The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  "As you will," said Pellameera, who seemed to know that Forollkin was longing to snatch the parchment from her. "How do you advise me to treat this traitor?"

  "Banish him," suggested Kerish, looking away from the ruined face.

  "I think not," murmured the Queen. "He is only a man and easily corrupted, so I forgive his offences against my crown, but there can be no mercy for his crime against you. Or what could I say to the Emperor, your loving brother? He must die today. Djezaney!"

  The soldiers dragged him to his feet, but his eyes were closed by bruises so he could not look at her.

  "Djezaney, how would you like to die?"

  The Seldian tried to answer, but his mouth was full of blood.

  "If you can't speak, I will choose for you. Because of my affection for you, Djezaney, I will honour you, even in death." Pellameera untied the white sash from her slender waist and handed it to one of the soldiers. "Strangle him with this."

  Kerish jumped to his feet as the soldiers seized Djezaney's dark curls. They tilted back his head but Forollkin protested, "Not here, your Majesty!"

  "What fitter place? But if the sight of a just death offends you both....Take him outside!"

  Djezaney was dragged from the tomb and the Queen ordered her musicians to play.

  "Ah, how cruelly I am treated!" With an elaborate sigh, Pellameera drew her ice-green cloak about her shoulders. "Among all my Lords, can I believe that there is one who truly loves his Queen?"

  Lord Djan, paler than the lace at his wrists, crouched to kiss the hem of the Queen's cloak. "My love for your Majesty is greater than all Zindar!"

  "Then Zindar is a little world and I am Queen of nothing. Dear Prince, will you dance with me again? This will be our last celebration together, for tomorrow no doubt you will wish to attend the burial of the Galkian Envoy. Such an unfortunate accident...Oh, did I forget to mention his death?"

  "You did," said Kerish curtly.

  "Don't be angry over such a trifling fault," pleaded the Queen. "We may never meet again."

  Finally, the Prince agreed to dance and took the Queen's hand.

  Forollkin always remembered Pellameera as she looked then, dancing in the shadow of her death.

  Chapter 5

  The Book of the Emperors: Warnings

  All men, in greater and lesser degrees, possess the power of illusion and use it often against those they love.

  The great chain that barred the mouth of the Rellendon was lifted, allowing the Zeloka and the royal ship of Seld to sail out into the straits of Gannoth where the pale turquoise of the Dirian Sea mingled with the turbulent waters of the Great Ocean.

  All morning Gwerath hung over the ship's rail watching the sea birds and the white flecked waves. Battling against queasiness, Forollkin was irritated to notice that Gwerath was not at all affected by the plunging ship.

  "You seem to like the sea, cousin."

  "Like?" Gwerath was contemptuous of so tame a word. "The sea is too fierce to be liked. It is beautiful and wild and dangerous, like the hunting cats of the plains. It is all I hoped it would be. I wish I could live by the sea."

  "Wouldn't you miss your grasslands?"

  "No." Gwerath's face closed up like a flower at dusk. "I don't ever want to see plains or mountains again."

  "And I don't want to see another royal court," said Forollkin, "but Zeldin and Imarko, it's good to be on board a Galkian ship again!"

  He glanced up at the purple and golden sails and the Galkian sailors singing to the wind as they scrambled through the rigging.

  "You are glad to leave Seld then?" asked Gwerath.

  "Of course," answered Forollkin, but she noticed the hesitation before he spoke.

  The funeral of the Galkian Envoy had been a sombre and disquieting ceremony. Afterwards there had been a grim feast in the Galkian Embassy. Forollkin had drunk rather too much and argued with Gwerath, who had insisted that Pellameera had been right to have the man killed. Kerish had been forced to talk very loudly to his neighbour to cover their angry and indiscreet whispers. During the journey downriver Gwerath and Forollkin were, as Gidjabolgo remarked, `as moody as moulting Dik birds.'

  "I would guess that the court of Gannoth will be very different from Seld. It's only a small island," said Forollkin, as Kerish came round the deck carrying a cloak for Gwerath. The wind was rising and the cold green waters of the Great Ocean seemed to chill the ship.

