"There is nowhere I can go in Erandachu now," said Gwerath in a small voice. "The other tribes would know me for a circle breaker."
Forollkin took a deep breath. "Well, cousin, you must come with us and we'll try to find a place where you can be happy."
"Wouldn't I be happy in your Galkis?"
"We are not going to Galkis," said Forollkin grimly.
It was a subdued group of travellers who rode south-westwards towards the forest of Everlorn and the Gap of Lamoth. Kerish was not the only one whose thoughts rested with Tayeb. The Chieftain would know soon just how much he had lost. `Forgive me, uncle,' Kerish prayed, `but at least you have Eamey's love. Forgive me if all I can offer you is guilt.'
At midday, they shared some of the food that Gwerath had hidden in the saddlebags and then rode on, fast and silently. Towards evening they saw a mass of green humps in the distance. They proved to be a large group of low turf huts, apparently deserted.
"This must be the winter camp of the Beshgoreen," said Gwerath.
"We'll shelter here for the night," ordered Forollkin.
Leaving the horses to graze untethered, they chose one of the nearest huts and crawled through its low entrance into a dank room.
"Well, at least it's out of the wind," said Forollkin, wondering how the Erandachi endured the winter months huddled in such huts.
"Worms live out of the wind," said Gidjabolgo sourly, "but I don't envy them."
Gwerath showed the Galkians how to build a turf fire and soon the hut was filled with light and warmth and smoke. Forollkin went out to shoot something for supper. Coughing and complaining, Gidjabolgo curled up in a corner and pretended to sleep. Gwerath knelt, feeding the fire and Kerish watched her. She was dressed in boy's clothes and a borrowed scarlet cloak. The clothes and her knife were all she had brought with her from the Sheyasa.
When the fire was burning steadily, Gwerath sat back, wiping the soil and grass from her hands.
"If you are not going back to Galkis, where are we going?" she asked.
"To the Queendom of Seld and the citadel of the sorcerer Saroc."
"A sorcerer?"
"You look horrified, Gwerath," said Kerish, risking a smile, "do you have no sorcerers among the Children of the Wind?"
"It is forbidden," answered Gwerath. "The Hunter would be angry and the Goddess too. Why must you visit this sorcerer?"
"Gwerath, do you remember my telling you about the great Chieftain of Galkis and his golden city? Well, I am his son, the Third Prince. Taana was his Queen, his Chieftainess.
"His son? And Forollkin too?"
"Yes, but . . ." Kerish knew that the Sheyasa made no distinction between wives and concubines, so Forollkin's position was difficult to explain. "Yes, though not by a queen. Our family has ruled in Galkis for a thousand years, but now our power wanes and we are threatened on many sides."
Kerish told his cousin all he could about the darkness encroaching on Galkis and their search for the promised Saviour and he drew out the golden keys. Gwerath gazed at them longingly.
"Oh cousin, how fortunate you are. I should be happy if I had something so important to live for!"
Kerish hooked the keys back on their chain.
"Gwerath, I'm afraid Forollkin is right and we should never have let you leave the Sheyasa, but perhaps this quest was meant to be shared by you."
"Do you truly think so?"
"The Goddess herself sent us to the Sheyasa. There must have been a reason."
"Then you don't think the Goddess will be angry with me?"
Kerish's answer was lost in the noise of Forollkin crawling through the entrance carrying a plump bird. He tossed it to Gwerath.
"Here we are. A nice fat bird to prepare."
Gwerath looked at it haughtily. "A Torga of the Goddess does not do the work of ordinary women."
"I might have guessed that you and Kerish would make a pair," groaned Forollkin. "Well, I'm too tired to pluck it. Wake up Gidjabolgo."
After they had eaten, the travellers rolled themselves up in their cloaks and slept. Even Kerish was now inured to sleeping on the bare ground but Gwerath seemed to find it hard. Kerish and Gidjabolgo heard the smothered sobs and both, for different reasons, pretended to be asleep. Finally, Lilahnee padded over and settled down by Gwerath, purring softly. The girl buried her face in the marsh cat's glossy fur and soon fell asleep with one arm around Lilahnee.
The next day they journeyed south, faster than before. Forollkin made no concessions to his own injuries, nor to Gwerath's presence, and she demanded none. He even agreed to teach her how to shoot. On the tenth evening of their journey she managed to bring down a large flightless bird. Jubilant, Gwerath dragged it to their camp fire and tossed it to Gidjabolgo.
"A curse on all feathered things and the fluke that killed this one," muttered the Forgite.
"You are always ungrateful," said Gwerath. "You never even thanked my cousins for saving you from the Hunter."
"They did it for fear of a sorcerer's curse."
"It was our duty..." began Forollkin.
"Then I'll thank duty," snapped Gidjabolgo.
"Oh here, let me help you with that," said Kerish and pulled the bird on to his lap.
"But a Prince should not do the tasks of a slave!" protested Gwerath.
