Approaching the central statue were a group of young men. One of them brandished a knife and slashed at his left hand. Blood spurted out, two severed fingers fell and the crowd applauded. As their mouths moved, Kerish heard the faintest of whispers, "Shubeyash, long live Shubeyash!"
He closed his eyes for a moment and watched Gwerath stoop to pick a windflower. With the sound of her sea in his ears, he opened his eyes again and walked on.
They were almost across the square when Kerish was forced to lead Gwerath through a narrow gap between three hooded soldiers and a group of women. He walked stealthily behind the women, so close that he could see every seed pearl on their diadems, every coil of hair. Then one of them turned. He choked at her carrion breath and flinched from the wild eyes in the naked skull.
The sudden cruel pressure of Kerish's hand broke Gwerath's vision. Her eyes flew open and Kerish started into a run. For a minute the others ran with him until he sank down on to a low wall and buried his head in his hands.
After a moment he looked up. "Gwerath, I couldn't have crossed that square without you."
"And you?" Gwerath turned eagerly to Forollkin. "Did I help you too?"
"I didn't see anything but the square and the people, but if you've helped Kerish, you've helped our quest. I said once that you couldn't. I know now that I was wrong."
"We must hurry," broke in Kerish sharply.
"Why?" demanded Gidjabolgo. "Do beasts hurry into a trap? This sorcerer lets us walk his streets for his own purpose, not ours."
"Kerish, do you think that's true?" asked Forollkin.
"Yes," said Kerish as a woman, awkwardly holding a baby to her breast with her caged hands, came out on to a balcony and stared down at them. "He watches us always and I can feel him drawing us to the centre of Tir-Roac."
“What would happen,” asked Gwerath, “if we leave the path he wants us to tread?”
Before Kerish could respond, she tried to answer her own question by darting down a side-alley. The others followed her into a small courtyard almost filled by a raised pool in which four men were bathing. When Gwerath began to slip past, they rose naked and dripping with black water. One of them seized Gwerath by the arm and tried to draw her into the pool of dead water. She flung herself backwards but could not break his grip. The other bathers were slowly clambering out. Before they could surround her, Forollkin's sword slashed through the first man's arm. The young Galkian pulled Gwerath away, with the severed hand still clutching her wrist. Kerish and Gidjabolgo had drawn their daggers, but as soon as Forollkin retreated towards the main street, the bathers stepped back into the pool as if nothing had happened.
Gwerath tried to shake off the dead hand.
“Don't touch it” ordered Kerish.
He prised the fingers open with the point of his dagger and the hand fell apart with a clatter of bones and a puff of dust. Drops of dead water had burned through Gwerath's sleeve like acid but beneath was the red stone of the bracelet she had worn since Tir-Tonar.
“Thank Zeldin it never touched your skin, or rather, thank Saroc. Perhaps you'll think more kindly of him now.”
Gwerath ignored this. "If Shubeyash is so powerful, why doesn't he just kill us now?”
Kerish fingered the Jewel of Zeldin as he answered. "There is something he wants of me. He also fears us and wishes to destroy us, but desire is struggling with fear. We must go on."
"Look at me, Kerish, " ordered his brother, "do you really think we should walk straight into the palace? Are you sure that the sorcerer hasn't somehow influenced you? Shouldn't we should fight rather than let ourselves be dragged towards him?"
"I'm not sure, but I feel that we must reach the heart of this darkness. Shubeyash is most vulnerable there."
"Not more powerful still?" Forollkin hesitated. "Well, I've been wrong before in not trusting your understanding of sorcerers. We'll do as you say."
`Zeldin let me be right,' thought Kerish as he clasped his brother's hand.
As they stepped onto the street again, he felt the city tremble. For a moment, the colours dimmed and the shadows lengthened. They walked on quickly, until forced back into the doorway of a house by the approach of four slaves carrying a palanquin hung with almond silk. Inside lay a woman whose lustrous hair streamed over the cushions. She wore a circlet of silver hands and pearl-sewn gauzes that barely concealed her body, but the impression of beauty was destroyed by the horror of her blanched face and soulless gaze. Each stiff movement emphasized the living death beneath the alabaster skin and the scents that lingered about her no longer came from the flowers in her caged hands.
