The Mountain of Kept Memory

by Rachel Neumeier

  She thought, from how fast the Kieba’s spider had been moving, that her brother might even be out there waiting for her before she made it down to ground level. She was sure it was him. She tried to move a little faster, gritting her teeth against the pain.

  CHAPTER 4

  The golem was, in fact, almost too powerful. When they approached the eastern gates of Caras, Gulien told the golem to clear a way through the Tamaristan soldiers there, and it immediately knocked down a lot of the wall on top of the soldiers and then cleared a path through the rubble and the crushed bodies. This worked, but it wasn’t what Gulien had had in mind at all.

  “I’m doing more damage to Caras than the Tamaristans have done!” Prince Gulien snapped. “It’s important to look strong, like I’ve already won, but can’t you make your golem act with a little more subtlety?”

  Then he thought that perhaps he should not snap at the kephalos as though it were a human servant. But the kephalos only answered, as flat and calm as ever, “Yes.”

  Gulien didn’t exactly relax, but he hoped the golem wouldn’t knock down huge chunks of the wall again. Nor, he hoped, any buildings or houses, either. At least the people of Caras didn’t seem to care about the wall. They opened their shutters and came out onto their rooftops and threw pieces of brick and tile after the retreating Tamaristan soldiers and cheered Gulien. Gulien made himself smile. He stood up on the golem’s back and waved, and the people cheered louder and shouted his name and “Kieba!” And quite a lot of them came down into the streets to follow the golem. Gulien waved again encouragingly, because it might be dangerous for them to take such risks, but he thought it was important for his people to feel they had had a part in forcing the Tamaristans to withdraw.

  “Kephalos, do you know where I can find Prince Gajdosik?” Gulien asked. “It is Gajdosik commanding these Tamaristan soldiers, isn’t it? Is he at the palace?”

  The Tamaristan prince was down by the harbor. The kephalos said Gajdosik had five crystal mirrors through which he could envision the whole city. Gulien found, rather uneasily, that he knew exactly what the kephalos meant. Some part of his new, uncertain memories seemed to encompass such strange oddments of knowledge. Those mirrors must have given Prince Gajdosik a great advantage through the fighting, but now the kephalos found him through those mirrors, so Gulien supposed it all balanced out.

  “Can you control those mirrors?” he asked. “Can you show Gajdosik that we are here—that I am here—and that I am driving his people out of the city?” It was important, he suspected, for the Tamaristan prince to know he was beaten, or else he might keep fighting—and then who knew what might happen? Gulien knew that the Kieba might return from Elaru at any moment. It was important that Gajdosik understand that passing time was not his friend but not realize that time might not be Gulien’s friend, either.

  It was good, probably, that Gajdosik had been commanding his invasion from the harbor. He’d better not have lost his ships; they’d be the only good way he had to get his men out now. If anything had happened to those ships, if the Tamaristan prince was actually unable to retreat, that could be very bad. He wondered whether he could possibly use this golem to slaughter all the Tamaristan soldiers. It would be an ugly thing. He had already found that the golem’s glass needles did worse to a man than he ever wanted to see. Sometimes one of the foreigners tried to shoot Gulien from a concealed location, but the golem always seemed to know the enemy soldier was there before the man could set a match to powder or aim a crossbow.

  Every time the golem killed a Tamaristan soldier, the people of Caras, now crowding close behind, cheered fiercely and stamped their feet. Gulien knew how they felt. He knew because he also felt fierce and proud and vindicated to see Carastind’s enemies helplessly retreat, but even so he didn’t want to think what it would be like to drive those soldiers back against the sea and slaughter them all, like a dog killing rats. He didn’t think he would be able to tell the kephalos to do it. He was perfectly certain that he didn’t want to.

  He said, “It would be best if the Tamaristan soldiers all over the city could see that the Kieba is on our side, and it’s growing too dark to see much. Can you put lights in the sky?” There were tales of such things, but even so, Gulien was taken by surprise when lights flicked into place high overhead, lights that burned with a painfully brilliant radiance. The light was colder than sunlight but almost as bright. He thought the lights might have been enough to frighten away an enemy all by themselves; they were so clearly god-magic and showed so clearly that the Kieba favored Carastind and not Tamarist. But it was probably just as well to have the golem, too.

