The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  "It is a wound that cannot be staunched," said Dolodd quietly, "but it makes leaving this world a little less painful. You know that I've made my decision. Why don't you give the Prince what he wants and then perhaps we can get down to some real work."

  "But for how long?" asked Vethnar.

  "For ever," answered Dolodd. "When we're gone, Breldor will go on gathering the pieces. Knowledge always has an heir."

  "Breldor, come here." The sorcerer uncovered his face and Breldor hurried to his side, frowning with anxiety. "Could you rule my citadel?"

  "Not as you do, Vethnar, but I love Tir-Melidon and I want to spend my life here."

  "And if I summoned scholars from all over Zindar to work in Tir-Melidon, could you rule them too?"

  "I hope, on important matters, that I could persuade them to agree with me."

  "And to disagree, always remember that. It may be just as vital . . . Oh, I'm sorry, Kerish. " The sorcerer's sweeping gesture had almost knocked the Prince over. Kerish smiled as he regained his balance. "You really mean that and I suppose that's why you escaped the fate of Shubeyash."

  "The wound you spoke of hurt him more than any of us," answered Vethnar. "His solution was to try and split apart his mind and his body. His freedom trapped him in a worse prison and what he saw through his new eyes destroyed him. Llartian, I'm sorry, this is your feast and you look as though you haven't understood a single word we've said."

  "I haven't," admitted Llartian, "but I feel that I've learnt from it all the same."

  "And, Forollkin," continued the sorcerer, in almost his normal voice, "you are sitting there very quietly beside Gwerath but, as I recall, you are the one for blunt speeches and direct questions. Your brother is too courteous to rush me, so you will have to do the asking."

  "For your key? Vethnar, will you give us your key?"

  "There is now a possibility that I might." Vethnar picked the last fruit from the bowl and polished it on his sleeve. "Perhaps I would become more amenable if you favoured us with that speech on the nature of heroism . . . Ah, don't look so horrified, Forollkin. Yes, I will give you my key."

  *****

  A dawn mist hung over the lake as the travellers left Tir-Melidon. The walk down the slope was like descending into a vast temple, filled with half-hidden splendours and echoing with sacred music. They glimpsed occasional flashes of gold or azure and knew that all around them the great dance was continuing.

  As they reached the shore, Vethnar began to upbraid Dolodd for failing to look sad.

  "Partings deserve tears. In Kolgor they tried to make me keep the same bland expression whether I was burying my best friend or discovering the secrets of Zindar. I would have none of it. Now Breldor here looks properly gloomy, but you men of Dard have no feelings. I suppose it comes from earning a fat living from strangling chicks and selling their feathers. You can't expect sensitivity from a race who . . ."

  "Perhaps you could itemize our national failings another morning," said Dolodd patiently, "your guests are anxious to be off."

  Vethnar apologized, bowing so low that his heavy sleeves brushed the wet sand.

  "Board your boat then. I have re-provisioned her and woven a few spells around her. When you're satisfied that I haven't forgotten anything vital, you might care to invite us aboard to drink to a safe journey."

  All the storm damage had been set to rights and the cabin of the Starflower was crammed with chests of provisions. A new hammock had been slung for Llartian who was to travel with them part of the way to Ellerinonn. When his meagre luggage had been loaded, everyone sat down on the rugs spread across the Starflower's deck. Vethnar shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep his long legs out of everyone's way as Gwerath handed round a platter of flower-shaped spice biscuits and Forollkin poured out goblets of wine.

  "Well, Llartian, I hope you've got the letter for Elmandis."

  Llartian patted the pouch at his waist. "It's here, Vethnar, and I think I can remember all your last minute additions and changes."

  "Good, good. Tell your countrymen about Tir-Melidon, without Elmandis finding out if you can, and assure them that they would be welcome to study here."

  "And my countrywomen?" asked the Ellerinionn "Would they be welcome too?"

  The sorcerer looked alarmed and turned to Breldor. "What do you say to that?"

  "Anyone who loves learning must be welcome," said Breldor loftily. "I shall not notice if they are young or old, men or women."

  "Most commendable," murmured Dolodd, "and quite impossible."

  Kerish noticed that his name was written on the petals of a cake shaped like a starflower. Forollkin had eaten three before Kerish could bring himself to bite into his.

  "I think it would be best," Vethnar was saying, "if you landed Llartian on Cheransee. Then the black boat of Ellandellore will ferry him safely across the Straits of Rac and you will have lost no time on your journey."

  "Our journey to where?" asked Forollkin.

  "Perhaps I had better answer that question when you have my key. Dolodd, where did I put it?"

  "In your sleeve; no, the left one."

  Vethnar rummaged through his sleeve, expressions of surprise and distaste flitting across his face until finally he produced a golden casket. Kerish tugged out the chain from about his waist and Gidjabolgo helped him detach the dark-gemmed key of Tir-Roac.

  "Hurry," snapped the sorcerer. "Oh, let me do it!"

