by David Mason
I glanced round, seeing one man down and beyond aid, but Caltus was still on his feet, bleeding badly. His arm was slashed; he could not climb. Quickly, I looped the rope around him, and bellowed to those on the wall to pull. I seized a second line myself, and scrambled. Halfway up, with Caltus dangling lower, another rider came, standing in his saddle, blade up to fetch poor Caltus where he hung helpless as a kitten in a bag. Once more my sea work came to hand; I was as much at home on a rope as any man, and I slid down a yard or two, turning and kicking out.
I met that rider in midair, and he must have thought we of Dorada had somehow learned to fly. He had little time left for thought, though. I took his hand off at the wrist, and swung back to the wall.
Once up and on the wall, we ran to join the fray in the west square, but even as I gained the gatehouse, I knew it was nearly over. The horde within had tried at first to stand and fight, but arrows rained unceasingly, until their own maddened horses were kicking them to death. Then some of them gained the narrow street, and pelted down it, death from the housetops all the way. Down that street, and round, and back into the square, for it was a full circle; some rode through twice before discovering that there was no exit. None rode through a third time.
And as the last of them milled in the square, some clawing at the barriers, some trying to climb the walls with their nails, the cannon above fired again and again, until the barrels were too hot to touch. A handful of the riders stood now, barricaded behind their dead horses, shields up, sending useless arrows up against the deadly walls; and then a fire arrow from above found the powder trail. The mines went up with a sound that killed hearing, and the square was one black sea of smoke.
A cry went up from the lookouts on the walls: the riders were going back. The last of them were gone from under the walls, and the survivors of our city sent up a shaky cheer. But we knew they were still out there. We had a victory, but we were not yet free of them.
I gave orders to see if any still lived among the trapped, and, if so, to keep three or four alive, those in the healthiest condition, to put to question. Then I went down into the city, exhausted and blood-smeared, toward the Temple.
The city of Astorin grew around that Temple, which had stood there before walls or houses. The Temple itself had grown, of course; it filled the space atop its rocky crag, and grew, as a plant might, down the sides. It was walled and turreted about, like a fortress, as it had been at more than once in its history, and should the city have fallen, it could have been defended, as the castle could.
Now, the great lower gates stood open, two bronze leaves on which an ancient artist had lavished his best skill. The courtyards, open to the sun, were filled with plague sick and with wounded, though the two were kept separated. The lesser priestesses and other women were moving about, doing all they could for the sick. Their skill in such matters was very great, but the plague was stronger than any skill. I passed a cart of dead being carried forth for burning, and another was being loaded within.
Beyond the courts was the tall outer temple, where the Nine Gods live, each with his image and altar, in a high pillared hall. It was empty now, and my footsteps rang hollow under the vaulted roof.
I continued up a long, wide stair, through an arch, and I was in the outer court of the Temple of the Great Goddess, the One in Three. Here there were no images; she needed none. There was only cool white stone and gold, and a silence.
I stood there, as far as any man was ever permitted to go, and waited. They knew I was there, of course; but they are female, and it is customary to make a man wait a while. Then, at last, the dark curtained door opened, and the high priestess came forth.
“Kavin of Hostan,” she said quietly.
“Lady.”
“You bring a smell of blood,” she said.
“The blood of enemies of my people.” I was a hair annoyed at her tone.
“I have heard that you have been very fortunate so far.”
I resented that, too, and bit my lip.
“Lady, I was lucky indeed. But I think craft had a little to do with it too. A man uses such luck as he gets.”
She stared at me coldly a while. Then, “So young. So young you are, Prince. Well… what seek you here, then?”
“First, Lady, I would ask certain questions,” I said, and my voice rang too harshly and commandingly for this place, where even a ruler is only a man. But I no longer cared.
“These are questions which I am entitled to ask, as you know,” I went on. “I am Prince of this land of Dorada, and Guardian of the Temple, by that right. I now demand to consult the place of questions, so that I may guide this war rightly.”
“You were taught that such questioning is dangerous, and why,” she said in a level voice. “Yet you still ask?”
“I do,” I said. “And one thing more. My bridal is not complete.”
She was silent again, and this time I thought I saw a strange look in her face, almost of look of… what, hesitation? What could cause such a look on the high priestess’s face, she who could make all decisions, anywhere?
At last she spoke, and there was a strange note in her voice, too.
“The Maiden Samala…” she began, and paused. “The Maiden… refuses to have speech with you.”
I was completely frozen with surprise. Such a thing had never happened in our known history. Such a thing could not happen, in all common sense.
The Maiden herself selected the Prince, although there was always some advice from her elders. Yet, she was guided in her choice by the Goddess herself, and the choice was a final one. He whom she made Prince of Dorada was her mate, and the presumptive father of her first child. She might take such other lovers as she chose, if she grew bored with the Prince; yet, the ritual had created his rule, and the form was an ancient and unchangeable one.
For the Maiden, wed but still a virgin, to refuse her choice, after the ceremonial itself… it was not to be understood.
“Is the Lady Samala… ill, perhaps?” I asked at last.
The high priestess shook her head.