  When he got to the harbor at last, he found a great many of the Tamaristan soldiers there before him. Some had already gotten onto ships and retreated out into the Narrow Sea, but boarding was painfully slow because the docks had been burned. All the men left were just waiting their turns to board or else working to provision the remaining ships. Only a few men stood out in the open, between the warehouses and the quay, waiting.

  “Our cannons,” Gulien said out loud, sharp and angry. “That son of a cow destroyed our cannons!” The cannons that guarded the harbor at Caras were famous. Now there were only four piles of broken stone and splintered timbers, the dull gleam of black iron visible amid the rubble. No wonder Gajdosik had managed to take Caras so quickly; if he had destroyed the harbor cannons first, the city would have immediately become vulnerable.

  And Gajdosik still expected him to talk. There he was: That had to be him in front there, the dark man with the beard and the closed expression; he was not as old as Gulien had expected, though he’d known Gajdosik was only a few years older than Gulien himself. He had the high Garamanaji cheekbones and the dark Garamanaji coloring, and certainly the fierce Garamanaji arrogance. All of that was familiar to Gulien from portraits, because his father thought it was important to know one’s enemies and collected portraits of every nation’s kings and princes.

  Arrogant Prince Gajdosik might be, but he was also clearly waiting for parley. Gulien supposed he had better see what the man had to say. He rested his open hands on his thighs and tried to look older than he was, and confident.

  In fact, Prince Gajdosik looked quite confident. That was almost offensive under the circumstances, though Gulien guessed that the confidence might be a habitual mask. Beneath the confidence was something else: something darker and quieter. An intense, tightly contained anger and behind that a grim patience. He didn’t look like a man who would give up easily. Yet he was here, rather than in Tamarist. Perhaps he was a man who preferred to battle strangers and capture a foreign throne rather than fight his own brothers for the throne that might be rightfully his. Maybe he and his brothers had decided to divide up the world and he had drawn the lot for foreign conquest; Gulien would have believed that, too, from the other man’s intensity.

  Prince Gajdosik came forward a few steps, toward the war golem. He looked up at Gulien, shading his eyes against the unnatural white light that poured down across them all. He ignored the crowd of ordinary people who had followed the golem to the harbor. He didn’t seem frightened at all, but inclined his head, graciously conceding with that one wordless gesture that the advantage now rested with Gulien.

  Gulien, unwillingly impressed, leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee, put his chin on his fist, and stared down at the other man. He tried hard to look arrogant and confident and angry. He said loudly, so the people foremost in the crowd could hear him, “Your Highness, what are you doing in my city?”

  “Leaving,” said Gajdosik, not quite as loudly, but also pitched to carry. “If Your Highness will permit me.” His Esse was very good, though he had a definite accent. He still didn’t look afraid, for all his words contained an acknowledgment of his own disadvantage and implicit surrender.

  “Should I?” Gulien asked him. He wished he had had time to think all this out more carefully beforehand. He wished he could ask the kephalos for advice—though he doubt
ed its advice would make sense and suspected its priorities had nothing to do with his. He asked, careful to keep his tone level and inexpressive, “And what would you do then, Your Highness? Take your people back south to Paree? Seize land there, despoiling Carastindin people, until we were forced to come against you? Or, if we would not, until you returned once more to throw yourselves against our gates?” He wanted the Tamaristan prince to offer him a guarantee, his word against any such intention.

  Instead, Prince Gajdosik said smoothly, “I can hardly argue. But allow me to offer you a compelling reason to deal with me, and perhaps we may come to an accord that benefits us both.” He snapped his fingers, and one of his men came out of the little gathering, leading Oressa.

