“I thought so,” Tirell growled. “He and Shamarra are two of a kind. He has a sort of den here, a temple of the goddess, barred to men on pain of death. Maidens on the rugs, fancywork on the walls. She is housed there, looking down her long beak like a proper bird of prey. Sethym loves me because I am wearing a torque.” Tirell paced the room in quiet fury as he talked. “He would be delighted to see Abas slain, but he wants him to go to the altar. I had not thought to give that satisfaction to the priestesses.”
“Have you thought,” Frain asked in a low voice, “that it may not be well to be a parricide? I cherish no fondness for the priestesses, but I believe their hands are better suited to such blood than yours.”
Tirell snorted. “You have taken a blow on the head,” he retorted, not too harshly. “Get to bed, will you, so we will be able to ride within a few days! This Sethym makes my flesh crawl with his ghoulish hospitality. I believe he’s already envisioning me as altar meat in my turn!” He left the room as ungently as he had entered, slamming the door behind him. Frain winced, because his head hurt, I suppose, and sighed.
“Sethym is not a bad king, for all that,” I said cautiously. “His many fears force him into worthy deeds that he hopes will earn him the smile of the goddess. And he makes a fine war leader. His men follow him with awe. They think he is touched by the wing of Morrghu because he is so—strange.”
“A fitting comrade for Tirell,” Frain muttered, lying gingerly down on his bed, which stood not far from mine. “Yet madmen can’t agree, it seems. How could he liken Shamarra to a bird of prey?”
I gave no answer, since he expected none. I suppose I have not said in so many words that Frain was in love with the lady. He had not told me so, but I had eyes to see, and he often looked at her with his heart in his face. At mealtimes he would sit by her and try to pass a few courteous words, though her eyes flashed in reply. I would have hated her for her coldness to him if she were not in herself such a marvel. With Tirell she seemed quite different, her eyes deep pools of meaning, though her head rode as high as ever. But, so strange is the world, he would hardly speak to her except in cold, insulting tones, or even look at her if he could avoid it, and she scorned Frain in like wise. Swans and serpents! I wished she could have at least more gently refused him. I knew she was not for him, manly and fair though he was; she was ancient in spite of her lineless face, and he was all ardent youth. But I could not tell him that. I had lived long enough to know the fate of the meddler.
We lay and drowsed through the day, talking now and then. Servants tended us and fed us well. When our room darkened we drowsed more deeply. But sometime when everything had gone black as a pit and silent as the stalking of owls I realized that Frain was gone.
Probably he felt restless after a day in bed, like myself, I reasoned, and he had gone to find some fresh air, or perhaps to find his brother, for Tirell often wandered in the night. I tried to go back to sleep. But obstinate distress nagged at me, and after a while I got up and set out to look for him.
I had visited the castle of Gyotte before, but I had never become accustomed to its many eyes. Every surface of the place was covered with charms of protection, many of them demon faces with startling eyes made out of clamshell from the Chardri—expensive stuff gathered at a high price of lost slaves. Doors and corners and all the furnishings were bordered with monotonous designs. Red tassels clung to the corners of all the hangings, and on every door gleamed a spiral with a bit of mirror at the center to send an enemy’s curse back at him. The glimpse of my own reflected eyes was enough to make me jump, amid all the other ones. At every doorway, even serving ways, stood guardian pairs of carved beasts: dogs, griffins, swans, stags, man-headed horses, many more. Their blank white eyes watched me pass. Carved, glaring cats stood in frozen leaps above the archways, and from everywhere the many forms of the goddess stared down. All the corridors were lit day and night by the flickering, dusky glow of many little lamps with shields of rosy glass, each with its own red tassel hanging down. They filled the place with a heavy scent. Sethym must have spent a fortune on oil and perfume.
I walked the silent hallways, flinching. I cower in Gyotte even when I am invited; I would hate to have to invade it! I met no one except a few surly guards of human variety and the many lifeless ones. Trying to think where Frain or Tirell might go, I left the keep for the courtyard. The night was raw. I saw a few guards moving on the wall, but no one else. I made the circuit of the place, feeling foolish, and I was just about to return to my room when I heard soft voices. I stepped into an archway, instantly embarrassed by my own presence. Frain and Shamarra were talking somewhere close by.