“Neither ill nor mad;” she said, in an odd voice. “She received a command from the Goddess herself, she says. And she says that she will remain here, and nothing else, for… a long time.”
“Am I then not Prince of Dorada, after all?” I asked. I might almost have cried out with relief if she had answered that I was not. My short days of princedom had already become a heavy load.
“The rites have been performed,” she said. “You are the Prince.”
Now, I began to flush with anger.
“Let the Maiden sulk then,” I said in a hard voice. “There’s enough to keep me busy, as it is. Although I may ask again, later… if I have time. The matter of the question is more important to Dorada and to me than any green girl’s quirks. How soon will all be ready?”
The Priestess nodded, very solemnly. “If you dare, then we must do it. But you may not come in as you are, foul with blood and filth. There are baths in the rooms to that side, and a clean robe. Go quickly, and we will make ready.”
I turned toward the doors she showed me, and she moved to the curtain. But she paused, and spoke over her shoulder.
“You were most fond of the girl you bought, the red-haired one.”
“What?” I stared, and remembered Isa. “Yes. I was. Is she here, and safe?”
“I shall send her to you, to aid you in bathing.” The priestess smiled coldly. “We have discovered some words of her speech, and taught her a few of ours, during the voyage. She seems a wise and seemly girl. You may continue to keep her by you, if you wish… and if she wishes. Remember our law; we hold no slaves here.”
Things seemed a little brighter, I thought. What cared I if Samala had no use for me? There were many fair wenches in the world, and not many of them priestesses. I went on, into the other rooms, humming a tune.
There was a great bath, hot and steaming from a pipe that tapped the hot spring under the rock; water of a bitt
er taste, but most refreshing.
And there was also Isa, in the brown robe of a Temple servant, who greeted me most warmly, and ended by sharing the bath with me.
As she scrubbed my weary back, she chattered in an oddly accented, lisped, version of our Doradan tongue… an accent which I cannot even begin to write, so odd it was. She had learned many more than a few words, it seemed.
“Great One, Kokoorakoo…” (which I gathered meant the high priestess) “she say I belong you, as long as I want. I want always stay.” She giggled, and splashed water at me. I grinned back, and tickled her.
“Oh, bad,” she said, examining one of my earlier sword cuts. Then the missing tip to my ear caught her eye, and nothing would do but to apply cleansing oil at once. She took most excellent care of every detail, and the bath was a long one. But it was very refreshing, and I felt like a new man as I climbed out and into a clean gray robe.
“Come back, quick,” Isa said, tying the robe. “Come and take me to beautiful ship again.” Her eyes caught my battered armor, piled on a bench, and as I left she was already hard at work, cleaning each piece with a soft rag.
They were all waiting for me, in the other court; five ancient priestesses, and the high priestess herself, and servitors with flaring lamps. We went silently through, into the inner temple, where only at such times may a man walk, and then only in terror. No man of Hostan had asked the questions, not for two hundred years; for none knew what the price might be, except that it was always high.
Four
We went downward, through narrow passages cut into the rock itself, down and down, through darkness, where the walls of black stone grew damp, as though we were now below the sea’s level.
At certain places we paused to perform rites of which I am not allowed to speak. And at last we came down the last slope, and entered the place of questions.
It was very dark, in spite of the lamps. The place was as it had been described to me once; a great cavern, partly natural, but worked on by man’s… or other… hands. The walls were painted with strange shapes, the colors dimmed by time and nearly invisible in the scanty light. Those shapes were not easy to regard calmly, and I have tried hard to forget them entirely, although I have had evil dreams in which I saw them again.
In the center of the cavern lay a great pool, round, its surface smooth and black. Before the pool rose a black stone altar, conical and undecorated, and against its base there were white objects. I came closer, and recognized human bones, very ancient; but the skull was missing.
“There’s one who asked the wrong questions, an age ago,” said the high priestess sardonically, answering my unspoken question. “He remains here where he came on one of his unlucky days. Be warned, Prince.”
I took a deep breath, and held myself erect and silent. Here, if anywhere, a man ought to try to keep his dignity if he couldn’t keep his life.
“And now, Prince, we begin,” she said. “We call on the Shapes who dwell in this pool, which is a mirror of other worlds; we call them, in your name, to speak with us, and tell us what they will. Remember: for their answers, they will ask gifts, and every gift must be given, whatever it may be.”
The priestesses began, while the lamp-carrying servants drew back a distance. Slowly, they moved about the pool, performing the acts that were prescribed, while the words were spoken. A curl of smoking incense was placed on the black altar, and the priestesses chanted again.
Then the black water began to glow an unearthly blue green, and a ripple shook its surface. From somewhere at the core of the earth itself there came a deep humming sound, which grew stronger, until it resolved itself into a voice—not a human voice. The voice chanted, the same words as the priestesses had been using, echoing their invocation. The pool glowed even brighter.
Then the voice ceased, and I saw deep into the blue glow. Faces seemed to swim there, insubstantial but familiar; people I had known, I thought. And glimpses of places, Dorada as it was once, scenes from my own life… and then the face of Uncle Hogir, drifting like a cloud. But it was a dead face, blood-smeared, a severed head.