Kerish wondered if she had been some cherished queen or concubine. How could the sorcerer bear to look at her ruined loveliness? Surely it was better to let the body decay and keep only the memory? But this sorcerer could not die. Perhaps, in the agony of his loneliness, even these grotesque shadows were better than dust and darkness.
"Shubeyash," whispered Kerish, "I'm coming."
Slowly and cautiously, they walked along the royal road towards the palace, watched by silent processions whose destinations had long since fallen into dust. Then Forollkin noticed that they were being followed by a squad of hooded soldiers, each carrying a silver axe and an iron hook with three prongs. After that, they moved faster. Every time Kerish looked back, he saw darkness encroaching on areas of the city they had just passed through.
Finally, they approached the outer wall of the palace and an archway in the crystal. Masked soldiers stood on either side of it, holding barbed spears. As the travellers moved towards them, they bowed and thrust the points of their spears into the ground.
"Zeldin," whispered Forollkin as he passed between the guards, "I think I'd prefer a knife in the back to this sorcerer's welcome!"
They paused for a minute between the outer and inner walls to stare at the patterned crystal and the glowing emerald stone. But after a few moments the colours seemed to dim before their eyes and cracks appeared in the crystal, as if Shubeyash was too weary to preserve the glory of his citadel for long.
Beyond an archway in the emerald wall stretched a long passage hung with tapestries, each woven from feathers torn from the breasts of a thousand birds. Twelve ivory doors led off the passageway and between each of them stood a sable-cloaked sentry, carrying an axe and a silver knife. To Kerish, these surroundings seemed almost familiar. He knew as they approached a flight of emerald steps that these led to the throne-room of Shubeyash. Torches gave a flickering light but no warmth and Kerish was shivering.
"Thief." Kerish heard a voice like dust. "Thief, come close, so I may kill you. The key is mine forever. The key and the darkness."
The others followed Kerish up the steps and found themselves in a pillared gallery. Below, lit by jewelled globes that hung upon the air, lay the throne-room of Shubeyash. The ivory throne of the Kings of Roac stood on a dais and from its footstool stretched a silver grille that spanned the hall. The grille was fixed four feet above the floor of the hall so that no-one could stand upright in the Sorcerer-King's presence. The travellers saw courtiers old and young, dragging themselves on their bellies towards the dais. Their ashen faces, staring up through the grille, were lit by the harsh glare of the hovering globes, but Shubeyash was swathed in shadow.
Kerish could only make out a frail figure in a green mantle whose hands were hidden by silver gloves, the ancient insignia of the Kings of Roac. Then the Prince shrank back against a pillar as the sorcerer turned his head and looked up towards the gallery. He looked, not with his eyes, but with his mind, for the face of Shubeyash had been shattered by some terrible blow.
Kerish sensed his own horror mirrored in the sorcerer and felt Shubeyash withdrawing power from Roac to restore his broken body. The globes flickered and for a few seconds the travellers saw the throne-room desolate and ruined. The silver grille had collapsed with a dozen pathetic skeletons crushed beneath it and the pale face of Shubeyash shone against the growing dark. Then the last light w
ent out.
The travellers stood, huddled together in the gallery until Kerish whispered, "He is coming."
"How can you know?" Gwerath's voice was edged with panic.
"I can see him," murmured Kerish, "as though he were painted on my eyes. He is thinking of me and moving through the dark very slowly. Can't you hear him?"
“I knew that you must come. He warned me, but you shan't take my key. Come close so my silver hands can reach you!"
Kerish winced at the malignancy behind the words, but the Lord of Tir-Roac had no tongue. He spoke only to the mind and the others heard nothing.
"Do we stay here?" asked Forollkin anxiously.
"Yes. No, wait . . ."
Kerish focused all his thoughts on Shubeyash, forcing himself to look at the ruined body that now crawled up a winding stair; to look at the white face, savagely divided by a line of shadow between the desperate eyes. The sorcerer spoke continually, more to himself than his enemy. "Thief, cruel thief, you would take my life. But I will cling, I will never let go. The key is hidden, he will never find it. I will never let it go, or I am lost. "
Kerish saw and felt each step. The stones were dank and cold and the torches gave no light.
