His own voice sounded harsh to him.
"Don't worry, we couldn't either at first," said Forollkin. "It passes off, but your hand . . ."
"What's wrong?" Kerish flexed his right hand, but the left he could not feel at all. He struggled to sit up and the darkness faded into the pale light of dawn streaming through the broken roof of the ruined chamber. Forollkin and Gwerath were kneeling by him and Gidjabolgo stood scowling behind them. All three seemed absurdly anxious.
"Shubeyash?"
"He is gone," said Gwerath.
Then Kerish saw the silver gloves lying amongst a heap of bones. Partial memory returned. "The Jewel of Zeldin." Kerish looked down at his left hand and at the fingers curved as if they still held their treasure. The jewel was gone without trace and he could not move his hand.
"Does it hurt?" Gwerath was asking.
"No. I can't even feel you touching it."
With his other hand, he fumbled for the keys at his waist. Forollkin helped him up and Gidjabolgo held the casket steady for him to unlock. Inside lay a slender key, set with a black gem.
"He surrendered it finally," murmured Kerish. "I didn't have to steal it."
"What happened?" asked Forollkin. "I knew the sentries were close and I could just hear the sorcerer's voice and yours. I remembered what you said, so I kept my eyes closed and thought about Galkis and of . . . of other beautiful things. Then I heard something shatter. I opened my eyes. There was a flash of light and when I could see again, Shubeyash and all his illusions were gone."
"It wasn't just light," cried Gwerath, "there was a sound too. It was beautiful but it hurt me."
"It began like music," muttered Gidjabolgo.
"You heard no screams?" asked Kerish.
The others shook their heads.
Into the uneasy silence Forollkin said, "For Zeldin's sake, our work here's done. Let's get out of Roac."
"There is nothing to hurt us now," murmured Kerish. "In time, even the legends will die."
As Forollkin helped him to fit the fifth key on the golden chain, Gidjabolgo picked up the cloven skull of Shubeyash.
"I thought the sorcerers of Zindar were all human once."
"So they were, all seven," answered Kerish.
“This is not the skull of a man," said Gidjabolgo. "Here, where the blow fell, this looks like the socket of a third eye."
"Imarko protect us. Put it down!" Forollkin shuddered. "Do you feel strong enough to move, Kerish? We can see to your hand on the Starflower."
The Prince nodded and they walked back through the ruined palace. Everywhere among the broken splendours lay the dead but the west wind now came shrieking in, stirring the rags that clung to the cold bones and shifting dust to cover them at last.
The walls of emerald stone still stood but the crystal lay in a million shards, sparkling in the sunlight. As they crossed the great courtyard, they heard the cries of sea-birds and saw them wheeling against a sky of deepening blue. One of them flew down to perch on a crumbling statue of the sorcerer king and preen its feathers. Kerish knew that Tir-Roac was finally dead. Now life could begin again.
Chapter 9
The Book of the Emperors: Warnings
And because the High Priest counselled prudence, the young Emperor cried out against him, "Must I bend with every wind that blows and never stand against the storm?" Then the High Priest answered him, "To many of the lesser winds you must bow for the sake of those who shelter beneath you, but there are great storms loosed on the world against which every man must stand, though they will surely break him." "But how may I recognize such storms? How may I know?" The High Priest could not answer his Emperor.
Dwarfed by quinqueremes of Chiraz, the Starflower sheltered from the first gales of autumn in the harbour of Losh-Sinar among the skiffs and pleasure barges. Gwerath stood on deck watching merchants bargaining for perfumes and poisons, while warriors from the Five Kingdoms stared at delicate Loshites who hid their painted faces behind fans of lace and ivory.
Forollkin had gone ashore to buy provisions. He had refused to let Kerish or Gwerath come with him and declined, with much embarrassment, to say why. Gidjabolgo had also slipped ashore, leaving Kerish to guard the boat as best he could with one hand still paralysed.