Then that too vanished, and all else… except eyes. There were a number of pairs of eyes in that pool, all regarding me with an unpleasantly knowing look.
“Ask.” The humming voice came deeply.
I had thought about it, with great care, and arranged my questions as best I could in their order of importance.
“How may I restore Dorada to peace and happiness, as the land once was?” I asked, at last.
The humming grew again, and the voice spoke.
“Because we may not give you an answer that will please you, we ask only a small price. For this, give us the life of a friend.”
“A prince has few friends to spare,” I said, bitterly. “If that’s a small price—and for an answer that won’t please me—no, I think I’ll give you back that question, and try another.”
The voice seemed to laugh alarmingly. But it said again, “Ask.”
“All right, then. How may I defeat the invaders?”
The voice again: “The answer will not please you, and we ask only a small price. For this, give us the life of a woman who loves you.”
It was my turn to laugh now. “You offer fine bargains, ghost. Well, then, I’ll defeat the dogs with my own wit, and if there’s a woman who loves me—Isa, perhaps—I’ll keep her alive a while. There aren’t many women who love princes.”
This time the laughter was louder, and nearer.
“Ask,” the voice boomed.
“At your prices, I can’t afford to ask you the way home. You’d ask my right hand to give me the time of day.” I took a breath. “Well, then, I’ll ask once more. Tell me if I’ll live long, well, and wisely. What price is that?”
This time the laughter was deafening, and it seemed a long time before the voice came.
“Because you will not like our answer, we ask only a small price; give us the color of your black hair, O Prince.”
“Well, that’s more reasonable,” I said. “Take it and welcome.”
“You will live longer than you wish, O Prince; your life will be hard, filled with struggle, and never long at peace. And you will be not much wiser at the hour of your death than you are at this moment.”
And suddenly I saw it clearly. Wise, indeed! What fool would give the demons of this pool the best things there were in life for answers he could gain himself soon enough, at no price at all… except maybe his own life? Wise? I’d never be wiser than at this moment, the moment when I made no bargain with these. Except, of course, for the color of my hair… which troubled me not a bit.
“I have asked enough,” I said. “Take this, as free gift, from Kavin of Hostan; return to your own place.”
This too was custom; I took a heavy gold ring from my arm, and tossed it into the pool. The humming rose again, and the distant laughter.
Once more the voice spoke.
“Take this, as free gift from us to you, Kavin of Hostan. Firstly: remember the north wind cleanses best. Second: seek the roots of an evil tree. And third: the long way around may be the swiftest.”
Then the pool darkened at last, and the silence came. The lamp-bearers, pale and shaking, went before us, back up the long passages to the surface world again.
There I paused in the dimness of the inner temple, and drew a deep breath of fresh air. The high priestess regarded me, darkly.
“So great a risk, boy,” she said. “And for so little.”
I looked at her with stony eyes, “Lady, I am no boy.”
“True enough, now,” she said. “Your hair. It’s as gray as your robe.”
My hand flew to my head, and I yanked a strand out; she spoke the truth. The payment had been made.
“Well,” I said. “It would have turned, some day.”
“You got little enough for that,” she said.
“I learned I’m to lead a hard life, which I already knew,” I said. “But I learned three things besides
, which might be of use: north winds are cleansing, look for a root of evil, and go round the long way. Well enough. I also learned that I have at least one live friend somewhere, and that there may be a woman who genuinely loves me; both great matters indeed.”
“And what will you do now, Prince?” she asked.
“Now, that’s the form of address, Lady,” I said. “Not boy.” I was afraid of her, right enough, but I would not show it, though the Goddess struck me then and there. “Now? Now, I’ll find a way to clear vermin from the land. As soon as I’ve had an hour or two of sleep, that is…”
Mind, I’d no idea at all how any of my great plans were to be carried out. At that moment, every bone in me ached with weariness, and my mind was clouded.
But in the outer court, I found Isa and a guardsman weighted down with my armor: every bit of metal shone with the gloss of jewelry. She followed me with her new servant, a young man who stared at both of us as if he saw the gods. It was a way Isa had, I found later, that she could make any man do her bidding, for no price but her smiles. As for me, the tale of my exploits was running through the town, much magnified; the young fellow looked at me as if I were a great hero who would save all.
Unfortunately, I did not feel like a great hero. I felt like a man with an unsolvable problem.
We went to the castle, where I fell into a great bed, once Uncle Hogir’s own, and into nightmare-haunted sleep. Weary as I was, I should have slept without a dream. But ghostly blue-green light flooded through my sleep, with voices, mocking. I saw the face of the woman I had killed shrieking soundlessly at me, and the faces of dead men piled on a plague cart. It was not a good sleep.
But sleep it was, at least. When I awoke, sun flooded the narrow windows, and Isa sat adding a stitch to a torn place in my tunic. I was hungry as a wolf, and my mind was full of a new idea.
Later, on the walls, I looked out to where the circle of black tents still ringed us in. There were fewer of them now, though, and the riders kept well back.