  "A small island," agreed Kerish, "but I've heard it said that Gultim is the most ancient city in Zindar. I've always wanted to see it. After all, I'm part Gannothan and so are you, Forollkin."

  "I'd forgotten that. The Emperor's mother was a Princess of Gannoth, Gwerath, but she died before either of us was born."

  "She pricked her finger on a thorn in the Emperor's garden," said Kerish. "She died within an hour and the thorn tree blossomed for the first time in memory. Forollkin, Engis wanted to see you about something."

  When his brother had gone to the poop deck, Kerish persuaded Gwerath to wear the fleece cloak.

  "I can see that you're going to be like me and get in everyone's way till you've found out how things work. When you get bored, come to my cabin and I can show you more books and scrolls. We could start writing lessons again and I could teach you the zildar . . . "

  "I don't think I want to."

  She would have moved away from him but Kerish gripped her wrists. "You mustn't stop wanting things. Gwerath, can't we be friends again? What happened between Forollkin and me is something for the two of us alone, though I promise you couldn't blame me more than I do myself."

  "I know I'll never understand how Forollkin feels about you," said Gwerath stiffly. "You don't have to tell me that."

  "As for the Goddess....Sendaaka, please believe that we were only trying to protect you. I know how you must feel because. . ."

  "I don't want you to know how I feel. Can't I have anything to myself?"

  "I'm sorry," said Kerish blankly, "I'm sorry."

  *****

  The next morning, after they had breakfasted and were standing on the poop deck watching a shoal of fish following the ship, Gwerath turned to Kerish. "Will you call me Princess of the Sheyasa in Gannoth?"

  Kerish nodded.

  "Then perhaps I should learn to be a Princess. Will you teach me all the things you promised, or are you angry with me now?"

  "I'm not angry," said Kerish in a puzzled voice. "When do you want to start?"

  "Now."

  For the next two days Gwerath sat in the Prince's cabin learning the Galkian alphabet and trying to read the simple passages of Zindaric he wrote down for her. Sometimes she worked feverishly, sometimes she seemed to forget Kerish's existence and sank into deep silences. During the music lessons, Gidjabolgo joined them. He watched with amusement as Kerish struggled to teach Gwerath simple chords. She was not naturally musical and her fingers seemed to stumble over the easiest combinations. To reward her efforts, Kerish would play for her and Gidjabolgo, or sing till his throat ached.

  Forollkin never once joined them. He talked to Engis, strode round the deck, or kept to his cabin. It was there that Kerish found him when he wanted to search their luggage for a spare string to his zildar. Forollkin had been sitting on his bunk, re-reading the letter from his mother. As Kerish came in, he crumpled it in his hands.

  "I'm not surprised you've broken a string. You'll snap a finger next with all that music."

  "You don't mind my playing, do you?"

  "Mind? You block my ears with your wailing tunes and then ask if I mind."

  Kerish found the string and sat down beside his brother, with the zildar across his lap. "I'm only trying to entertain Gwerath."

  "Well, there's an easy audience. She doesn't notice what you play to her."

  "Gwerath has a natural appreciation of the arts..."

  "And I suppose I haven't?"

  "I didn't mean that."

  Kerish bent over his zildar and tried to change the subject before his e
xasperation showed.

  "I have been wondering how much we should tell the King of Gannoth. He might try to stop us entering the Dead Kingdom and risking our lives."

  "Well, no doubt your golden tongue will beguile him."

  Kerish deftly knotted the new string. "I shall try to persuade him."

  "Persuade? I often wonder if that's all you're doing. Now that I know what you're capable of. Still, if you can `persuade' the King to look after Gwerath while we go to Roac..."

  "That would make her very unhappy. "

  Forollkin stretched out on the bed, frowning up at the swinging lamp. "Unhappy and safe. Do you want her killed?"

  "I want her to have something to live for. You don't understand how important our quest is becoming to Gwerath."

  "I have better things to do than worry about understanding Gwerath."

  "No, you don't," said Kerish angrily. "If just for once, you would use what little imagination you have . . ."

  "Kerish, I will not be shouted at by you . . ."

  "I'm tired of speaking softly in your presence and trying not to irritate you!" The Prince slammed a hand against the cabin wall. "I'm sorry. I swore I'd be patient with you, but Forollkin, in Zeldin's name, what's the matter with you?"