Behind the warehouses that flanked the quay rose the famous inns and pleasure gardens of Losh. Above them were the sombre faceless houses of the Loshites and the temple of their nameless god. Gwerath wrinkled her nose as the reek of strong scents drifted over from a group of Loshites in diaphanous robes of coral silk, sewn with jangling discs of pearl. Incongruously, the squat figure of Gidjabolgo was moving amongst them. One of the Loshites spoke to the Forgite from behind his fan but Gidjabolgo shook his head and hurried towards the boat. Gwerath saw that his arms were full of fresh fruit.
"They'll charge you the price of a pearl for the dirt beneath your feet in this town," growled Gidjabolgo, as he climbed aboard and tossed down the scarlet and saffron fruits. "We might as well dine on these. I fancy our gallant Captain has fallen victim to one of the famous distractions of Losh. He won't be back before nightfall."
"It will take time to bargain for the provisions we need," said Gwerath, choosing a ripe yellow fruit and biting into it.
"Who am I to question the worldly wisdom of my Mistress?" answered Gidjabolgo, as he peeled and quartered a fruit for Kerish, who accepted it gratefully.
"Gidjabolgo, you're a paragon. It's only in the past week that I've discovered quite how much I hate fish."
"And smoked cheese," put in Gwerath.
They'd had few provisions left for the voyage from Tir-Roac to Losh-Sinar. For the last week they had lived on raw fish, cheese and mouldering bread. They ate for a while in greedy silence. Then Gwerath glanced up at a group of crop-headed warriors from Soraz, with snake-skin cloaks and long, curved swords.
"If all you say about the Five Kingdoms is true, Kerish, why haven't they gobbled up a rich place like Losh?"
It was Gidjabolgo who spat out a mouthful of pips and answered, "The Loshites fear their neighbours but they live by pleasing them. They pay tribute in delicate pleasures and even the barbarians know that if you pick a flower, you kill it.
“But aren't the men of Losh ashamed to dress like women and bow and cringe to please barbarians?"
"They have more than that to be ashamed of, Mistress, but they shut off the dark part of their lives," said Gidjabolgo, "and pretend it isn't there. Among themselves they are as strict as any Priest of Dard. A Loshite would lose his hand for so much as brushing against one of his own women, but with strangers he may do whatever is profitable and count it service to his country."
"But how can they endure such divided lives?" demanded Gwerath, blushing slightly.
"Such contradictions are not uncommon. Though perhaps my Mistress is too young to have noticed them."
"If they are common, they shouldn't be!" declared Gwerath fiercely. "Kerish, surely you agree?"
The Prince had been staring down at his wounded hand. "I think so, but I'm not sure. The Loshites are a gentle people."
Gwerath's fierceness melted into concern. "Cousin, you look ill. Is your hand hurting you?"
"Sometimes it burns and the feeling comes back briefly, but I still can't move it."
Abruptly, he got up and went below to lie in his hammock, silent but not asleep. On the deck, Gwerath and Gidjabolgo were equally silent as they watched the crowded quay and waited for Forollkin.
He finally returned at dusk, followed by several porters carrying baskets of food and a barrel of wine. Gwerath didn't leave her seat astride the rail but she shouted, "Why have you been so long? Kerish was worried about you."
Forollkin continued to give orders and it wasn't until he had paid off the last of the porters that he answered her question. "It takes time to find the best provisions and bargain for them. Then I had to search out a ship to take our letters to Hemcoth and discover who is the best physician in the city. I'll take Kerish to her to
morrow."
The Prince had overheard as he came back on deck. "Thank you, but I don't need a physician."
Gidjabolgo strolled round the deck. "We mustn't chide our Captain for being late. No doubt he wanted to see the sights of the city."
Forollkin didn't answer him directly. "I've brought some roast fowls from an inn, so we'd better eat them before they get cold."
Gidjabolgo pounced on a basket, already damp with grease, and Gwerath hurriedly fetched platters and knives from the cabin.
As they knelt in a circle to share out the food, Forollkin suddenly delved in the pouch at his waist.
"Gwerath, that hair of yours is always getting in the way. "
Startled, Gwerath pushed back the silver mass with greasy fingers. Forollkin drew out a somewhat crumpled scarf of lavender silk embroidered with crystal beads.
"I thought you needed something to tie it back."
