The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  Further along the deck, Forollkin reached up uncertainly to fix a sail and shouted an order to Gwerath. She had already done what was necessary but she nodded and smiled. The West Wind tugged at Kerish's black and silver hair and fluttered the pages of his book. He looked up and noticed that his half-brother was addressing him with some heat.

  "It's all very well for you to just sit there . . ." began Forollkin, rubbing at a callused finger, "while the rest of us struggle to keep this craft afloat . . ."

  The Prince smiled as he closed the Book of the Emperors.

  "I was charitably allowing you the pleasure of another opportunity of shouting at me."

  "I do not shout," stated Forollkin with mendacious dignity, "but I have to make myself heard above the wind."

  "You shouted at him yesterday, " Gwerath pointed out, "when he forgot to keep hold of the rope."

  "Zeldin himself would have bellowed under that provocation!" protested Forollkin.

  "I'm extremely sorry," said Kerish unconvincingly, "but I was distracted by a shoal of Gar fish. The colours were fascinating."

  "And I suppose you found it fascinating to see me knocked flat on my back by the boom?"

  "It was fascinating," murmured Gwerath, "you looked so surprised."

  It took Forollkin a moment to realize that she was teasing him. “I suppose I should be pleased at giving you both such amusement!"

  Kerish got up from the deck. "To show how grateful I am, I'll prepare the meal."

  Forollkin snorted. "Oh, a very arduous task. Well hurry up, then I'm as hungry as a nest of Dik-birds. It must be getting a sea-stomach at last.”

  Kerish went down to their cramped cabin and through the curtains that divided it. Ducking under a hammock, he reached the chest of stores and chose some of its contents to fill four wooden bowls. It was not long before he was back on deck but Forollkin still chose to grumble. "Even the simplest task takes you half the morning."

  "I couldn't make up my mind between pickled fish and smoked cheese.”

  "Oh, surely there must be some fresh fruit left?" protested Gwerath.

  "Just a little," said Kerish. He surreptitiously gave her the best portion before calling to Gidjabolgo, "Can you come, or shall I bring your food to you?"

  The wind was dropping so the Forgite lashed the tiller and sat down on a coil of rope beside Kerish.

  While they ate, Forollkin struggled with a flapping chart. Finally, he knelt on the parchment and announced, "By my reckoning, we're about here."

  Gidjabolgo peered at the chart over Kerish's shoulder. "Considering the curious habit you have of seeing more stars than there are in the sky, you're close to being right."

  "When should we reach the Bay of Koandor?" asked Kerish quickly.

  "Two to three days," answered Gidjabolgo through a mouthful of cheese, "depending on the winds and allowing ample time for arguments with my Master."

  "I've told you before," snapped Forollkin, "I will not have orders bellowed at me without explanation or discussion . . ."

  "Forgive me, my Master, I had the idea that you'd been a soldier and would understand orders. What talkative troops you must have led, discussing each command . . ."

  "In battle everything is different . . ."

  "Everything is different when you're taking orders instead of giving them, playing the Fool instead of the Master . . . "

  "I have been wondering," said Gwerath suddenly, "what the King of Roac could have done to destroy his people. Do you know any more than Hemcoth told us, Kerish?"

  The Prince hastily joined his cousin in trying to head off another quarrel between Forollkin and the Forgite. "Only a little. I saw his image once in Tir-Rinnon and Elmandis told me that the King of Roac cannot die, so long as he retains his key. Se . . .someone else told us that King Shubeyash had stolen secrets from an ancient city we passed on our journey. From what we saw on Gannoth, I would guess that the city was once inhabited by the creatures carved in the Cave of Pictures."

  Forollkin leaned back against the boat's rail. "Well, I suppose there are things that are forbidden even to sorcerers."

  "Forbidden, or merely dangerous?"

  "I can't see that it matters much, Kerish. The result was destruction. "

  Gidjabolgo licked the last traces of fish from his bowl and said, "I find it a fascinating question. Did the sorcerer of Tir-Roac reach the natural limit of his power and walk off the edge, or was he pushed by the hand that tempted him with the key?"

