The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  "Why ever he did it, I wish he hadn't," said Forollkin. "Now, Engis, tell me about the border situation. Are the Brigands of Fangmere still troublesome?"

  "On land, no," answered Engis, "but the Sea of Az is thick with their ships."

  "And the southern border?"

  The Captain shrugged. "Lord Jerenac does what he can, but he has been pushed back to the banks of the Jenze by the Khan of Orze. They say that a great army is gathering against us in Oraz."

  Forollkin and Kerish asked many questions while Gwerath sat bewildered by so many names of unknown people and places. She did understand that all the news seemed to be bad.

  "But as to news from the Inner Palace," Engis was saying, "this letter should tell you more." He handed the Prince a roll of parchment, tied with a green ribbon and bearing Kelinda's seal. "This was entrusted to me by Queen Kelinda herself, in case I should find your Highness again."

  "Is there much speculation in Galkis about our journey?"

  "Yes, your Highness. It's generally known now that you sailed to Lan-Pin-Fria. We all feared that you had died in the marshes. To be truthful there were some who . . ."

  "Who hoped we had? Don't look so anguished; it isn't a surprise."

  "I thought I should warn your Highness, if you're sailing back to Galkis now . . ."

  "We're not going home," said Kerish tersely as he broke the seal on the parchment.

  "Oh, my Lord, I'd forgotten, there's a letter for you too, from your mother."

  Engis opened his chest to search for it.

  "I thought your mother was dead too," said Gwerath. "You never talk about her."

  Forollkin took the letter and read it, frowning deeply. The Captain nervously offered Gwerath more wine but she slid her hand over her cup and shook her head.

  "Kelinda is well," said Kerish, looking up from his letter. "She doesn't complain but obviously our brother treats her no better than before . . ." He suddenly remembered Engis's presence and asked, "Where do you sail to now?"

  "To Gannoth, your Highness, to take the Royal Envoy to the coronation of its new King. Then I have to take Queen Pellameera's letters of congratulation back to the new Emperor and Empress, and to Queen Kelinda."

  "We will trouble you for a passage to Gannoth. How soon do you leave?"

  "I would sail as soon as you ordered it, your Highness, but there is a chain across the mouth of the Rellendon that is only lifted by the Queen's command."

  "Then we must be courteous to the Queen of Seld for a little longer," said Kerish.

  *****

  As they rode through streets that were still almost deserted, Gwerath was full of questions.

  "Why did your father hate his Empress, and who is Zyrindella, and what did he forgive her for?"

  "Zyrindella is our father's daughter by the wife of the Governor of Tryfania," answered Kerish. "She is married to our cousin, Prince Li-Kroch who is not quite . . ."

  "Who is mad," broke in Forollkin, "and she has a son, Kor-Li-Zynak, but not by Li-Kroch."

  "Is that wrong?" asked Gwerath.

  "Well, I . . . anyway," Forollkin hurried on, "Zyrindella is probably planning to put her son, or her husband, on the throne. She has two half-brothers, Zeenib and Yxin, the sons of the Governor of Tryfania. If they support her, Zyrindella could split off the northern provinces from our Empire."

  Gwerath frowned. "But your eldest brother is Emperor now. Won't he stop Zyrindella?"

  "He is Emperor in name only. His mother, Empress Rimoka, rules through him, and he has no sons."

  "Then who will be Emperor after him?" asked Gwerath.

  "Im-lo-Torim, Rimoka's other son, is the Second Prince but once he becomes High Priest he can never be Emperor. That leaves Kerish, and then Li-Kroch."

  "But why not you?" demanded Gwerath. "You are older than Kerish."

  "I am not a Prince," said Forollkin calmly. "The Emperor did not choose to marry my mother and go through the rites that would have made me inherit all the gifts of the Godborn."

  "Among the Sheyasa," began Gwerath, "the strongest man becomes the Chieftain."

  "It may soon be the same in Galkis," said Forollkin, with a grim smile. "Kerish, are you falling asleep in the saddle? Was the wine too much for you?"

  As Kerish swayed in his saddle, he saw that his hands had become strangely distant. The hoofbeats stabbed through his head. His voice came out as a whisper, "Something's wrong."