Gwerath hastily rubbed her hands on her leather tunic and took the scarf. Her fingers explored the softness of the silk and the shape of the beads, but her eyes were on Forollkin. He cut short her thanks and avoided his brother's penetrating gaze.
"Shall we eat? I thought you'd all be ravenous."
After the meal, the travellers stayed on deck sipping wine while languorous perfumes drifted on the breeze and the lanterns were lit in the pleasure gardens.
“They saw the flash of light, even from here,” said Forollkin abruptly. “People are still talking about it in the marketplace. I heard a warrior of Soraz say that it was only sheet lightening but the Loshites were murmuring of portents. I'm sorry you lost the Jewel of Zeldin, Kerish. I know Izeldon said it was a valuable gift.”
“Shubeyash needed it more.”
“But it killed him.”
“No, it allowed him to die.”
“Well, the Dead Kingdom is behind us, so let's forget it. Gwerath, Kerish can't play until his hand has recovered, so why don't you play us that tune you've been practising.”
“If it would please you.”
“Of course it would. Kerish will tell you how fond I am of music.”
Fortunately the Prince was not called on to confirm this, as Gwerath immediately went below to fetch the zildar.
Kerish tried to smile as he listened to her tentative playing of his favourite cradle-song, but Gidjabolgo flinched at the first wrong note. The Forgite crept ashore and didn't return until dawn.
*****
Kerish again refused to see a physician and Forollkin did not seem anxious to linger amongst the pleasures of Losh. After studying Hemcoth's charts, Gidjabolgo plotted a course that would take them through the Straits of Proy towards the Mountains of Chire. The channel was crowded with merchant vessels and pleasure craft but as the Starflower sailed westwards they entered lonelier waters.
“Do you remember the purple stones in my zeloka jewels, Gwerath?” Kerish asked as they stood together on deck the next morning. “They come from Proy, the only place in Zindar where irivanee is found.”
“I heard tell in Losh of whole cliffs of irivanee on Great Proy,” said Forollkin.
“I should dearly love to see them,” said Kerish. “Gidjabolgo, can we sail closer to the coast?”
After much grumbling, the Forgite complied and within an hour they were close enough to study the hilly coastline of the largest of the Proy islands. Soon the peaceful day was disturbed by shouting and the sound of hammering.
The Starflower rounded a headland and the travellers were faced with a crescent cut from the hillside. Grass and earth had been stripped away to reveal the purple stone beneath. On the brink of this man-made cliff stood a Proyan overseer, with a nosegay in one hand and an ivory-handled whip in the other. Below him knelt men, women and children pounding at the rock-face with balls of granite. Their emaciated bodies were weighed down by collars and chains and on every forehead was crudely branded the butterfly symbol of Proy. Mercenaries from Chiraz moved amongst the slaves, lashing at the bent backs of those who didn't work fast enough to please the smiling overseer.
Before the travellers could fully take in the appalling scene, one of the slaves saw their boat and turned on his tormentor, striking him with the chain that stretched between his wrists. Unused to resistance, the soldier was caught off guard and fell back as the man scrambled down the cliff towards the beach.
“Gidjabolgo, get in as close you can,” ordered Forollkin, “so we can pick him up.”
“Not time enough.”The Forgite gestured at the soldiers who were already fitting arrows to their bows. “We'd only put ourselves in pointless danger.”
The man plunged into the sea as the first arrow was loosed.
“Do it, Gidjabolgo!” commanded Kerish.
“I'll not risk my life, or yours, for a man already doomed.”
The slave was swimming slowly, hampered by his chain. They all heard him cry out as an arrow struck his back.
“Forollkin, save him!” begged Gwerath.
Forollkin kicked off his boots and swung over the side.
“Bring her round!”
This time, Gidjabolgo obeyed Kerish's order but the process of turning the boat seemed agonizingly slow. Forollkin had nearly reached the desperate swimmer but there were more soldiers firing from the beach.
“Keep down!” yelled Gidjabolgo, as they heard the whine of arrows.