  Forollkin sat up and looked into his brother's anxious eyes.

  "Kerish I'm sorry too. I should have talked to you about it, but I suppose I still think of you as my little brother, who mustn't be troubled with foolish passions that he wouldn't understand. Now, I'm the fool for refusing to let you grow away from what you were. A double fool for wanting Pellameera."

  Kerish listened while Forollkin talked on and on about the beauty and cruelty of the Queen of Seld.

  "So, I've told you now but I mean to stop thinking about her. She isn't worth remembering."

  "I think you misjudge her," said Kerish. "Pellameera is clever and brave. It's the crown of Seld that has made her cruel. Without it, she might have been worthy of your love."

  "You're only saying that to make me feel less stupid. I hope you never get tangled in such feelings. If you do, I'll always be here to listen, but I suppose you'd be too proud to talk about it."

  "Yes." Kerish finished replacing the string.

  "Well," said Forollkin, "you're right. I ought to be trying to cheer our little cousin. I haven't heard her laugh since we left the Sheyasa."

  They went back together to Kerish's cabin. Forollkin taught Gwerath one of the simpler Galkian board games; played six rounds with her and talked about his service on the Tryfanian border. Gwerath listened intently, lost every game, and smiled at her defeats.

  The next morning, the Zeloka and the Seldian ship entered the harbour of Gultim, the only city of Gannoth. The harbour was already crowded with the ships of envoys from Dard and Losh, Forgin, Further Eran, Kolgor and Chiraz. Kerish and Forollkin hurried on deck to catch their first glimpse of mountainous Gannoth and of Gultim itself.

  The city was massively built in blue-grey stone to withstand the winter gales. It lay on a steep slope, dominated by the gaunt palace of the Lords of Gannoth. There were no streets, only endless flights of steps so even the most exalted travellers were forced to go on foot. As the Zeloka dropped anchor, a guard of honour was assembling on the quay.

  "Ah, the Prince has sent his Great Steward to meet us," said Engis.

  "The Prince?"

  "Prince Hemcoth, my Lord."

  "Is the King in seclusion before his coronation?" asked Kerish.

  "Seclusion? Indeed he is. Forgive me, I thought your Highness knew the customs of Gannoth. The King is dead."

  "Dead!" exclaimed Forollkin. "Have we come to a burial then?"

  "No, my Lord. The Gannothans believe that the Crown Prince only becomes King when he dies and rules through his son, the new Crown Prince. They say it is a very ancient custom."

  Engis started to explain further and then stopped in the middle of a sentence as Gwerath came on deck. The Princess of the Sheyasa wore a Seldian dress of pale turquoise. She had spent a long time binding up her hair and only a few stubborn wisps still straggled down her slim neck. Engis bowed. Forollkin smiled approvingly and Kerish gave her his hand to lead her ashore.

  They were preceded by a herald, who announced to the welcoming party the unavoidable absence of the Galkian Envoy and the arrival of Prince Kerish-lo-Taan with his brother, the Lord Forollkin, and his cousin, the Princess Gwerath. The Great Steward truthfully proclaimed himself overwhelmed by the unexpected honour and sent a messenger racing up to the palace with orders to rearrange the guest chambers. He bowed very low to the Prince and alarmed Gwerath by kissing the hem of her robe. She looked plaintively at Kerish who answered the formal welcome for her.

  There was a brief wait while the Ambassadress of Seld and her party were greeted. Then the Great Steward led them all up a steep flight of steps strewn with aromatic herbs. Pale, brooding faces appeared at dark windows as the Gannothans stared at the strangers with mute curiosity. The Great Steward paused frequently during their slow climb through the sombre city to point out worn inscriptions and paintings half-stripped away by the salty air. Kerish guessed that the old man was delaying their arrival so that their rooms could be made ready.

  “Well, Gwerath, is Gultim ancient enough for you?”

  She answered Forollkin's question seriously. “Yes, it feels so heavy with years and secrets.”

  Finally, the Great Steward brought the travellers to a mansion built at the foot of the palace wall. He promised to return in an hour to escort them to the royal banquet that began the coronation ceremonies. When their luggage had been brought up from the ship, Kerish and Forollkin changed into Galkian finery in a gloomy chamber, hung with musty tapestries and furnished in the fashion of centuries before.