  "I expect it's simple enough," answered Forollkin. "What moves most men to action? Greed. No doubt our sorcerer became too greedy and bit off more than he could swallow."

  "Greedy for what?" asked Gidjabolgo, with unusual seriousness. "What would such a man desire?"

  "Power, wealth, praise?" suggested Forollkin carelessly.

  "But he was a king," said Gwerath, "he must have had all that."

  "I'll swear he wanted nothing so tangible," murmured Gidjabolgo. "Power, yes. But the power of knowledge and the knowledge of perfection."

  "But to want those things can't be wrong!" cried Kerish.

  "Why? Because you want them too?"

  "Yes. Yes, I do."

  "Then don't look down," said Gidjabolgo, "or you'll see how narrow the path is, and how deep the drop."

  "Whatever the sorcerer did," began Gwerath, "I don't see why all his people should have had to suffer too."

  "He was their ruler," answered Gidjabolgo, "if they didn't rebel, they shared his crime."

  "No, that's unjust . . ."

  "I think Gidjabolgo may be right." Kerish stared out to sea watching the swooping birds. "His subjects must have had some degree of choice. If they chose to do nothing, perhaps his darkness gradually filled their emptiness. Maybe that was his unforgivable crime - the corruption of his people."

  "In any case, my Mistress need not grieve," said Gidjabolgo, "the people of Roac are nothing but dust, blown about by the breath of their king."

  *****

  That evening the wind freshened. Forollkin and Gidjabolgo were up for much of the night. Kerish slept fitfully in his swinging hammock. He dreamed that he was in a bright place but a pale hand was beckoning to him from an encroaching darkness. He woke shivering, instinctively felt for Lilahnee's warmth by his side, and then remembered.

  The Prince got up, took food to Gidjabolgo at the helm and persuaded Forollkin to rest for a while. As he came back along the narrow deck, he saw Gwerath hanging over the rail staring down at the choppy blue-green waters. She jumped as he approached.

  "Don't tell me you'd forgotten we were here,” said Kerish. “That's not easy on a boat this small.”

  "On the plains I was used to great spaces in summer and to cramped quarters in winter. Here I'm in an emptiness bigger than Erandachu and yet I'm shut in with all of you. Cousin, will you teach me more music?"

  "Now? Yes, if that's what you really want."

  "What I want is to change," said Gwerath turning to face him with her grey eyes alight. "I want to become so different that none of the Sheyasa would recognize me, not even my father."

  "Change to what?"

  "Forollkin has told me about the ladies of the Galkian court. I shall learn to be like them . . . You're laughing at me!"

  "Only a little. Gwerath, surely changes like that are dangerous? You start with things that are on the outside but they creep inside, deeper than you ever intended . . ."

  "Stop it, Kerish!" Gwerath was almost shouting at him. "Why won't you accept what I choose to say, what I choose to show? Why must you always try to look through and beyond it?"

  "Because I'm not Forollkin! If you want me to treat you as shallow, perhaps you. . . No. I don't mean that. Don't say anything. I'll get my zildar."

  When Kerish came back on deck, his face was perfectly calm. He sat down on one of the bulky coils of rope and played the simple tune of a Galkian cradle-song. Then he handed the instrument to Gwerath and made her practise the same tune, over and over again. Forollkin w
as soon back on deck, constantly clambering past and shouting to Gidjabolgo. Their exchanges were not amiable.

  "Poor Forollkin," whispered Gwerath, "how he hates taking orders from Gidjabolgo."

  "Understandably," murmured Kerish, who had been deriving unworthy pleasure from this fact for some time.

  "But how well he bears it," continued Gwerath warmly. "He may grumble but he carries out the orders."

  "So he does." Kerish was sharply reminded of his own behaviour under similar provocation. "Try moving your little finger up a bit to get that note.”

  Gwerath had almost mastered the cradle-song when Forollkin called to them, "Come and look at this!"

  He was holding one of the most precious of Hemcoth's gifts: an ebony tube fitted with a skilfully-cut lens from Kolgor. The distant coastline of Roac was still no more than a shadow on the horizon but Forollkin handed the glass to Kerish and told him to look south.