  For an instant Gulien could not think at all. He was too shocked. His sister did not seem to have been harmed. She looked coolly unimpressed, which he knew meant she was probably seething. But the cool look, meant to get her through tedious court functions and even more tedious etiquette lessons, served her perfectly. She looked, at this moment, every inch the proper princess, despite a torn blouse and untidy hair and a streak of dirt across her face. She carried herself proudly, as though she had never suffered a moment of doubt in her entire life. She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug when she met Gulien’s gaze, it seemed by way of apology, though what his sister had to apologize for escaped him. This situation was the foreign prince’s fault, not hers, though he understood how deeply offended she must be to be used as a game piece against him. He gave her a long look back, hoping that she would not take this moment to insult or revile her captor, however strong the temptation.

  “What will you give me for her?” asked Prince Gajdosik. He paused, then went on. “Caras is yours, of course. Clearly it is impossible for me to hold the city now. I ask only for a night and a day to withdraw my men from your city. When the last of my men are aboard ship, I will release your sister to you.”

  Games with hostages held no attraction at all. Gulien snapped, “I’ll give you an hour, and I’ll take her now.”

  “There, didn’t I tell you?” Oressa said to Gajdosik. She jerked her arm free from the man holding her and scowled fearlessly at the foreign prince. “You can agree to an hour. He’ll give you two if it comes to that. He’ll keep his word, you know. You won’t argue if you’re wise.”

  Gajdosik lifted his eyebrows at her. Oressa only tapped her foot and said, “Well? Let’s get on,” in a sharp tone, as though she were speaking to a servant.

  Gulien thought the Tamaristan prince looked as though he might laugh at Oressa, or maybe shout at her. He looked as though he was having trouble deciding which. Gulien found himself unexpectedly sympathetic; he knew just how the other man felt. But he didn’t think it wise to give the foreign prince time to consider his reaction. He leaned forward, staring down at him, and said crisply, “I could kill you all before you harm her.” He tried to sound grimly certain of that, though in fact he wasn’t at all certain it was possible.

  “Perhaps you can,” answered Gajdosik, turning back to face him at once. “Let us not test the possibility. Promise me time to get my men away and I’ll release her to you.”

  “An hour. Two, if it comes to that. You may go. You may all go. I don’t care where, so long as you don’t touch Carastindin soil again. You might find better luck in Estenda—or go back across the Narrow Sea. I don’t care. But if you return, I shall assuredly destroy you all.”

  He stared down at Prince Gajdosik, trying to look resolute and determined and as though he were perfectly certain the foreign prince would obey him. “You have an hour to get off Carastindin soil. Or two, if it comes to that. But not three. Do you understand?”

  Prince Gajdosik drew breath as though he would say something, but then he didn’t. He only opened one hand, a gesture of concession, which he then turned into a wave that invited Oressa to go.

  She gave him a wary glance. Then her mouth firmed. She tossed her hair back with deliberate scorn and stepped away from him, toward the war golem. She walked slowly and carefully. Gulien thought this was simply a show of royal dignity at first, until he saw how her face tightened with pain as she moved.

  At first he could hardly believe it. Then she took another step, and he had to believe it. “You’re hurt,” he said, stunned, and then, with gathering intensity, though barely above a whisper, “Oressa, you can barely walk.” Fury rocked him, all the more intense for being wholly unexpected. He had been angry and upset and ashamed when the Kieba denied his plea for help, but the rage that struck through him now was of an entirely different order. Gulien came up to one knee on the golem’s back, one hand closing so hard into a fist that his knuckles whitened. He said to Gajdosik, biting off each word with bitter force, “Of course, a strong man takes what he wants. Isn’t that what you said?”

  Gajdosik’s head went back a little at this accusation, as though he had been struck. Then he went ashen as he understood what Gulien meant and realized the depths of his fury. He obviously realized Gulien meant now to destroy him and all his men and knew there was probably nothing he could do to stop it. He stood perfectly still, though his breathing had quickened. In a moment he would say something, but it didn’t matter what he said, Gulien would be glad to deny any plea for clemency—

  “Gulien!” his sister said urgently. “I’m not hurt! Anyway, it’s not his fault. Well, it is, of course, but not like that!”

  Gulien turned his head slowly to stare down at her, not certain that he understood her—not certain that he believed her. He felt a bit as though he had turned to stone and only now might have begun to turn back.