  Since Gidjabolgo was included in the invitation, he dressed up in gaudy silks acquired in Seld and admired the effect in a hand-mirror while Kerish delved in one of the carrying-chests and brought out an ivory casket.

  "Come back!" ordered Forollkin, "your fillet's crooked. Stand still while I straighten it."

  "I thought I'd take Gwerath a jewel to wear at the feast," said Kerish meekly.

  "And I was beginning to think you weren't playing to win," murmured Gidjabolgo.

  Forollkin ignored him. "That's a good idea. Our poor cousin brought so little with her from Erandachu."

  At first Gwerath refused to accept the necklace of moonflowers. "No, I couldn't wear something so precious!"

  "This was made for my mother, for Taana, and you are her brother's daughter. Wear and keep it."

  Gwerath touched the cool gems for a moment and then let Kerish fasten them around her throat. "Thank you, cousin. When I was little, I used to make up stories about my lost aunt. The truth is stranger than anything I imagined. Whenever I wear this necklace, I will think of Queen Taana."

  Kerish tried to smile back.

  Moments later, the Great Steward was announced and asked permission to lead them to the feast. Kerish took Gwerath's hand again. Forollkin and Gidjabolgo followed behind with Engis and an escort of Galkian sailors.

  The palace was built of the same sombre stone as the city below. The Galkians marvelled at the skill of the builders who had placed its squat towers and massive keep on a narrow promontory of jagged rock. The walls had once been richly decorated with sculptures but the stormy centuries had half-destroyed the reliefs and statues. Their almost shapeless figures, symbols of a long losing battle with the elements, gave the palace an air of melancholy antiquity.

  The travellers were led through a dark tunnel into a courtyard where the sculptures were partly sheltered from wind and rain. Twelve great stone ships survived, with only patches of lichen to obscure the elaborate detail of hull, mast and sails. The walls of the courtyard were engraved with the sun, the moon and stars, while the floor had been carved with wave-like patterns, now almost worn away by constant footsteps.

  The Great Steward hurried them on and up a broad flight of stairs into
a vast hall where they stepped from darkness into the glow of a hundred torches. As his titles were announced, Kerish-lo-Taan walked the length of the hall towards the dais to be greeted by Prince Hemcoth and his sister, the Princess Mekotta. He noticed Hemcoth's frail physique and ashen hair and the unnatural pallor of his eyes. The Princess shared her brother's colouring but her features were more definite, as if her very bones were stronger.

  When Kerish was seated in the place of honour, Gwerath came forward, the torches drawing splinters of light from the frosted gems at her throat. In the privacy of her cabin she had been practising a curtsey, and she sank down in a graceful whisper of silk. As Hemcoth raised her up, his gentle face and hesitant speech seemed to banish her nervousness. Gwerath answered him calmly, in spite of the watching crowd of Gannothans, and took her place beside Mekotta. Finally, Forollkin, Gidjabolgo, and Engis were presented and all placed at the high table. Their neighbours were Lords and Ladies of Gannoth, shivering in the thin, pleated robes they wore beneath embroidered tabards, which had been handed down from generation to generation.

  At the lower tables sat the other envoys. The severe Ambassadress of Seld was placed beside the silent, dark-skinned envoy of Kolgor and his attendants. In another group were a feather-cloaked Count of Dard and a Merchant Prince of Forgin, while two grim warriors of Chiraz were uneasily seated next to the smiling, heavily perfumed Ambassador of Losh. All of them were watching the Galkians with undisguised curiosity but the Merchant also stared at Gidjabolgo. Kerish noticed that the Forgite was scowling worse than usual but he had no opportunity to ask what was wrong.

  A single bronze bell rang out and the feast began. The faded hangings to one side of the hall parted and out came a procession of pages carrying platters of fish and dishes piled with the eggs of sea-birds, dyed with coloured spices. As the first page reached the high table he was suddenly transformed; green scales covered his face, and fins, not hands, held out the silver platter.

  "I hope, Princess," said Hemcoth, "that these slight illusions will not trouble you."