Kerish gasped at what it showed. Through drifting clouds they glimpsed the mountainside dropping sheerly down to the shadowy foothills three thousand feet below. Behind the window, filling a vast cavern was a great crystal globe - the lamp of Tir-Zulmar that Kerish had mistaken for the Morning Star. They stood for a long time between the lamp and the window before continuing their search.
The travellers wandered through dozens of rooms cut from ice and rock; all beautiful, silent and empty. The Prince began to feel that each chamber had only just been vacated. They walked more quickly, dissolving fragile walls with the touch of a hand and once Kerish thought he saw through the thin ice a shadow moving away from them.
Finally they came to a spiral staircase of black ice.
"Shall we go up?" asked Forollkin.
"One slip and we'll break our necks," muttered Gidjabolgo, but Kerish had already started to climb with Lilahnee at his heels. The others followed; neither of them wanted to be left alone with the eerie beauty of Tir-Zulmar.
They climbed for almost half an hour to reach a silver door studded with black gems. Lilahnee flattened her ears and gave a chilling howl.
"Do we go back?" panted Gidjabolgo.
"No." Kerish sounded strangely excited. "We're close now."
"I say we go back," declared Forollkin. "Look at Lilahnee!"
The marsh cat crouched at the top of the stairs, the fur stiff along her spine and her eyes wide and dark, but Kerish had already opened the black door.
He walked through it into a thick mist. After a few paces he stopped and turned.
"Forollkin? Gidjabolgo?"
They answered, but Kerish could not see them. He knew that they were close, but so was something else, the presence that he had sensed moving away from them. Now it was motionless; waiting.
Impulsively, Kerish shouted, "Sorcerer of Tir-Zulmar, by the Seven Keys and the Seven Gates, I conjure you appear!"
Each of the travellers saw a patch of mist coalesce into a pale shape. Its skin was transparent and the bones gleamed through. Its face was a mask of ice with jewels for eyes. Its voice was cold and cruel and from the sorcerer's crown hung gems like crystallized eyes, still human and desperate.
"Death is the only fate for those who pass the silver door into the Hall of Mists. The flesh shall be frozen from you; your bones shall be clothed with ice; your eyes shall be jewels in my crown."
The creature of bone and ice moved towards Gidjabolgo and the Forgite fled down the black stairs. Then it turned on Forollkin.
"Kerish, run!"
The Prince dreamily shook his head. Forollkin wavered for a moment and then ran after Gidjabolgo. At every stop he heard behind him the snap of bone on ice.
In the Hall of Mists the sorcerer approached Kerish. "Such eyes are fit even for Tir-Zulmar's crown!"
Long fingers reached out to tear them from the Prince's face. Kerish was repeating over and over again the lesson of Tir-Racneth. "Illusion, illusion, this is illusion. It cannot hurt me."
He forced himself to stand still. "I have true sight, my father's gift; let me see the true shape of the sorcerer of Tir-Zulmar!"
In a swirl of mist the terrible figure vanished. In its place stood a woman with frozen tear-drops shining on her pale cheek. For a second they stared at each other and then, with a sweep of her glittering cloak, the woman turned and the mists closed about her.
The Prince tried to follow but he could hear no footsteps to guide him. For a long time he stumbled through the mist without reaching the edge of the hall. Kerish jumped as something touched his leg, but the sound of purring told him it was Lilahnee.
Gradually the mist began to melt away, leaving him in a huge, empty hall. Its walls were richly carved with pageants and triumphs but every relief was marred by patches of cloudy gems that seemed to spread like mildew across the ice. At the far end of the hall Kerish found a second silver door and beyond it a stairway of milky ice. With the marsh cat padding behind he climbed the second stairs and then paused for a moment before rapping on the third door.
It swung open at his touch and he walked into a circular room hewn from black rock. Seven windows were set in the rock but they were shuttered and barred with silver. On a throne in the centre of the room sat the sorceress of Tir-Zulmar and in her right hand was a golden chain with two gold keys.
Kerish had never seen a lady so beautiful, nor one who looked so sad. Her silver hair was woven with ice flowers. No traces of age marked her snowy skin but her green eyes seemed immeasurably deep. Clothed in white and silver, she was taller than the Prince and very slender. Her voice was as cool and beautiful as the snows of her mountain citadel.
"Prince of the Godborn; Sendaaka of Tir-Zulmar welcomes you and gives you back what is worthily yours."
Kerish knelt to take the golden chain and fasten it around his waist.
"Lady Sendaaka, if I am worthy to wear two keys, might I not be worthy to wear three?"
"You have courage and clear sight," said Sendaaka gently, "but do you have enough strength to carry all the world's hopes and sorrows? Prince, I have lived for generations and many have called me wise. This is my advice. Return the keys and go back to Galkis and to your father, before it is too late."
"My father needs me?"
Sendaaka's green eyes seemed to look through the Prince and far beyond him.