  “I cut my feet! And a tile fell off the roof and hit me. That’s all! His people took care of me. He wasn’t—he didn’t—anyway,” Oressa said, recovering her dignity, “he did blow up the palace, so that part is his fault. You can blame him for that, if you want.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Tamaristan prince, who was staring at her. The color had come back into Gajdosik’s face, but his expression was odd.

  Gulien took a breath. Another. He closed his eyes. He had been so angry. He had been so certain that he was going to kill Gajdosik and all his people. Now he didn’t know what he felt, or thought, or should do. Then he opened them again and said, not quite steadily, “He blew up the palace?”

  “Well, not all of it. But I expect you’re going to be pretty upset when you see it.”

  “You weren’t on the roof, Oressa—”

  “I didn’t know he was going to blow holes in it.” His sister hesitated. She said at last, “His people were perfectly polite to me. Prince Gajdosik certainly didn’t, well—” She began to shrug, then winced.

  Gulien stared at Oressa for a long moment. Then, at last, he turned back to the Tamaristan prince. “I misunderstood,” he said stiffly. “I beg your pardon.”

  The Tamaristan prince bowed his head at once. “A natural mistake, under the circumstances. I must in turn beg your pardon, and Her Highness’s pardon, for a stupid boast that I should never have phrased so offensively.”

  Gulien hardly knew how to answer this. He said at last, “You blew up the palace?”

  “Do you want me to apologize for that as well?”

  Gulien stiffened. “Two hours,” he bit out. “You may have two hours to get your people out of Caras.”

  Gajdosik nodded. “You are generous. Thank you.” He glanced at Oressa. “As Her Highness is generous.”

  “Oh, please,” Oressa said, unimpressed. She stepped stiffly forward and looked up at the golem, obviously wondering how she was supposed to get up on its back.

  Gulien didn’t have to say anything. All the glass needles rippled away sideways to clear a place for her to put her hands and feet. He nodded, and Oressa kicked off her slippers to climb onto the golem. He could see that both her feet were indeed bandaged. But she put a confident foot on one of the golem’s legs, grabbed another angular leg, and clambered up as casually as a boy climbing an apple tree, flinching and hissing under her
breath only when she had to reach upward with her left hand. Her skirt caught on a cluster of needles and ripped, but of course she didn’t seem to mind that.

  Gulien caught her hand to steady her, and the princess waved to the crowd that had gathered at the edge of the harbor—they cheered her, too, though Gulien wondered if they could see well enough from that far away to know whom they cheered—then turned and dropped down to kneel beside him, casually claiming the place with the best view.

  Then she gave him a quick sideways look and a flashing smile. “A splendid rescue! Thank you, Gulien. You’re the best brother.”

  Gulien put an arm around her shoulders and said, ignoring the Tamaristan prince and his people, “I suppose we had better go see how much of the palace is left. I’m certain there won’t be any trouble here.” He didn’t even glance at Prince Gajdosik when he said that. But as soon as the golem started moving, he added in a much quieter voice, “We’ll get all our own people to follow us to the palace—we don’t want trouble between our folk and the Tamaristans, not now, and anyway, we’re more likely to find trouble there than here now.”

  “You mean Father,” Oressa surmised. “You’re right. He didn’t like it one bit that you went to the Kieba, and not even this beauty is going to change his mind.” She patted the golem on the neck admiringly.

  “He still lives, then.” Gulien felt simultaneously intensely relieved and somewhat dismayed, a sickening mix of emotions, worse because until that moment he had more or less successfully refused to think of their father and was now worried by the idea of facing him in person. He rubbed a hand across his mouth.

  “Yes, I think so. Prince Gajdosik said something that made me think so, at least. In Tamaj. He didn’t know I understood him, so it was probably true.”

  “It may not surprise you to learn that the Kieba doesn’t like our father at all. Though she’s not likely to be very happy with me, either. She was going to let any Tamaristan prince take Caras. She told me to persuade Father to yield Caras if I wanted to save Carastindin lives. Instead, I borrowed her golem, and now . . .” He hesitated.