  Forollkin leaned over to take the reins from his brother's limp hands and the first arrow hissed over his head.

  By the time the unseen archer fired again, Forollkin had dragged Kerish out the saddle and behind his horse. The second arrow thudded into a wall just above them. A third shot was impossible. The soldiers of the escort were already rushing towards a grille in a garden fence from which the arrows came. It took the soldiers a minute to kick open the only door in the fence. Forollkin guessed they'd have little chance of catching the archer if the man knew his way about the mansion he was shooting from. Kerish picked up one of the green feathered arrows.

  "Be careful, your Highness!" The Captain of the escort gingerly took the arrow and wrapped it in his cloak. "It may be poisoned."

  The street was filling with workmen from nearby houses and curious faces were appearing at windows.

  "Princess, your Highness, we must go on quickly," begged the Captain "or rumour will fly round the city and the Queen . . . "

  The travellers agreed to ride straight back to the palace. One of the soldiers was sent racing ahead to inform Pellameera of the attack on her guests.

  The Queen acted swiftly and it was only three hours later that the Galkians were summoned to her private apartments to hear the results of her investigations. A page led them across a gilded bridge to an island in the centre of an artificial lake. A giant wooden bird, glazed with thousands of feather-patterned tiles, dominated the island from a clump of carved reeds, cunningly painted, and each twice the height of a man. The page brought the Galkians through the stiff, silent reeds to a door in the breast of the hollow bird. Inside was a lavishly furnished chamber, lit by scented lamps, where the Queen entertained her most favoured courtiers. Kerish and Forollkin hardly had time to look at it before the page was asking them to climb the spiral stair hidden within the long curved neck of the bird. A hundred steps brought them to the Queen's bedchamber.

  Pellameera was lying on a couch combing out her newly washed hair. As the evening sunlight streamed through the tinted windows, each hair was like a rainbow. The Galkians kissed her hand and were invited to sit down among the plump cushions on one of the window seats. Through the golden glass of the bird's right eye, they had a magnificent view of the twelve wooden castles that made up the palace. The other eye looked out over the river and the royal tombs at the water's edge.

  "My dear Prince," began Pellameera, "how can I express my anger, my distress at such an attempt on the lives of my guests in my own capital!"

  "No shadow of blame falls across your Majesty," answered Kerish. "We imagine that the assassin was Galkian, or at least in Galkian pay."

  Pellameera did not seem surprised.

  "It may be so, though I grieve to say that three of my own ladies have been murdered in the past year by Seldian malcontents. The crew of the Zeloka have been thoroughly questioned. The captain was on board at the time of the shooting but . . . "

  "Captain Engis is above suspicion," said Kerish stiffly.

  Pellameera teased out a tangle with her ivory comb.

  "No-one is above suspicion, Prince. I wonder that you have survived so long without learning that. Three or four of the Zeloka's crew were in the city at the time of the attack and could have fired the arrows. As they are not my subjects I could not have them tortured without your permission . . ."

  "They can be questioned but not tortured!"

  "How gentle you are Prince. I could almost think that you are courting death. Lord Forollkin, you are very silent."

  To avoid staring at the Quee
n, Forollkin had fixed his attention on an alabaster lamp in the form of a half-open flower that hung above her head. Now he was forced to look at her.

  "None of the Zeloka's crew would be familiar with a Seldian mansion."

  "Most of them have visited Seld several times before," the Queen pointed out, "and besides, a gate on the other side of the garden had been left open by workmen rebuilding a fountain. The archer only had to cross the garden and shoot from the terrace. Any Seldian would know that the garden would be empty in the heat of midday and a Galkian might guess."

  Sensing that Pellameera already knew the answers, Forollkin said, "Your Majesty, I noticed that the captain of our escort led us back to the palace by a different route to the one we'd taken to the harbour. Therefore, the archer must have known our route in advance. Perhaps the captain. . ."

  "The captain has been . . . questioned, but I do not suspect him. He was merely obeying my exact orders, delivered to him by Lord Djezaney."

  "And your Majesty does suspect Lord Djezaney?"

