your son,” said the witch-woman, “shall be king of Nennafir, in health and bounty, and no man will raise a weapon against him, and no ill happening come near to him, and his name will be well remembered. Unless . . .” And here the witch hesitated meaningfully, and the handmaids held their breath, and their fans were still, and only the mother of Qurob sighed. “Unless,” continued the witch, “when once he is a king, he should ever chance to ride upon a stallion’s back. For if he does that, he shall lose his kingdom, and he shall die.”

  At these tidings the mother of Qurob rested upon her pillows, and she said no word at all for some while, though she might be seen to be thinking. Finally she did speak. She said: “Well, this is wonderful fortune, for I am not even the present lord’s wife, but only his concubine. It is a small matter, surely, that my son keep from riding on a stallion’s back—he will have geldings and mares in plenty for his use, if he is to be king. Come now,” she said to an attendant, “pour wine, and you shall all drink with me to this good luck, and the seeress with us—and in every cup I will let drop one of these pearls from my necklet, but for the wisewoman I will let drop three pearls. “ There was much approval at this decision. The wine was poured in the cups and each passed to the mother of Qurob, who, as she had promised, let fall in each a costly pearl, but into the cup of the witch she let fall three. Then everyone drank, save only the mother herself—she was too weak to taste wine as yet. And in a moment or so, everyone but her tumbled over with a groan and died. For in every cup, along with a pearl, the mother of Qurob had let fall a drop of deadly poison from a ring she wore, but in the witch’s cup she had let fall three drops. And this was because she had thought to herself: Only I must know this thing, I and my son. If any other knows, he may seek to trick him into just such a ride. In that she may have been sensible. She was altogether a clever woman. No sooner were the witch and all the attendants stretched lifeless than Qurob’s mother began to scream. When help arrived, she told how a vile sorceress had entered and offered to make the new mother, a mere concubine, into Nennafir’s queen, if only she would work evil against her lord. This she sternly refused to do, at which the sorceress cast a spell upon the wine, so it slew everyone who had drunk it—save only Qurob’s mother, who had been too weak as yet to drink. And then Qurob’s mother had herself recited a charm against witches, taught her long ago by a priest—at which the loathsome sorceress herself expired.

  All marveled at this news, as well they might. And presently the tale was recounted to the king.

  “Here is one who is steadfast,” said the king. And in a while he went to visit Qurob’s mother, and was much taken with her beauty, as he had been that prior night he got her with child and gave her pearls.

  Affairs then went as they might be expected to go.

  The king raised Qurob’s mother, he made her one of his lesser queens, awarded her lands and jewels. Then Qurob’s mother became a compassionate and admiring friend to each of the three other lesser queens and to each she said, “Why, my son is nothing to yours.” Or, if no son yet appeared, “Why, my son will be nothing to yours.” And she said, “I am a nonentity, but it is my joy to be near you. Always I have noted your loveliness and virtue, and indeed I will confide in you, I believe it is you yourself the king loves best—truly, even better than the high queen of Nennafir, for of course that marriage was arranged when he was but a boy. I suppose that he would cast her down and put you in her place, if he were able.” And that said, next she diligently advised each lady against the other two, and told how she had heard it rumored that they might wish to poison the favored one, or the favored one’s child, or the favored one’s child-to-be. And shortly, Qurob’s mother did the service, and poisoned the two lesser queens who were least susceptible. But the night before she did it, she sought audience with the high queen herself, and Qurob’s mother fell on her face, and then being permitted to kneel, warned the high queen how the lesser queens plotted against her, and of one in particular (the most susceptible), who would probably murder her rivals. So when the two bodies were come on next morning, everyone knew who was to blame, and the lesser queen, the susceptible one, was taken and flogged and hanged, and her corpse left on the gibbet where the three white cats of stone lay by the river.