"Light, I must have light. Light to show the Seldian tapestry with the dancing queens, dancing into dust . . . dust. No! It hangs there still. I can see it. I can make them see it but the pain of it, the pain . . . "It was agony to cling to his body but he would not let go.
"Hands," murmured Kerish. "There are hands inside my gloves. I won't let go. I am more than shadow. Give me light!"
"Kerish!" Forollkin shook his brother by the shoulders.
The Prince stopped moaning and stretched out his hands, staring at the splayed fingers.
"Kerish, what is it?"
"I know now. When I . . . when he thought of it, I saw."
"Thought of what?"
Forollkin tried to speak calmly and drive away the grotesque fear that it was not his brother who stood beside him in the darkness.
"The casket," answered Kerish. "When he thought of the key he pictured the treasure chamber. I know where it is. Shubeyash moves towards that chamber but he is slow and we might reach it first."
Kerish left the gallery, moving swiftly down a passage to his left. He needed no light to guide him but the others couldn't follow. For them, the darkness was total. Gwerath stumbled over something and cried, "Kerish, please wait!"
"We are not worms to tunnel in the dark," growled Gidjabolgo.
For a moment their voices severed the Prince's link with Shubeyash. "I'm sorry."
"We need some light," said Forollkin.
Reluctantly, Kerish drew out the Jewel of Zeldin and held it high. The white flame seemed to burn deep within the purple gem but at once the corridor was faintly lit. Gwerath saw that she had stumbled on the bones of a child; a page perhaps at the court of Shubeyash.
"We must hurry," said Kerish.
Almost gladly, he returned to the dark embrace of the mind of Shubeyash and led his companions along twisting passages, down a flight of steps and into a hall filled with statues of the sorcerer. Beyond were tarnished silver doors with two heaps of bone and rusted mail where sentries had once stood.
The travellers stepped carefully between them and Kerish pushed open the doors. By the light of the Jewel of Zeldin they saw a huge chamber crowded with iron-bound chests. The wood had rotted away and dusty treasures spilled out onto the floor. But high on an altar of green stone, a golden casket still shone brightly. Kerish felt for the keys at his waist and then gasped with pain as the Jewel of Zeldin seared his hand.
A door at the far end of the treasure chamber swung slowly open. Torches leapt into life on the walls and decay was banished by their pale light. The treasure chests stood whole on the polished floor but the travellers looked only at Shubeyash.
The King of Roac stood before them. His face was cruelly marred but his eyes were filled with life and they burned with a terrible intensity. To Kerish, they seemed more pitiable than the soulless eyes of his subjects. Only the bodies of the people of Roac had been forced into a mockery of life. This was a chained spirit.
"My Lord," said Kerish gently, "I have come for the key to your prison. Surrender it to me and I will release you."
"Thief, liar!" The tongueless words of Shubeyash shuddered through the chamber. "You have seen the splendour of my kingdom, which shall endure for ever. Now you will die for your trespass.”
"The splendour is gone, Shubeyash. Your kingdom is dust."
"No! You have seen my subjects. I have given them immortality."
"You gave them nothing but death." Kerish looked beyond Shubeyash to the golden casket. "Nothing remains. They are gone from you."
"They are here." The voice of Shubeyash was heavy with pain. "They answer my summons. Look!"
Kerish turned to see the two sentries entering the treasure chamber.
He spoke quickly to the others. "Close your eyes and keep them closed , whatever you hear or feel. Think of everything you love. I need your strength!"
As they obeyed, the sorcerer stepped forward, raising his gloved hands to shield his face from the light of the Jewel of Zeldin. "You cannot escape me. I will enter your thoughts and join them to my kingdom. I can destroy even the memory of all things beautiful and beloved, for I am Shubeyash, the greatest of sorcerers!"
The outline of the sorcerer's hands flickered against the wall and the crooked fingers seemed to form a cage of shadows around Kerish. The sentries stood on either side of him, staring with helpless eyes. Their spears were pointing at his heart.