  The Queen seemed a little surprised at such a direct question, but she answered readily enough. "Djezaney has often been a guest at the mansion of the Galkian Envoy. He has acquired more knowledge than befits a man, in Seld at least. No doubt he has grown rich on bribes to use his influence."

  "And has he any?" asked Forollkin bluntly.

  Pellameera chose a green ribbon from a skein of coloured silks and began to plait it into her hair.

  "I have humoured him in the past, but he has more spirit than most of my courtiers and he begins to be dangerous. There are those in Seld who conspire against the rule of Queens and babble of having Kings again. Perhaps Djezaney has joined them. Lord Djan, who only desires my wealth to buy pretty clothes and trinkets, is a safer favourite. Perhaps I should rid myself of both of them. . . What do you advise, Prince?"

  "I think," answered Kerish slowly "that your Majesty should choose a favourite worthy to love you."

  Pellameera laughed. "Dear Prince, a Queen is never loved."

  "That can't be true!" said Forollkin and then flinched under her cool green gaze.

  "And a Queen never loves," continued Pellameera, "though she may, most earnestly, desire a friend. So, Prince, you have enemies in Galkis; your stepmother the Empress perhaps, or the Princess Zyrindella . . . I do not advise you to go home."

  "I do not mean to, until our quest is complete."

  "Ah, this mysterious quest again!" Pellameera chose another ribbon to interweave with her copper hair. "Abandon it. You have proved your courage and escaped from Galkis. Why not settle here? Both of you would be welcome at my court."

  "I think your Majesty already knows that I will not stay," answered Kerish, "but my brother must speak for himself . . . "

  "It doesn't seem that he can," said Pellameera, as Forollkin stared at her. "I will answer for him. Yes, he wants to stay but he would never be happy in Seld or with its wicked Queen."

  "Your Majesty, I . . ."

  "Say nothing, Forollkin," insisted Pellameera, "but try not to think too harshly of me. Now, Prince, you still wish to sail to Gannoth?"

  "Yes, your Majesty." Kerish got up from the window seat. "We must speak to the King of Gannoth."

  "That may not prove as easy as you think," said Pellameera, "but I see that nothing will daunt you. Ah, what it is to be young and eager for impossibilities. If I were not Queen of Seld, I would bind up my hair and trudge after you on this great quest, like your little cousin. I am sending Lady Tirria to Gultim to represent me at the coronation of the King of Gannoth. You could sail with her . . . "

  Kerish bowed. "We are grateful for your courtesy, but the Zeloka will be making the same voyage . . ."

  "And you would rather journey in Galkian company? Very well. Both ships shall sail together in two days' time," said Pellameera. "I promised to show you my tomb. Tomorrow we will meet there and spend a few carefree hours before our parting."

  Back at their apartments, the Galkians found Gidjabolgo gorging himself on their supper.

  "Well, has the Queen hunted down your hidden archer?"

  Forollkin sat down and poured himself some wine. "He wasn't caught, but the Queen knows more than she's saying. There's little doubt that the man was acting under orders from Galkis."

  Gidjabolgo glanced up at the Prince. "I'm grateful that I don't belong to such a close family. When do we sail for Gannoth?"

  "The day after tomorrow," answered Forollkin. "Do you still want to journey with us? I suppose you could wait in Gannoth while we visit the Dead Kingdom."

  "What, and deprive my masters of my valuable services? No, you won't shake me off so easily."

  Unexpectedly, Kerish smiled. "I think you may be just what we need to keep us solid amongst the shadows of Roac."

  "What am I but a servant of your needs?" asked Gidjabolgo and bit into his third honey cake.

  *****

  The next morning, the Queen's guests were escorted to the Royal Tombs. Gwerath had tried on several dresses before reverting to her Erandachi clothes but she had bound her hair with ribbons of Seldian silk. As they walked side by side along a tiled path, Forollkin asked her what she thought of Mel-Kellin. Gwerath glanced along a glossy wall, delicately stippled in blue and gold, and up at the nearest of the twelve gaudy and fragile castles.

  "When Kerish told me about cities, I thought that I would feel the oldness of them. I thought I would feel the weight of so many seasons, so many happenings in one place, but this," said Gwerath contemptuously, "this is just like Erandachu. It is pretty but they tear down their wooden houses when they tire of them, like the Sheyasa move camp. There is nothing here to feel."