  The Prince held the ebony tube to his right eye. As he looked towards the coast he saw the limpid turquoise waters change to an intense and glittering black, untouched by any fleck of foam.

  "The Dead Waters," said Kerish.

  *****

  By evening they had reached the edge of the turquoise and rode at anchor in the shallow sea. The wind had dropped and both black and turquoise waters were glassy calm. That night, Kerish slept badly again and woke tugging at his own hands as if he were afraid of them.

  At dawn the travellers ate below decks. Then Gidjabolgo went to the helm and Gwerath and the Galkians hung over the rail. They watched the Starflower breast the last of the sunlit turquoise waves and cleave into the black waters.

  The boat shuddered as if it had struck a rock. For a heart-beat each of them listened for the sound of rending wood and water gushing into the cabin. Then the shuddering stopped, the sails billowed and the Starflower sailed serenely towards Roac.

  "Everything's changed," whispered Gwerath, looking not at the dark sea but at the pallid sky.

  The customary azure had faded and the sun seemed dull and very far away. It was as if they had passed through an invisible wall into the stifling air of a long unopened room. The sea birds that had followed them from Gannoth had turned back at the edge of the Dead Waters. The slap of the waves was muted. Most disquieting of all, the West Wind was silent, but something filled the Starflower's sails and thrust her forward.

  By afternoon they were close enough to the coast to see harsh cliffs, riven by narrow gorges that spilled black rivers into a black sea. The travellers took it in turns to use the ebony tube. Sometimes they glimpsed tall buildings on the edge of the cliffs but the land seemed to be cloaked in a deceptive haze. What at one moment appeared to be a splendid tower, at the next looked no more than a heap of stones.

  Forollkin and Gwerath argued cheerfully about these mirages but to Kerish they were deeply disturbing. He felt that he was entering a country where the ground was always moving beneath his feet and he was bound to fall, and fall heavily. Kerish turned away from the rail and the sight of Gidjabolgo crouching by the tiller moved him to fetch a cup of wine for the Forgite. Gidjabolgo drank it without a word of thanks but as Kerish sat down on the deck beside him, he murmured, "Are you so weary of the horrors of Roac that you come and look at me?"

  "Familiar horrors turn into something different if you stare at them long enough.”

  "Then for all our sakes, look at the cliffs again," exclaimed Gidjabolgo, "though, as they say in Forgin, you cannot outstare death."

  "And what do Forgites believe concerning death?" asked Kerish.

  Gidjabolgo sat back and stretched his cramped legs before he answered. "We are told that the soul lives on, tormented for a thousand years for each small sin."

  "And after the torment?"

  "Our teachers say that every Forgite ever born is still working out his torment, so who can tell?" Gidjabolgo shrugged. "A neat doctrine but not one that has ever influenced my conduct."

  "And yet, I imagine," began Kerish cautiously, "that you have a very clear belief about what should."

  "No-one has ever lived up to the standard I would set," answered Gidjabolgo, "and, before you say it, least of all myself. Knowing that, I choose to act solely for my own profit and amusement."

  Kerish sat hunched up with his arms around his knees, frowning at the deck. "I wish there was only one moment of choice and that everything was over, one way or another. I have chosen but I need help to do even the things that I desperately want."

  "Yes, a clever trick is played on men. We are given a fine bow but the string is faulty and we can never reach the target unless we beg for a replacement."

  Kerish didn't answer and Gidjabolgo stared at the long, downcast lashes for a while before saying, "My Master is very quiet. Have I perturbed you?"

  "I was trying to imagine what it must be like to be you," said Kerish, "trying to decide whether I would think the same way as you do, if I had been born in your place, in your body . . ."

  "Were you now? I have often wondered what I might have been like if I had been born the Emperor's darling."

  "And would you have been like me?" Kerish had sat up straight and waited for the answer as if it were vital to him.

  "No," began Gidjabolgo slowly, "I would never have. . ."

  The rest of his answer was lost in the thud of Forollkin's feet as he ran towards them waving the ebony tube. Gwerath was close behind him.

  "Kerish, look!"

  The Prince got up to take the tube from his brother. For a few moments he looked towards the coast. Then he handed the tube to Gidjabolgo.