“No men are allowed here,” said her cool voice, “but you may pass, I suppose. Do you like it?”
“Your bower by the lake does you better honor than these hacked walls,” he answered curtly. “Have you seen Tirell, my lady?”
She laughed the low laugh of wintertime water under ice. “You know Prince Tirell does not come to me, and certainly I do not seek out his lodgings! No, I do not know where he is.” Her voice took on a wry tone. “What is it that you want of me, really, Frain?”
“A touch of your hand,” he said quietly, “or, failing that, a smile. But mostly I wanted to look on your face and see that you were well.”
“Look your fill,” she said in a tone I could not read. “But see these so-called maidens here, pretending to sleep and peeping at you through half-lidded eyes, smiling behind their soft hands? They have you undressed already in their minds. Any one of them would give you a touch and more to make a man of you.”
“They will have to forego the pleasure for the time,” he said bitterly. “Have you no thought for love, Lady?”
“In my house we love by different rules. Here comes someone to show you how.”
One of the maidens was rising from her place. I had found the door by then, a heavy metal door hidden down a passageway with stairs, and I was looking in through the bars. The maiden was just a dusky, dark-haired movement in the ruddy lamplight, her eyes pools of deep shadow. She walked boldly and gracefully up to Frain and placed both her hands on his neck just above the torque. Her soft clothing fell back from her breasts.
“There is a touch for you, Frain,” Shamarra said blithely.
“You mock me,” Frain replied without moving.
“Take her!” Shamarra urged delightedly. “She likes you. Or would you rather hurl her away?”
Frain did neither. He spoke to the girl, not even loudly. “Go.”
She stepped away from him and stood at a little distance, staring. He was a prince, as I have said; he knew how to command. But she was puzzled, I suppose. She gazed at him, bare-breasted, for the space of a few breaths, and then the night was broken by a shriek. A wiry, gesticulating figure bounded out from behind the altar draperies, and all the girls scrambled to attention at the sight of him.
“Churl!” he screamed. “No man is allowed in this most holy retreat of the goddess!”
“I am no man, but a pup,” Frain shot back. I had never heard such bitter anger in his voice.
“He is a warrior, a healer, and a most esteemed prince,” stated Shamarra perversely to Sethym. “But do you not count yourself man, my lord, that you are here?”
“I felt certain you would afford me welcome,” he answered sullenly. Sethym was a peculiar fellow; he shaved his head as well as his beard, and he moved in jerks. He saw Frain’s torque and glanced about the room jealously, trying to swallow his wrath.
“You hold the keys to the doors,” Shamarra said, “but Prince Frain needed my hand at the locks to let him in. Your maidens dreamed of him and stirred in their sleep. Who is welcome here, lord?”
Sethym snapped his mouth shut and fingered his sword hilt. Gulping, I decided I had better also enter the strange, red-hung bower. I pushed open the heavy door and bumbled in, drawing the stares of the excited maidens. “Why, hallo, Sethym!” I exclaimed with all the heartiness I could muster.
&nb
sp; “Hallo, Fabron, old fellow!” He was glad of the diversion. “I was going to visit you tomorrow, after you’d had a chance to mend a bit. What are you doing out in the night?”
“It’s weary work, all this lying in bed,” I said, shrugging. “And after riding with these princes, I have become accustomed to strange hours.”
“Though I think I have never seen you in a stranger place,” came an ironic voice. Tirell stumped in, swinging his bandaged hand. “Well, well, here we are all together,” he remarked with heavy mockery. “Together in the underground garden of Gyotte.”
Shamarra shrugged and went back to her couch, lying down with tantalizing indifference. The other maidens stood in a frightened cluster.
“I suppose we could go to my audience chamber,” Sethym muttered, embarrassed.
“At this time of night?” Tirell laughed. “No, indeed. These two sufferers need their rest! Lord Fabron is swaying where he stands! Frain, can you help him back to that room of yours?”