  "Perhaps the tombs will be more to your taste," suggested Gidjabolgo. "Their owners have no choices left."

  Enclosed by a featureless white wall, the Royal Tombs of Seld were built in sombre black stone. Each of them was carved in the shape of a crowned head, a portrait of the Queen it entombed. To Kerish, they looked like vast statues buried up to their necks in the earth with eyes that beseeched him to free them. Pellameera's tomb was only half-finished. The lower part of the head was still unpolished and the door was not yet concealed amongst the coils of stone hair.

  Inside, the walls were decorated with a series of portraits of the Queen from her childhood to her present age. The roughly hewn floor of the tomb chamber had been strewn with flowers and embroidered cushions. On the spot where she would one day lie, stripped of everything but a black winding sheet, Pellameera sat on a throne of ivory. Her courtiers clustered around her. Djan knelt at her feet but Lord Djezaney was missing.

  The Queen welcomed her guests and invited them to admire the painted walls. Kerish responded sincerely, for the artist had snared Pellameera's distinctive beauty. Forollkin shuddered to think of those bright images smiling through the darkness at shrouded bones. The painter and the sculptors of the tomb were brought forward to be praised and rewarded by the Queen and her courtiers.

  "How fast the work progresses!" murmured Pellameera. "One might almost think it was a matter of urgency."

  No-one answered her. After an uneasy pause, the Queen asked her guests to sit down on the cushions heaped to the right of her throne. Wine and sweetmeats were brought for the men and the nobility of Seld, not oppressed by the torch-lit tomb, began to laugh and chatter.

  For the travellers' amusement Lord Djan and another nobleman competed in a Dwyhak. This proved to be something between a dance and a game. One player performed a series of ritual movements in an order of his own choosing while the other rhythmically tossed flowers at him, scoring points when they struck home. It was pretty but absurd. Kerish marvelled at the Queen's apparent delight in such a spectacle.

  Next, the ladies of the court improvised short poems on subjects chosen by the Queen. Kerish managed to join in and produced a passable verse on the transience of beauty, but the other three were tongue-tied. Then Pellameera beckoned to a lady who had been sitting close to the throne with a small
stringed instrument across her lap. "The Court Poet has devised a song in honour of your deeds. Will you hear it, Prince?"

  Kerish could hardly refuse, so the poet tuned her instrument and sang of the defeat of the evil Saroc and the destruction of dread Tir-Tonar by the Prince of Galkis and his gallant bother. The two Galkians listened in growing discomfort to a grossly distorted account of their deeds in the Red Waste.

  "Are you pleased with your praises?" asked Pellameera over the ripple of applause as the song ended.

  "I would be pleased more by the truth," answered Kerish.

  "What, sung in public? Surely not. Be grateful that the lies are in your favour. You should hear some of the songs they sing about me . . . Ah, I see the Wardress. Here is some truth for you, Prince. Bring him in!"

  A woman, clad in black mail with a bunch of iron keys at her waist, was standing in the doorway. At the Queen's command she stepped aside and two soldiers entered half-carrying the slumped body of a man. At a nod from the Wardress they threw him down at Pellameera's feet. The man's wrists were manacled, his clothes torn and stained, and his face swollen by bruises. It was only by his crooked hand that the travellers recognized Lord Djezaney.

  "Here is his confession, your Majesty."

  The Wardress handed Pellameera a parchment stamped with Djezaney's seal. The Queen read it calmly. There was complete silence in the burial chamber until she folded the parchment again.

  "The prisoner confesses to treacherous thoughts against my Majesty and my government. Ah, what ingratitude in one I favoured so generously!" There were hasty exclamations of distress and indignation from her white-faced courtiers. Satisfied, Pellameera continued, "And the prisoner further confesses to conspiring with . . . certain parties to arrange the murder of our cherished guest, the Prince of Galkis, in return for five thousand gold pieces to be used in stirring discontent amongst my subjects. Did he confess this freely?"

  "Upon slight persuasion," said the Wardress with a grim smile.

  Pellameera offered the parchment to the Prince, but he shook his head. "I do not choose to know."