"Zeldin aid me," murmured Kerish.
The jewel glowed in his hand, but the brightness failed to reach the sorcerer. The King of Roac stood half in shadow, half in the unnatural glare of the torches of illusion.
"Shubeyash, " pleaded the Prince, "I have come to banish your darkness and free you from your loneliness."
"No, you come to steal my immortality."
The scarlet threads of madness glittered against the blackness of his fury.
Kerish despaired. The sorcerer whispered of torture and death and for an anguished moment Kerish thought of what his failure must mean for Forollkin and Gwerath and Gidjabolgo. Even as his mind shaped their names, he felt their presence, felt that he could lean on their strength and trust them not to let him fall. His hand clenched on the jewel and he looked steadily into the face of Shubeyash.
"My Lord of Roac, you called me here, but now I summon you. Come to me, come closer!"
The blackness between the desperate eyes sickened him but Kerish held out his right hand to Shubeyash. "Come to me, I offer you peace."
The sorcerer dragged his broken body slowly forward but his mind leapt before it. Kerish cowered before the onslaught of dark images. Severed and bleeding hands caressed him, dark wings enfolded and stifled him, flames caught at his cloak, dead lips kissed his cheek. In his torment, Kerish struggled to think of Forollkin's strong embrace, of Gwerath walking among windflowers, of Gidjabolgo bent over his zildar, of the Emperor in his garden and the calm face of Izeldon.
"You shall not have them!" The comforting images were shattered. "You are alone and you will die alone."
"No Shubeyash, I have given and accepted love. I cannot die alone, but you . . . You are trapped within yourself, only you can know such loneliness."
"I rule Roac," whispered Tir-Roac's king. "My subjects love and worship me."
"You have no subjects. Look at them, Shubeyash, look!" With the eyes of the Godborn, Kerish stared fiercely at the silent sentries and the skulls gleamed through their withered flesh. "They are dead, all dead. You have power over nothing but bones and dust. Let go!"
The white fire of the Jewel of Zeldin blazed with renewed splendour. The sorcerer took one step forward but still he shielded his face. "It burns! I cannot bear it. You mean to kill me with your light but I will kill you first.”
Kerish's hand seemed almost transparent
as the light flowed through it but he could not hold back the darkness of Shubeyash. The floor split open at his feet. He stood again on the brink of the chasm and the white hands rose to drag him down. This time he did not try to escape, even when the shadow spread across the face of Shubeyash, destroying every feature.
"We will fall together!"
"No!" The jewel blazed in Kerish's hand and the pain was more terrible than the darkness of Shubeyash. "Zeldin, help me! Save us from the dark. Give us light!"
Hands closed on Kerish, and the Jewel of Zeldin shattered. The light was released and the sorcerer screamed in desperate agony. For a second Kerish saw his own fingers black against the brilliance and then the light engulfed Shubeyash. The illusory flesh was scorched away. Nothing remained but bone and a high, terrible screaming.
Then Kerish too was screaming, his eyes ravaged by the brilliance. White flames thrust through his skin, filling his body, dissolving the very bones. He was burning alive and he was blind. The light had grown too bright for him to see and nothing else remained in his universe.
"Shubeyash." Kerish tried to speak but he had no lips. They were gone, consumed by fire and soon the flames would reach his heart. He ceased to struggle against the annihilation; the pain increased and passed beyond his power to feel, as a fierce joy matched his agony. Slowly the screams faded leaving only a deep sigh, and a dying whisper. "Take it. Let me go!"
The light no longer seemed white: it was filled with colours he had never before perceived. They moved in patterns that unfolded too quickly, or perhaps, too slowly, for his comprehension. All that had ever oppressed him was stripped away. He was free and in a moment he would see the whole that he was a part of. Before that moment came, the light dimmed to a gentle darkness. He was not afraid as he sank down into it, only sad. He knew that something he had always wanted had been just within his grasp. Now it was as far away as ever.
Slowly he became aware of his body and the tears stinging his face.
"Kerish?"
He realized that he was lying on the ground with his head in someone's lap. "I can't see."
The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels) Page 12