  Impatiently, Vethnar unlocked the casket and placed the sixth key, set with a rich brown gem, on Kerish's palm.

  Inarticulate for once, the Prince tried to thank the sorcerer, but Vethnar cut him short. "Now, for the seventh citadel you must go back to Galkis."

  "Galkis! But there are no sorcerers there!"

  "If you had chosen to read the Book of Secrets, Prince, no doubt you would have found the truth there. A few of your legends echo it. In the Jungle of Jenze you will find Tir-Jenac, the citadel of the sorceress Tebreega."

  "There is the legend of Prince Il-Keno and the evil enchantress of Jenze but . . ."

  "A pretty story," said Vethnar, "and you need not think Il-Keno a liar. He was sworn to silence by Tebreega but he had no power over the imaginations of the legend-weavers of Joze. Forget their version if you can."

  Kerish was glad to try, for it carried with it memories of Gankali's murder.

  "To my knowledge, no other Galkian has entered the Forbidden Jungle of Jenze. How shall we find Tir-Jenac?"

  Vethnar asked for another cup of wine and leaned back against a coil of rope. "When you reach the edge of the jungle, no matter where, follow the first path you meet and never stray from it. Then you will be bound to find Tir-Jenac. Tebreega did not choose to live in the jungle because she wished for solitude; far from it, as you will see. Now listen carefully, don't linger in large open spaces, though the pools are safe enough. If you lose your way, hang a gift on a tree and the chattering birds that sit on every bough will be your guides. Yellow and scarlet fruits are the ones to eat, leave the green alone and never touch discarded feathers. It might be best not to laugh aloud and if you make music - well, I don't say that it's dangerous but your journey won't be as peaceful as it might be." Vethnar took a gulp of wine. "I think that's all I have to warn you about. I've written it down on a scroll tied with a red ribbon. It might be by the spice chest or under Forollkin's pillow or in the . . . but, no, that's not visible yet. Llartian, thank you for leaving my portrait. I can't think that my nose really looks like that but it will do to over-awe feasts in the Debating Chamber when I am gone. Amongst your luggage you will find a chisel that will cut the hardest stone as if it were cheese. I wanted to add a block of Kolgorn marble, the veining is exquisite . . ."

  "But I wouldn't let him," put in Dolodd, "the boat is overloaded as it is."

  "What will you do with Rezag-Khal?" asked Llartian.

  "I shall keep him here for three months longer," answered the sorcerer, "and then release him, to his death if he chooses, but Gwerath has gi
ven me some new ideas about how to tempt him to live. That kid was female by the way, did you notice? I shall call it after you, Princess. Now you will find sundry small gifts in your cabin and to you Gidjabolgo my present is an untroubled voyage. As long as your boat is in the Dirian Sea just lash the helm and let her take her own course."

  "And if the course she chooses takes us into a storm?"

  "Ah, well as to that. . . " A curious expression half-way between shame and pride crossed Vethnar's face. "I needed a little time to think before I finally gave up my key, so last night you all slept for rather longer than you realized. Beyond Silnarnin it is early spring and you will meet nothing but fair winds and gentle seas. Dolodd, Breldor . . . we must get back to work." The sorcerer stood up and pointed. "Do you see that tunnel in the rock face, to the left of the one you entered from? Let the Starflower take you through it. To the east of Silnarnin lay their gardens and quiet places, so it's not a maze of rock like the central city."

  "How long has the city been under the sea?" asked Gwerath.

  "Since before men came into Zindar," answered Vethnar. "This island was forbidden ground to them, except that once in their lives each citizen had to enter the crater. I doubt if they ever talked about what they saw there."

  "And were the people all drowned with their city?" asked Forollkin.

  "No, they moved eastwards and the city was deserted long before the sea covered it. I have my own ideas about why they left, but your guesses are as good as mine. Goodbye Kerish."

  The Prince's right hand clasped the sorcerer's. "I haven't really thanked you for your kindness . . ."

  "It wasn't kindness. As you said, people fascinate me and the key. . ." Vethnar paused. "Your arguments compelled me to give it to you and there's no virtue in acting under compulsion."

  Breldor opened his mouth to disagree but Kerish said quickly, "No. Your choice was made freely and we honour you for it."

  The rest of their farewells were soon over and Vethnar and his companions jumped ashore. As they began the steep climb back to Tir-Melidon Vethnar leaned on Breldor's shoulder and was heard to complain that the cold was seeping into his ageing bones. Dolodd retorted that by human reckoning Vethnar was barely thirty and could expect no sympathy yet.

  The Starflower slid away from the shore as one of the creatures of the lake swept overhead with a noise like a forest of bronze shaken by storms. The mist was thinning now and they passed under the body of a second creature whose frozen coils glittered like a torrent of green ice in the morning sunlight. Glancing back, Kerish saw that Vethnar had paused beside the great creature whose final agony spread across the slope. He was staring sombrely at it, as if he could see the ruined face beneath the flood of golden hair. Then Vethnar turned again towards the crater and waved at the Starflower as cheerfully as a child, his sleeves slapping the wind.