We went without a word. I must admit that Tirell was right. I was still very weak, and in pain. Frain saw me into my bed without speaking and then flopped on his own. I must have slept then; I remember nothing until dawn. When I looked over he was still there, staring at the ceiling with a jaw like iron. I did not try to speak to him.
Tirell slammed in a bit later. He did not look tired, although he had probably been up all night; he never looked tired. He went directly to Frain and stood staring down at him like the carved panthers on the vaults above. “What ails you?” he asked, evenly enough.
Frain stirred restively and parried the question with another. “When can we be gone from here?”
“When you two are strong enough to ride! Which you will not become by roaming the night! And when I have obtained Sethym’s promise of arms and aid! Speak him fan, brother. Has he done you any wrong that you are so knee-deep in wrath?”
“No,” Frain retorted grimly, “no wrong. He has taken nothing that is mine.”
“Including your head,” Tirell remarked pointedly, “which you forfeited by entering his little bower of flesh.”
Frain made no reply.
“For this matter of Shamarra,” Tirell continued, although no one had mentioned Shamarra, “I do not think Sethym will be so bold as to go to her again. He seemed very weary when he left her, and not from pleasure, either. I think he will sleep tonight.”
“And if he does not?” Fraia cried, half lifting himself from his sickbed. “Sethym has muscle in his fool’s body, and he has the keys.”
Tirell smiled mirthlessly. “By blood, I’d pit that hellion Shamarra against a troop of such as him any day or night. But for the matter of that, I’ll skulk about. She will be guarded. I give you my word. Now will you keep to your chamber tonight and rest?”
“You couldn’t drag me away,” Frain replied bitterly.
Tirell left without another word, banging the door behind him. Frain lay back on his bed. His mind and heart were as sore as his body, I judged, and we spoke little that day. I slept lightly that night, but I might have known he would not stir from his bed; he had given his word. Tirell came early the next morning, for all the world like a soldier on watch, to make his curt report. And I felt very strange, because I had been incensed that he showed no love for my son, and now I was jealous that in his own angry way he showed love of the truest kind.
Within a week we were rested and halfway healed and making ready to leave. Sethym gave us a troop of retainers and plenty of advice.
“The bridge of Serriade is held against you, my scouts say,” he informed us. “About fifty or sixty Boda are camped there. But my men of the motherhood will win you through, never fear! They are sons of earth, every one. I see to it that they know no women and eat only meat and raw roots.… The Boda lost the blessing of the goddess, I believe, when they ceased to bathe their initiates in real human blood. These days they are cowards—they use juice of bulls instead. But even in their depravity, how can they turn their swords against sons of the Sacred King! Surely the goddess will punish them in a glorious battle on the plains of Melior.”
“Melior has no plains,” Tirell rejoined with barest shreds of patience. “And if we are ever to reach it at all, we had better hope that Raz will permit us to cross his domain in force. Assuming that we win through to Nisroch, do you think he will give us welcome?”
Sethym rolled his protuberant eyes. “I scarcely know! You might mention my name. One of his daughters was my second wife, you know. A nice girl, but I had to slay her. I have had bad luck with women. Five I have taken to my bosom, and not an heir yet—”
“About Raz,” I reminded him hastily. Shamarra looked ready to attack.
“Well, as for Raz, I have not seen him for years. You know I seldom go out, my life is so girded about with portents and forebodings. I have many enemies, many who wish me ill, and they bring witchcraft against me—”
“What do your advisers say?” Tirell interrupted stonily.
“Hah? Oh, they say little; they are of no use. But as for Raz, when I knew him we were friendly, of course, but it seemed to me that he was arrogant, lacking in respect for the goddess and in allegiance for Melior. He struck me as a vain man, always encrusted in jewels.” Sethym ogled us, then sank his voice to a sepulchral whisper. “And these days, men tell, he has gone from bad to worse. Folk say he couples with serpents!” Sethym paused, evidently expecting shock and consternation. But we were all jaded by days of his excesses and merely favored him with our mild surprise.