When Kerish dared to raise his head above the rail again, he saw that Forollkin had reached the slave, turned him on his back and gripped him under the arms to tow him along. The Prince knew that his brother was a strong swimmer but Forollkin was weighed down by the dead-weight of the slave, who seemed to have fainted. Two of the guards were wading out into the sea to fire more arrows but they didn't seem to have a boat, so the chances of getting the slave away seemed good. Forollkin slowly swam round to the far side of the Starflower . Getting the injured man aboard wasn't going to be easy. Gidjabolgo told Kerish to take the tiller while he helped Gwerath to haul the slave onto the deck. Kerish thanked Zeldin when Forollkin heaved himself safely aboard. After a few moments, Gidjabolgo came back.
“I told you it was hopeless. Go and say some pretty words over him.”
“What?”
Kerish ran to where the slave lay in a pool of blood and water. The copper skin, the flaxen stubble on the shaved head and the staring grey eyes, all showed the man to be from Ellerinonn.
“He's dead,” sighed Gwerath.
“Forollkin, are you hurt?”
“No.” The young soldier looked down at the crimson stains on his tunic. “It's his blood not mine. I better help Gidjabolgo get us out of here.”
“In Hildimarn,” murmured Kerish, “there is a statue of Zeldin the Gentle carved in irivanee...”
When they were well away from Proy, Forollkin changed out of his sodden clothes and came back on deck to find his brother still sitting beside the dead man.
“Do you know anything about their burial customs, Kerish?”
“I only know that Ellerinionns honour no gods, so he wouldn't want our prayers.”
“We'll bury him at sea then. I'll get a cloak to wrap him in.”
“Can we at least get the collar and chains off first?” asked Gwerath.
Gidjabolgo cut through the collar with his knife and used a chisel from the ship's chest to force off the chains.
While Forollkin was wrapping the body in his best blue cloak, Kerish fetched his zeloka jewels, all glowing with the ice-fire of cirge and the rich purple of irivanee.
“Surely my Master isn't going to throw those in the sea with the dead?”
“I couldn't bear to wear them again, Gidjabolgo.”
“Evil lives in men, not stones,” protested the Forgite, “and skill has made beauty out of ugliness...”
“I cannot keep them.”
“You're right, cousin!” exclaimed Gwerath. “Let me help you.”
Together, they placed the diadem on the shaved head and the bracelets on the bruised wrists. Then they arranged the shining
wings of the zeloka to cover the marks left by the slave-collar. As Forollkin lowered the body into the waves as gently as he could, Kerish remembered peaceful Ellerinonn.
*****
They didn't have long to brood over the stranger's death. The next morning the Starflower ran into a storm. Forollkin and Gidjabolgo worked unceasingly to keep the boat afloat till their hands were raw and they were too exhausted even to sleep. Gwerath and Kerish helped when they could. Gidjabolgo insisted that they all worked roped to the ship's rail, a precaution that saved Gwerath's life when she was knocked down and washed overboard by the fierce slap of a wave.
After two days the storms eased. Gidjabolgo lashed the tiller and curled up beside it, while Forollkin forced the others to strip off their sodden clothes before collapsing into their hammocks.
Gidjabolgo was the first to wake. By the light of a new dawn, he saw that the storm winds had blown them far along their course. The Mountains of Chire already overwhelmed the distance. After their first uninterrupted meal for several days, the Starflower limped towards the lonely coast of western Chiraz.
Late that afternoon, they put in at a deserted cove to refill their water barrels at a stream chattering down from the mountains. All four of them went ashore and Forollkin returned from a hunt with two plump birds, and an unknown animal which tasted delicious roasted by Gidjabolgo over a driftwood fire.
As they sat on a grassy slope overlooking the pebbled beach, the warmth of summer seemed to linger in the autumn air. Kerish could hardly believe that this quiet place was part of the Five Kingdoms that threatened Galkis; the kingdoms they had been brought up to mistrust and fear.
Forollkin was talking about Galkis and Gwerath was teasing him by refusing to believe his descriptions of the Golden City.
"It's all true. I'm no legend weaver!" protested Forollkin, "for that you have to go to Kerish."
The Prince was lying on his back in the soft grass frowning at the sky. He didn't appear to be listening but he turned his head when Gidjabolgo spoke. "I'm told that in Galkis, sunset is the time for singing. Shall I play for you?"
The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels) Page 13