  "Hemcoth said that no ships sailed these waters . . ." began Forollkin.

  "...except the Ships of the Dead," finished Kerish.

  The vessel was soon visible to the naked eye and the rhythmic sweep of a double bank of oars carried it so swiftly towards the Starflower that there was no hope of outrunning it. The ship of Roac shone against the liquid midnight of the Dead Waters like a gaudy mask on the face of a corpse. Every inch was gilded or limned with gem-like colours. The sails were dappled gold and amber and a dozen pennons, emblazoned with the Silver Hand of Shubeyash, flew from the triple masts.

  Gidjabolgo was the first to move. Within moments he was shouting orders to Forollkin. Kerish remembered the ships of Fangmere and knew that they could not long avoid being rammed. Then, if they were not killed at the first impact, they might be thrown into the sea. He shuddered at the thought of the Dead Waters touching his skin, closing over his face . . . .

  Gwerath's hand touched his arm. "Can you smell it?"

  The silent wind carried the scent of dust and decaying timbers and a sweet odour that Kerish refused to recognize. Gwerath brushed her hands across her face as if she was trying to rub away something unclean. Gidjabolgo pushed past them to bring the Starflower round and head for the pure waters of the open sea. Even as the boat began to turn, the shadow of the ship of Roac fell across her deck. Gwerath drew her dagger but the gesture was futile; the approaching ship could cut them in half without pausing.

  Suddenly the swift, silent movement of the banks of oars stopped. Towering above the frail Gannothan craft, the ship of Roac rocked gently on the black waters. Forollkin came to his brother's side and they looked up past the still oars towards the deck. For the first time, the Galkians saw the crew of the Ship of the Dead coming towards the rail. They moved unnaturally slowly, as if they were afraid of breaking their emaciated limbs. Their garish silks hung slackly and their lank hair did not stir in the wind. A dozen faces, pale as the drowned, stared down at the travellers, but their eyes were like tarnished mirrors.

  To Kerish, their skin seemed so white it was almost transparent. As he stared, the whiteness was dimmed by the shadow of the bones beneath.

  "No! Oh, Zeldin, no!" Kerish hid his face in his hands.

  The pale crew abruptly seemed to lose interest in the travellers. They moved away from the rail like men walking against water. The long oars struck the black waves and s
lowly the ship turned and sailed back towards Roac.

  Forollkin put an arm around Kerish. "Well, it seems the Ships of the Dead won't harm us."

  "I think the ship was sent to spy on us," said Kerish shakily, "but we should probably follow it."

  Gidjabolgo agreed. "We must. It's heading for the Bay of Koandor."

  The smell of death still lingered on the wind as the Starflower turned again and headed for the shadowy coast of Roac.

  In the Bay of Koandor the Great Harbour was filled with ships, but there was no movement on the silent quay or on the white road that wound up the cliff to the glittering walls of Tir-Roac.

  The towers of the city shimmered like rainbows but in the harbour the ships lay rotting at their moorings. Some were half-sunk, their gilded splendour long since crumbled away, leaving only the stark outline of green timbers and a few shreds of sailcloth to wave forlornly in the silent wind. The Ship of the Dead sailed behind a row of decaying vessels and was momentarily lost to sight in the forest of broken masts.

  "But the ship must be here," said Gwerath a few minutes later. "We followed closely, it can't have sailed out of sight so quickly."

  But there was no trace of the brilliant vessel amongst the rotting fleet.

  "It could have been any of them," murmured Kerish.

  "How?" demanded Forollkin. "Look, the timbers are rotten with age and the oars are broken. None of these ships will ever sail again."

  "Unless Shubeyash moves them with his power and makes them appear almost as they must have looked before the death of Roac."

  "Then those men we saw . . ." For once Forollkin was quick to understand. "But to your eyes . . . Kerish, can you bear it?"

  "I shall have to," said Kerish bleakly. "Let's find the mouth of the river as quickly as we can."

  For a grim hour they sailed the length of the harbour, past galleons and skiffs, barges and warships, all green and rotten. Sometimes their wake, lapping against the smaller craft, was enough to sink them beneath the Dead Waters.