“He even worships the enemies of Eala!” Sethym protested more loudly. “He has raised altars in honor of serpents and ram-headed serpents and dragons with horns. And he keeps serpents in his bailey, and he feeds the ugly things with human flesh. Can you imagine! All men know that human blood belongs to the goddess. It is heresy to offer it to crawling vipers—”
“As long as he does not feed them his guests,” Tirell put in morosely, “we might yet come to terms. Sethym, my thanks for your help and hospitality. It is time we were going.”
But leave-taking is never as simple as that, of course, and it was another hour before we were actually on our way. Sethym’s final courtesies expanded almost beyond endurance. I blessed whatever powers prevail that his fear of the multitudinous rabbit kept him from riding out with us.
We got through the gates at last with two troops of men, spare horses, and, of course, the black beast and the lady Shamarra. The beast had been housed in an enclosure within the walls, and no one had dared to come near it. Tirell had been obliged to care for it himself. What with that, and standing guard for Shamarra, and checking on Frain, and having to be civil to Sethym, it is small wonder that Tirell was eager to leave Gyotte.
We headed north, toward the Chardri and the bridge of Serriade that would take us across into Tiela. Once more Shamarra and her white mare and the beast frolicked at their whim, and once more Frain watched, as the other men watched—who could help it? But there was a different quality to Frain’s gaze those days. I do not think his devotion to her had lessened, and his anger had long since abated, for he was not one to hold onto wrath. But he seemed older, with a guarded, waiting air that was new. I doubt if Tirell noticed. Sometimes I wondered if he saw Frain, or Shamarra, or even the road before us very clearly.
It is useless to speak much of that journey, for it lasted only three days. On the morning of the fourth day we awoke to find ourselves consigned to our own familiar company. Sethym’s men had deserted us during the night. They had taken nothing that was not theirs; they had simply made shift to quietly depart. I could not blame them too severely. The Serriade was manned with twice their force, if report ran true.
“That’s what comes of meat and roots and no women,” Tirell grumbled. “Well, let us turn around.”
“Back to Gyotte?” I inquired with sinking heart.
“Aftalun, no! I don’t want to see Sethym again for as many moons as I can possibly avoid him. But we cannot cross the Chardri, it s
eems, so we shall have to go around it, beyond the Coire Adalis. We must take to the mountains.” His eyes sparkled as if he had said we must take to the skies. And indeed, to my way of thinking, the one was as outlandish as the other.
“Can you be serious?” I squeaked.
“Surely,” Tirell remarked in mild rebuke. “I’ll warrant you the Boda will not follow us there.”
Chapter Five
I had to admit that the Boda were our greatest fear for the time. We mounted in haste to be away before they found us. We left the main road and took to the countryside, riding as quickly and furtively as we could. None of us was in condition to fight even a few Boda. So once more we fled, riding late into the night and the night after and the night after that. More than once Tirell led us on a queer sort of dogleg without saying why. I could only conclude that he was seeing red shirts swim before his visionary eyes, as before.
We skirted Gyotte to the east, hoping our enemies would be searching for us more toward Melior, and rode on through parching heat. That summer’s drought was the worst yet. I scanned the distant Perin Tyr constantly for a sign of rain, but not a wisp of cloud appeared on that horizon. The sky was always blue, a bright, hard blue one learned to curse. The land seemed made of ashes and old bones. The dust always found its way to our mouths and eyes, even when we rode abreast. By the time we finally reached the mountains I was too weary to be very much afraid of them anymore, especially since we found pools of water hidden in the hollows of their flanks.
The Lorc Tutosel were not much like the hulks of Acheron I had first approached with Frain. But they were just as deadly in their way—death and danger are in all the mountains that encircle Vale, but such lovely peril in those southern mountains! Slender trees sprang up all around their feet, swaying like dancing maidens in lacy, fluttering clothing of green and gold jeweled here and there by bright, bold-throated birds. There were no birds in Acheron, but I was not much comforted by the ones I heard in Lorc Tutosel. I wondered which of them might be the night bird of the song.
The Book of Isle Page 84