  *****

  The voyage from Silnarnin to Cheransee was as calm and uneventful as the sorcerer had promised. With little sailing to do and no excuse to shout at Forollkin, Gidjabolgo spent many hours playing the Prince's zildar. He often accompanied Kerish as he sang for the others, when the cool evenings drove them below before they were ready to sleep. He refused to teach Gwerath and since Kerish could no longer demonstrate the correct fingerings, her music made little progress. In reading and writing however her skill increased rapidly and Forollkin helped Kerish to teach her High Galkian, the ancient language of the Emperor's Court. Vethnar's gifts had included some Galkian books which Kerish was pleased to use for the reading lessons.

  Not all of the sorcerer's presents were so practical. He had forgotten some essentials and filled the water barrels with wine. An inordinate amount of space was taken up by a chest of Kolgorn spices, but nobody complained when a fruit tree suddenly sprouted from the deck. Gwerath was delighted to discover a flask of steaming peshlinn that was always full, no matter how much you drank, and every morning they were woken by the song of a golden bird. It would perch on each of the travellers' pillows until someone touched it with a sleepy hand. Then it would vanish until the next day. At night they needed no lanterns. A sweet-scented plant had twined itself about the rigging and its creamy flowers gave out a gentle light. Its leaves rustled through the hours of darkness and only Kerish could distinguish in that sound the voice of Vethnar whispering protective spells.

  Llartian proved a congenial travelling companion. He joined in the High Galkian lessons and in return offered stories about Elmandis and famous journeys by generations of his subjects into the dark places of Zindar. He and Kerish had long debates on the merits of the art and literature of Galkis and Ellerinonn and sometimes combined to defend them both against attacks by Gidjabolgo. Forollkin and Gwerath were never actually alone together but, when watching them talking, Kerish felt that they had forgotten his existence.

  All too soon the tranquil voyage was over and Cheransee was in sight. Forollkin plied his brother with questions about the Isle of Illusions, but Kerish's memories were of the Screaming Rocks and the blue tower of Tir-Racneth and he could only shake his head. "I hardly saw the island as it really is, so I can't describe it."

  While Gidjabolgo guided the Starflower through dangerous shallows to the southern shore of Cheransee, Kerish stood beside him remembering the one illusion that still haunted him; his own image.

  They landed in a quiet cove and Llartian splashed ashore, eager to cross the narrow island, to find Tir-Racneth and the black boat that would take him home. Kerish imagined the blue tower standing open, its treasures scattered to wind and rain. Tir-Racneth desolate, Tir-Tonar burned . . . What else would he have to destroy before his quest was over and the Saviour was freed?

  When they were all standing on the white beach, Llartian embraced Kerish.

  "Goodbye and good fortune in your quest, whatever it may be. Have you any message for Elmandis?"

  "Tell him he was right to hate me as a destroyer."

  "No," Llartian's hands tightened on Kerish's shoulders and he shook his flaxen head. "No, I won't tell him that because it can't be true."

  "Then simply say that I will try not to betray his trust."

  Forollkin and Gwerath went part of the way with Llartian and raced back across the moorland together, arriving laughing and breathless. They spent a peaceful night in the cove and sailed just before dawn. By the next day they were through the Straits of Rac and into the Sea of Az.

  The flowers on the rigging faded, the fruit tree withered and they were no longer woken by birdsong. Vethnar's protection went no further and Gidjabolgo complained bitterly at having to sail the Starflower again. Forollkin and Gwerath worked hard to help him and got no thanks for it. In their different ways all three of them tried not to make Kerish feel useless, but there was little for him to do but lie in his hammock thinking back over their journey.

  One afternoon he came on deck to hear Forollkin telling Gwerath about the islands known as the Footsteps of Zeldin.

  "He was a giant then?" asked Gwerath teasingly. "I thought you said that he was a young man with purple and black and golden eyes, just like Kerish."

  "He is in most statues and paintings," admitted Forollkin, "but I suppose he can change his size at will."

  Gwerath relented. "It was the same with the Hunter of Souls. Sometimes he was only the size of a man but when he hunted the West Wind he was the tallest thing in Erandachu. As he ran after his quarry he kept hitting his head against stars and knocking them out of the sky and where they fell mountains sprang up. I remember my father telling me the story when I was little and pretending to be the Hunter getting excited and bumping into the stars."

  "A pious education no doubt," muttered Gidjabolgo. "Do these Footsteps of yours have any fresh water, my masters?"

  Kerish nodded. "Each of the islands has a spring; Zeldin's gift to travellers."

  Gidjabolgo steered the Starflower into the nearest cove. They took on water and anchored for the night. There, in the morning, the ships of Fangmere caught them.


  End of Part Three

  The story concludes in The Seventh Gate