"Each day he walks alone in his garden; each night he kneels by a white sarcophagus, praying for his son. It is rumoured in the Inner City that the Third Prince is dead; drowned in the marshes of Lan-Pin-Fria. The Emperor knows that he would have felt his son die, but he is afraid for you."
"The High Priest will comfort him," said Kerish unsteadily.
"Lord Izeldon is angry with his Emperor," answered the sorceress. "Your sister Zyrindella begged to be reunited with her son and she has appealed to the Galkian law that forbids a mother to be separated from her child."
"That is the law," agreed Kerish, "but the High Priest wanted to keep Kor-li-Zynak safe in the temple, where Zyrindella couldn't use him to plot against the throne. He thinks she means to make her son Emperor. . ."
"Your father knows that she does, " said Sendaaka calmly and Kerish shivered. "Yet he has upheld the justice of the Godborn. Even as we speak," murmured the sorceress, "Kor-li-Zynak is travelling north to meet his mother and since Li-Kroch refuses to be parted from the child, Zyrindella will have her husband back too."
Kerish remembered Li-Kroch cowering before his wife's anger in the temple of Zeldin, drugged with zigul and threatened with the rope.
"So each day, " continued Sendaaka, "the Emperor walks in his gardens brooding on what he has done."
"Do you know what will happen now in Galkis?"
Sendaaka studied the Prince’s anxious face. "I cannot see far into that darkness, but it is far enough for me to say to you - go home."
Kerish knelt with bowed head and did not answer.
"It is my custom," she went on, "to help all those who reach my gate. I took you from the snow and healed you. I have surrounded you with warmth so you do not feel the eternal cold of my citadel. Now I will give you all the provisions you need for the journey south."
"But it is winter," began Kerish.
"You have slept for longer than you think. The windflowers are blooming on the plains of Erandachu; it is spring. For the third time I say-go home!"
Kerish stood up.
"Lady Sendaaka, I am grateful for all your kindness. Tell me, why did you appear to us in such an ugly shape?"
"It is three hundred years since any man saw my face," answered the sorceress. "I swore that none should do so until they had out-stared horror."
"Your vow robs the world of much beauty, " murmured Kerish.
Sendaaka rose from her chair and paced away from the Prince. When she spoke again her face was towards one of the shuttered windows. "Though I have lived alone for so long, I have not forgotten how little men's flattery means. Go to your friends; you will leave tomorrow. D
o not set foot on the white stairs again, or I will freeze you to them."
"No, Sendaaka." The sorceress stiffened but Kerish hurried on. "I will not go until you tell me why spring never comes to Tir-Zulmar, and for whom you weep. "
"I weep for no man. " She turned her proud face towards him. "I am no longer human. My tears would freeze before they fell."
"Yet this citadel is built of frozen tears," said Kerish. "I see its beauty, but I feel its sadness. Lady . . . can I not help you?"
When Kerish did not flinch from her searching gaze, Sendaaka said, "I will tell you why Tir-Zulmar weeps, then you will understand that you cannot help me and go home. Sit for a while and listen; you too, furred one."
Lilahnee had been crouched in the doorway, ready to spring to the Prince's defence. Now she padded into the room and curled up at the sorceress' feet.
"Many centuries ago, I was born on the island of Gannoth; the only daughter of its Prince. My father was an ardent scholar and he taught me well. I spent all my waking hours studying ancient wisdoms until there were few in Zindar as learned as I was, and none who knew as much of star-lore. But then . . ." Sendaaka's long fingers tugged at a strand of her silver hair, "then a young nobleman of Seld came to my father's court, seeking knowledge. His name was Saroc. When we first met I asked him something about his writings, but he stared at me and did not answer. Then he asked me to forgive him and said that he had expected wisdom but not so much beauty."
The sorceress bent to stroke Lilahnee.
"We were married that autumn and he took me to Seld, to his castle near the White Hills. After two years a daughter was born to us and we were very happy. Both of us continued our studies, sometimes together but often apart. Both of us searched for the Keys of Power and endured the Seven Ordeals . . . Prince, there is a great deal that I cannot tell you, but when our daughter was fifteen, both of us won the right to a key.
Now my husband is a proud man and when he understood that I was his equal in this as in everything, he was not pleased. Then we learned that if both of us took a key, we should have to part for ever. If only one of us accepted a key then we could live together in one citadel for ever."
Bitter memories darkened Sendaaka's voice. "I would have given up my key unasked. I had opened my lips to speak, when Saroc demanded that I renounce my power. Such was my anger, I told him that I cared only for the key and immortality. I departed for my new realm, taking our daughter with me. We travelled slowly north, for I thought he would come after us, but I have not seen Saroc since that day."
Kerish watched tears spill from Sendaaka's eyes and freeze on her cheeks like frosty jewels.
"So I came to the mountains and in the first glory of my power I built Tir-Zulmar. It was fire amongst the ice, high summer amongst eternal winter. My daughter lived with me, my joy and comfort; immortal too as long as she kept within my citadel. Then Saroc sent messengers, asking that she might come and live with him for a time. I had no right to refuse. I surrounded my daughter with protective spells and sent her to her father, but his care did not equal mine. She died beyond his citadel . . . I cannot speak of it."