  And after that the high queen raised Qurob’s mother and had her as her confidante and spy. This went on for thirteen years, during which the boy Qurob grew, and was taught by his mother to be canny, and to flatter and dissemble, and to be cruel, too, for she assured him, “There is a secret you m
ust tell no one. You are king here.” And Qurob smiled, and said, “Am I, Mother? I shall be glad of that.” But to each of the sons of the high queen he said, “I am nothing beside you, but let me be your slave, for I have always admired you beyond duty, more as I would worship a god.” And then he kindly advised them each against the others and told them plots he had heard of, and gave them access to evidence which he simulated and paid others to simulate. And during his thirteenth year, the high queen died of a wasting disease induced by Qurob’s mother’s having introduced into her food tiny toxic granules. And then the king’s sons fell out and quarreled, and some killed each other. And one night Qurob, a strong handsome lad of gracious bearing, knelt humbly to the king and informed him a plot had been laid against the king’s life, and though it broke his, Qurob’s, heart to speak, all must be revealed. And next morning the two eldest of the king’s sons were torn apart by horses, and their remains left in the square where the white cats of stone overlooked the river. And Qurob became the king’s heir.

  Now three further years passed, and the king, who had grown old and sick, looked lovingly upon his adoring heir, and that year Qurob was sixteen, he murmured to the king, “Magnificent Father, let me speak to you in your chamber.” The king willingly complied. When they were closeted together, Qurob said, “Father, have I served you well?”

  The sick old king nodded, and with tears embraced him. “Of all my sons,” said the king, “you alone were faithful.”

  “Then know,” said Qurob, “I alone, of all your sons, was false.” And then Qurob explained everything he had done, and reminded the king of what had been done through his lies. And the king started up in anguish, and his heart burst and he died.

  When the diadem of the city had been set on the brow of Qurob, his mother came to him privately, in a shadow robe of mourning tear-sprinkled with priceless gems.

  “Now attend to me, my son,” said she. And she apprised him of the prophetic witch who had come to her the very day of Qurob’s advent in the world, and said he should be a king. But when he was king, he must not ride upon a stallion’s back, for if he did the kingdom would be lost to him and he would die. “I have told no other living soul,” said Qurob’s mother, “and all who knew, I have made certain they are eternally silent. For if any are aware but us two, they may turn the chance against you and trick you into just such a ride.”

  “Oh my mother,” said Qurob, “I am blessed in you. Oh most sagacious of women, and best. I will heed your caution. None shall know save you and me.”

  Now it may be thought strange that Qurob should distrust his mother, who had all this while kept the dangerous secret flawlessly. But most men measure most matters by themselves. The woman had weaned her son to trustlessness, and the trustless seldom trust another. Supposing he had one day been at odds with her over something, or even that, growing older and infirm, she muttered the story of the stallion’s back in a fever or in sleep?

  So Qurob kissed his mother and gave her presents, and when she was in her own apartments, he sent one after her to drown her in her bath, so it should seem to be an accident. For had she not taught him for sixteen years to be prudent?

  The length of his lifetime and half again, then, Qurob ruled in Nennafir, till he was forty years. He ruled in prosperity and health, no man stood against him, and, though he was harsh and tyrannical, none spoke ill of him but called him the Beloved King.

  And be sure, for all the fine horses he selected, as if carelessly, to ride upon, in all these years he never once took a stallion.

  One day, Qurob went hunting. Beyond the flower fields that garlanded the city there was a green plain with waters and spreading trees, and here lived raisin-blue boars and shining white gazelles prized for their skins. Nevertheless, on this day, the party started nothing, and the king became sullen, in which humor he was feared. At last the sun was westering, and there in the tall grass by a pool, Qurob beheld a gazelle drinking, white as the word, and with a black star between her brows.

  The hunt at once gave chase, and the animal leapt away fleet as a spear. This was thought excellent sport, and every man shouted for gratification—and relief, seeing the king would now be in a gentler mood. And on and on the gazelle sprang, passing like a wind over grass and stone, leading them toward the eastern sky, with the low sun at their backs.

  But ride as they might, and cast spears, and shoot with the bow as they might, they could not get near to her or wound her and bring her down. And they left the hours behind them under their horses’ hoofs. The sun went on to the western gate and knocked to be let forth.

  The horses flagged. One by one the horsemen drew rein. Only the king surged on. His courtiers dared not suggest to him any other course, but each man but him, to save his mount, now dropped back to follow at a walk. The gazelle they left to the king, and she and he were soon gone from sight into the clear dark dusk.

  Qurob did not like anything to elude him. His gelding labored, but he thrashed it and spurred it to greater efforts.