"I've told you before," said Kerish patiently, "Gidjabolgo is our travelling companion, not a slave."
His deft fingers began plucking out the brindled feathers.
Forollkin sat down by the fire.
"We should reach the edge of the forest tomorrow."
"And then?" asked the Forgite.
"We travel along the edge to the Gap of Lamoth. Once in Seld we have to find the Red Waste and the citadel of Tir-Tonar."
All through the next day the forest of Everlorn drew closer, till they could distinguish the shapes and colours of the great trees that bordered the plain. The travellers spurred their mounts to a gallop to reach the shadow of the forest. Gwerath slipped from her pony and ran to the nearest tree, caressing the rough bark. The wonder in her face was faintly mirrored in all her companions. Gwerath tried to embrace the trunk. She reached up to the lowest branch and ran her fingers through the glossy leaves. Lilahnee rubbed against the bark, purring loudly.
"What trees are they?" asked Gidjabolgo.
"I have seen them in the Emperor's garden," answered Kerish. "They are watch- trees."
"Think of these trees standing against the wind for many lifetimes," said Gwerath, "watching the plains, guarding the forest!"
Her words made Forollkin curiously uneasy. He wanted to ride back across the windy plains, away from the sombre ranks of ancient trees and the ordered darkness they created.
"We are not to enter the forest, Gwerath, not even by a few steps."
"I know that is the law of the Goddess. Tales are told of this forest in the Winter camp but I am the first of my tribe to see it."
"Someone enters the forest though," said Kerish. "Look, there's a path."
"It's just a track made by animals," insisted Forollkin. "Now mount up and we can get in another hour's riding before dark."
They travelled along the edge of the forest until sunset. Throughout their ride Kerish noticed no signs of life in the forest. No birds sang in the branches, no animals scurried among the leaf-mould. The wind which haunted the plains had dropped away. Nothing stirred the branches of the watch-trees or trembled the smallest leaf.
They made a camp by a stream that ran into the forest, the rush of its waters oddly muted as it reached the trees. After a supper of cold fowl, the tired travellers lay down to sleep.
Kerish could never remember clearly all the dreams of that first night but he knew that he and his companions were running through a darkness filled with shifting terrors, towards a shining archway of trees. He saw Forollkin reach them but suddenly the branches swept down to bar his way. The young soldier turned back as if he neither noticed nor cared. Then Gwerath came. For her too, the
way was barred. She turned away, weeping, and was lost in the darkness. Yet when Gidjabolgo appeared the boughs lifted and he passed through the living archway and out of sight.
In his dream, Kerish approached the trees fearfully but the branches seemed to dip in salute and then drew back to let him pass. He ran joyfully down a golden tunnel of trees, forgetting his companions left in the darkness. He came to a shining glade and there he first heard the music. He could never afterwards reproduce a note of it, but he knew it was the sweetest that he had ever heard.
Kerish caught up with Gidjabolgo and found himself running effortlessly beside a golden stream and past clusters of tall flowers with petals of darkest purple, streaked with silver. Their scent was overpowering. The music swelled, Kerish knew he had nearly reached the heart of the forest. Soon he would understand everything but just as he caught sight of dancing shadows among the trees, he woke to the brittle cold of midnight.
A full moon shone on the forest and the music was gone but Kerish was certain that it had lasted just a moment longer than his dream. Now he could hear bird-song and the rustling of leaves
The Prince sat up and saw that Gidjabolgo was also awake. He was staring at the stream that now rushed noisily into the forest as if swelled by some new spate.
"What is it, Gidjabolgo?"
"I heard music, but it was only in my head."
Kerish suddenly remembered another night and another kind of music in the foothills of the Ultimate Mountains.
At the same moment they both noticed a single purple flower, bowed over the stream, just where it vanished among the dark trees. Gidjabolgo tugged at Kerish's arm.
"We must follow the stream!"
"I can't," whispered Kerish, "I can't leave them."
"Then stay in the dark," hissed Gidjabolgo.
The Forgite got up and walked towards the trees.
"If you go now, you'll never come back!" Kerish did not know why he was so certain. "Your quest will never be completed."
Gidjabolgo hesitated.
"Stay with us."
Kerish caught at the Forgite's cloak and Forollkin suddenly turned over, grunted, and opened his eyes.
The bird-song stopped and the babble of the stream sank to a murmur.
"What's the matter?" asked Forollkin sleepily.
"Nothing," said Kerish, "there's nothing to see now."
*****
In the morning it was only Gwerath who spoke of her dreams.
"I saw Her," she said. "I saw the Goddess, but she was walking away from me, back to the Mountains."
Gwerath did not dream again but every night that they camped beside the trees, the forest called to Kerish.
He woke haggard and tinged with grief, feeling he had refused some priceless gift. Gwerath noticed his pallor and offered to sing a sleep charm over him. She put one hand across the Prince's forehead and began to chant. After a few words she faltered and her hand dropped.
"It is gone," she said, "the words are empty."