Kerish took Sendaaka's cold hands.
"Lady, your husband has wronged you, but surely after centuries of loneliness he will be more than ready to acknowledge you his equal. If you renounced your key to show him . . ."
"Never!" The sorceress dashed the tears from her cheek and they shattered on the floor. "I will never crawl to Saroc and beg to be his wife again; if he is sorry, let him come to me."
Kerish thought for a moment and then said carefully, "I am sure Saroc longs to come, but is afraid to seek your forgiveness, afraid to be refused."
"What do you know of Saroc?"
"I know what a man's pride is, and the harm it can cause," said Kerish ruefully. "Lady Sendaaka, prove yourself the greater by showing him the way."
"I would renounce my key," murmured the sorceress, "if he surrendered his. If he still loves me, let him prove that he would rather die with me than endure immortality alone."
"Give me your key and I will go to Seld and speak to Saroc," promised Kerish. "I won't tell him that I have your key, only that you are lonely. I will send him to fetch you home from Tir-Zulmar. If he does not come, I swear that I will return your key and abandon my quest."
"The Citadel of Saroc is guarded by terror." There was a tremor in Sendaaka's cool voice. "You would never reach him."
"I cannot go back to Galkis until we have tried.”
"And what if you are killed on the journey?" asked Sendaaka. "And my key is lost?"
"Would age and death be so terrible to you?'' demanded Kerish.
The sorceress did not answer.
"Would it, Lady?"
"Prince, I must study the stars." Sendaaka seemed restored to icy calm. "Return when it is day again and bring your brother."
Kerish bowed. Lilahnee still seemed to be asleep beside the sorceress' chair.
"Lady Sendaaka, I'm not sure if I can find my way back."
"Go to the foot of the white stairs. Set your hands against the wall and close your eyes."
The sorceress walked towards one of the barred windows. "Go quickly!"
At the foot of the stairs the Prince braced himself against the ice. Kerish had the sensation of falling very fast; like the sudden drop he had sometimes experienced on the edge of sleep. He could no longer feel ice against his palms. He imagined wildly that he was alone with utter nothingness and that the world would be recreated in the blink of an eye. But he was not alone; someone was calling his name.
"Kerish, is it really you?" Forollkin gripped his brother's arm. "Get away from the wall. I can see it through the ice!"
Shocked by the fear in his brother's face, Kerish closed Forollkin's eyes with his fingertips. "No, there's nothing there. It's only an illusion."
"I saw it," muttered Gidjabolgo, "coming to tear out my eyes!"
"Believe me, there is nothing evil in Tir-Zulmar, nothing to hurt us."
The Prince's calm voice reached the two men and suddenly Forollkin couldn't remember why he had been so afraid or how he had got back to their chamber.
"An illusion?"
Kerish smiled at his brother. "An illusion sent by the sorceress of Tir-Zulmar to test our resolution."
"What sorceress?" Forollkin still sounded dazed.
"Lady Sendaaka, mistress of Tir-Zulmar," answered Kerish. "You are to meet her at daybreak and I think she will give me her key."
"What about the other two?"
"I'm wearing the chain again. Can't you see?"
"I don't have your eyes, thank Zeldin," said Forollkin.
"Hark at our brave Captain," Gidjabolgo had also recovered. "It's easier to snap at a Prince than to find the courage to face a sorceress."
Forollkin turned and struck Gidjabolgo a blow that drove the Forgite's lips against his teeth and left them bruised and bleeding. Kerish darted between them.
"Forollkin, stop it!"
Forollkin shook his brother off and stalked into the sleeping chamber.
Kerish dipped a napkin in a cup of wine and bathed Gidjabolgo's mouth. "You brought that on yourself."
"I am not complaining," mumbled the Forgite, "and were my words worse than the thoughts behind your smile?"
Kerish let the napkin drop and walked into the other room. Moonlight flooded through the walls, silvering the ice. Forollkin lay on his bed, one arm across his face.
"Do you know it's spring outside?" said Kerish.
"It can't be." Forollkin's voice was muffled.
Kerish sat down on the end of the bed and said carelessly, "Well, perhaps you will believe it from the Lady Sendaaka. Remember, brother, you will need your courtly manners."
Forollkin snorted and turned over and Kerish relaxed.
At dawn, the Prince was woken by golden light filtering through the walls. He sat up, blinking at the mounting brightness and woke Forollkin. In the next room they found Gidjabolgo slumped over the ta
ble. Anxious to be rid of their obligation, they shook him awake.
"The sorceress did not summon you," said Kerish, "but I think you should come with us."
Gidjabolgo bowed, the bruises dark against his sallow skin. "I thank my Masters for keeping their word."
The apology Forollkin was about to make stuck in his throat.
Kerish stepped up to the wall, hoping that he knew how to reach the sorceress.
"Close your eyes and take hold of my arms."
The Children of the Wind (Seven Citadels) Page 10