  He looked to see the white gazelle tire, but she did not. So he called to her coaxingly over the echoing darkening plain: “Sweetheart, I admire you and wish only to be near you. Let me come close. Let me protect you from others who mean you harm.”

  After a time, it seemed to Qurob he heard the gazelle cry back to him: “Do not try those lies on me, Qurob. It was I taught you them, and I remember how you repaid me!”

  At that the hair bristled on Qurob’s neck. He went first chill then hot then clammy cold, for it seemed he knew the voice of the gazelle; it was like his mother’s.

  Just then the gazelle reached a stand of trees and darted in among them with a white flash. But she did not come out of the trees on the far side. Going in after her, Qurob did not find her.

  “Sorcery,” said Qurob in some annoyance. “Or that bitch’s ghost. I will take offerings to my mother’s tomb tomorrow.”

  He had scarcely spoken when the gelding shuddered and fell dead under him.

  Qurob rose bruised, and kicked the gelding’s carcass one final kick. Then he shouted for his men, knowing they dared do nothing but follow him. But they were too far off, as yet, to hear, and Qurob did not wish, suddenly, to be solitary in that spot, the Beloved King of Nennafir.

  Accordingly he left the cover of the trees, and stepping out, what should he next see down the slope, but a cot with a lighted doorway, and the evening cook-smoke going up. And nearby was a pasture in which a horse was feeding. Going closer, Qurob saw this horse was a splendid mare.

  Noting it, Qurob, generally so lucky, strode to the open door of the dwelling. He said to the man he found within, “Down on your knees, oaf. For I am the king of Nennafir.” At which the peasant sensibly obliged, leaving his meal to burn on the fire.

  “What is your will, mighty lord?” timidly inquired the peasant.

  “Give me your horse. That is my will.”

  “Alas,” said the peasant, uneasily, “if you mean the mare in the pasture, I should not recommend it. She has had such dealings recently she is fractious, and will not like to bear you.”

  “What do I care for the whims of the brute?” exclaimed the king.

  “I have, though,” said the man placatingly, “a noble stallion who is currently content and docile—”

  King Qurob swore a dreadful oath. He had detected sounds without of spurs and hoofs, and understood his courtiers were now approaching. And he was thinking this: If I decline the stallion, this dolt will question in his mind my insistent preference, and so will they that arrive now, my court. Besides, there are stallions ridden with the geldings for the hunt, and I may be offered one of those and must refuse. And they may wonder at it, and may recall I have never sat upon a stallion, and so divine I have some secret reason, and guess it means no good to me, and trick me one day, just as my mother told me.

  So Qurob drew his sword and lopped off the peasant’s head, and going out he went after the mare and got hold of her, and when his court came up the
king said, “Go fetch my saddle and the rest of the gear off the dead horse in the trees. I have taken a fancy to this plump mare and will ride her home to the city.”

  And that he did, though the stallions of the party were troublesome at her presence, and she herself unwilling, as the peasant had declared, and Qurob beat her.

  For all that, she was a lush animal, and Qurob inclined to keep her for his stable. Having forgotten her in other business, it was a while later that, recollecting, a morning came when he called his chief groom and asked for the mare.

  “Alas, mighty lord, she died. She was in foal, which foal she dropped before her time, and it came out of her feet-first, having stood all its season in her belly. And, had the foal lived, it would have been the jewel of your yards, for already it was in every particular the most choice of stallions. And it is a great shame that only once you rode on his back, and that unknowing, when you rode over the womb of his mother.”

  Hearing these words, Beloved King Qurob went gray as ash. He lifted his hands and took off the royal diadem, and from his fingers he pulled the rings. “My sins have hunted me down,” said he. “My mother’s curse, for certainly she cursed me, has found me out.” And he called his trembling attendants and had them strip him of all his ornaments, and his raiment, and even his shoes he put off from his feet. And he took with him only one sharp dagger, and walked from his palace naked and alone, astounding the city, and down to the brown river, where the white stone cats of Nennafir gazed away from him with loveless eyes.

  Qurob had no mind to wait for death, for he had often sent death to others, or given them death; Qurob grasped death might be unlikable. So he cut his own throat and his corpse fell in the river.