Even Forollkin saw the desolation in her face.
"Cousin, what is it?" He put an arm round her shoulders.
"I am no longer her Torga," whispered Gwerath. "The Goddess has gone."
Ten days' journey along the edge of the forest brought them to the Gap of Lamoth. On one side of a broad, grassy track were watch-trees but on the other the red-leaved crown trees of Seld. There was good hunting on the edge of the Seldian woodland and they ate well. For three days they met no-one on the Lamoth road, though the track was pitted with hoof-prints and cart tracks.
On the third night Kerish had a different dream. When the boughs lifted he found himself in the Emperor's garden and his father stood before him. The white sarcophagus lay at his feet, but Kerish knew that it was empty. The Emperor of Galkis smiled, kissed his son and vanished into the shadows.
At noon a week later, the travellers heard horns among the crown trees and distant shouting and laughter. Hoof-beats were coming in their direction. Suddenly a dainty, silver-horned creature broke from the wood. It shied away from the travellers, bounded across the track and disappeared into the silence of Everlorn.
A few seconds later three riders galloped out of the crown trees and reined in their horses as they realized they had lost their quarry. Then they noticed the travellers. Two of the riders were young men, fantastically dressed in brilliant silks, with glittering scarves binding their curled hair. The third was a woman. She wore a simple green robe and a plain golden circlet, eclipsed by the richness of her copper hair.
"You!" One of the men pointed his dainty, ivory-handled whip at Forollkin. "Did you see the greshel pass?"
"If you mean the beast you were hunting, it fled into the forest."
The woman clapped her hands together. "Djezaney, I fear we have lost our morning's sport."
Lord Djezaney was frowning at the travellers.
"Are you barbarians, that you stay mounted before the Queen?"
"They may not know. . ." began the second man but the travellers were already dismounting.
Kerish and Forollkin made courtly bows. The Queen of Seld acknowledged them with a slight inclination of her head.
"Where do you come from, strangers?"
Forollkin looked up into eyes that were startlingly green.
"From Galkis, Your Majesty."
"Liar," called out Djezaney. “No-one comes overland from Galkis."
"Yet we do,” said Kerish pulling an emerald ring from his finger. "Your Majesty, here is your sister's ring, as a token that we come from the court of the Emperor."
Queen Pellameera took the ring and held it up to the light to read the inscription.
"It is hers," she affirmed, "the very ring I gave her when she sailed for Galkis. Why should Kelinda entrust it to you? Ah, I know." The Queen's slow smile was dazzling. "You are the lost Prince."
"What has Your Majesty heard of such a Prince?" asked Kerish.
"That the Third Son of the Emperor has left his father's court," answered Pellameera, "that he travels through Zindar on some unknown quest. His name is Kerish-lo-Taan, and I recognize you from Kelinda's letters."
"I am Kerish-lo-Taan," the Prince admitted. "Your sister asked me to tell you that you were right, and if she had her life again she would never leave the temple of Trykis."
"Of course I was right. Kelinda was always innocent of the ways of Zindar," said Pellameera, "as the Queen's sister should be. She foolishly hoped for love. But tell me Prince, who are your companions?"
"May I present my half-brother, the Lord Forollkin?"
Pellameera smiled at him but her eyes were on the silver-haired girl who stood by his side.
"And this is my cousin, Gwerath, a . . . Princess of the Sheyasa."
"Cousin? Ah, welcome . . . Princess."
Gwerath stared at the Queen, saying nothing.
"And this," continued Kerish hastily, "is our travelling companion, Gidjabolgo of Forgin."
The Queen broke into peals of pretty laughter. "Look, Djan, what a splendid grotesque! He could be the model for one of those dwarfs in the frieze above your bed."
"And this," cut in Kerish, "is Lilahnee, a Frian marsh cat."
"Such fur! Why Djezaney, I'm sure you never gave me so charming a pet. But she should have a jewelled collar. I shall find her one."
Before Kerish could explain that Lilahnee would not wear a collar, however jewelled, a group of the Queen's attendants cantered through the trees.
"Now Prince, you must come back with me to the Royal Lodge, " ordered Pellameera, "and you shall tell me the history of your wanderings."
"I thank Your Majesty for your kindness," answered Kerish, "but our quest is urgent. We must find the citadel of Saroc."
"Of Saroc? Do you hear, Djan? Djezaney? The Prince dares an adventure that all the gallants of my court have shrunk from!"
"All but one, Madam," said Djan, very softly.
Pellameera looked for a moment as if she might strike him. Then she said sweetly, "
Thank you for reminding me, Djan. Prince, journey south with me. When you are rested I shall help you prepare for your quest. I will even have you escorted to the edge of the Red Waste."
Kerish bowed. "Thank you again, Your Majesty. We gladly accept your hospitality. For a short time."
"Then ride by me," said Pellameera and she gave the Prince her hand to kiss.
The Children of the Wind (Seven Citadels) Page 21