The Children of the Wind (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  He mounted his white horse and rode beside her. The Queen's Lords and attendants fell in behind. Subdued and silent, Forollkin, Gwerath and Gidjabolgo followed them towards the Royal Lodge of Lamoth.

  Chapter 12

  The Book of the Emperors: Love

  And they asked Jezreen-lo-Kaash why he wept for the lovers, and he answered them saying, "There are some that love others only for their virtues. Often they seek all the days of their life for one who seems worthy of their love. The object of such love is always to be pitied, for they dare not be less than perfect. There are some who love the faults of others and use them to feed their own strength. The object of this love is also to be pitied, for they dare not outgrow their weaknesses." Then the youngest Prince asked, "Should we then renounce love?" and Jezreen-lo-Kaash answered, "Never, my dear son, but the lesser love cannot lead to the greater unless the spirit is un- diminished by yielding its mysteries to the beloved."

  Gidjabolgo squatted in the shadow of a crown tree watching the Galkians through a screen of leaves. Behind them stood one of the famous wooden castles of Seld, recklessly delicate, with every surface covered in glazed tiles of green, gold and amber. All around the Royal Lodge stretched a tamed forest and lawns scattered with white and crimson flowers. On the greensward the noblemen of Seld were playing as noisily as children with a ball of silver filigree.

  Kerish-lo-Taan was stroking the marsh cat at his feet as she growled at passing strangers. Forollkin was frowning intensely while he watched the Queen of Seld approach as if he was trying to solve some particularly difficult puzzle. Like all her ladies, Pellameera was sombrely dressed in a clinging robe of silvery grey. A single green jewel emphasized the whiteness of her brow and the lustre of her copper hair.

  Kerish tried for a moment to define the Queen's extraordinary grace as she glided across the grass. Then his attention was caught by another figure and a different kind of grace. Beside the Queen was Gwerath, nervously clutching at the pale silk of her borrowed dress and trying, unsuccessfully, to hide the wonder in her grey eyes.

  "Dear Prince," Pellameera gave him one of her melting smiles. "My nobles beg me to attend their game and a good Queen must not deny her subjects. Come and sit by me. You shall tell me what you think of Seld."

  She gave the Prince her hand to lead her to a porcelain throne beneath a crown tree.

  One of the other chairs was offered to Gwerath. For a moment Kerish thought she would refuse and squat on the ground in her usual fashion. Then Gwerath sat down very cautiously, as if she was afraid the frail chair would collapse under her.

  "We have a saying in Seld, " murmured Pellameera. "The man uses his body, the woman her mind. And so our tasks are divided."

  "In Galkis we might consider such a division unprofitable."

  "In Galkis, you keep female slaves," answered Pellameera sharply.

  An area of grass had been marked off with ribbons and the court gathered around it. The Queen's favourites, Lord Djan, in feathered cloak and silver lace, and Lord Djezaney, even more splendid in gold-spangled apricot silk, bowed before her.

  "Must you always be playing against one another?" asked Pellameera.

  "One of us must be proved the worthier in your Majesty's eyes," declared Djezaney, the crooked hand he chose to accentuate with multiple rings held to his heart.

  The Queen sighed deeply. "Men are such quarrelsome creatures, but I cannot change your natures. Lord Forollkin . . ."

  Uncomfortably conscious of the plainness of his travelling clothes beside the brilliant nobility of Seld, Forollkin knelt before the Queen.

  "The Prince has told me something of your deeds. Don't hang your head. I know that to kill one of the great water monsters of Lan-Pin-Fria is a hero's feat. Will you show us a little of your strength and skill and join our simple game?"

  "Most gladly, Your Majesty, if it pleases you."

  "I'm sure it will please all who watch. You may join the followers of Lord Djan."

  The game was simple indeed. It consisted only of tossing the silver ball from man to man until it passed the ribbons at either end of the lawn. Each team tried to hinder the other and Forollkin rapidly found that the courtiers played with vicious determination. The sound of tearing silk and grunts at unmannerly blows mingled with laughter and applause from the watching ladies. No trace of the Prince's distaste appeared in his face but Pellameera watched the game with a smile, half of indulgence and half of contempt.

  Neither side succeeded in keeping the ball for more than a minute until it was thrown to the tall Galkian. Forollkin side-stepped an opponent and tossed the ball to Djan. The young nobleman dived nimbly past two attackers, kicked Lord Djezaney out of the way with one spurred foot and flung the silver ball across the ribbon.

  The Queen rose and summoned Djan, while Djezaney searched for a lost earring in the trampled grass. Looking as if he was assessing the cost of replacing his muddied finery, Djan knelt before the Queen. Pellameera wiped a smear of eye paint from his cheek and tied the victor's ribbon round his blonde curls.

  "Today, Djan, you are the worthiest. But now my Lords, I must leave you to your amusements. The country must be governed. Prince, I must attend my council but tonight I have planned an entertainment for you." She stopped to stroke Lilahnee. "Do not forget to bring your pet, and of course, your fellow travellers."

  The Prince bowed and murmured his thanks. The Queen and her ladies went back into the castle but Gwerath did not go with them.

  Forollkin joined Kerish, rubbing a bruised arm. "You're a judge of beautiful things, Kerish, don't you think she's lovely?"

  "To me, she is not as beautiful as her sister."

  "Kelinda? Why she only has a shadow of the Queen's beauty!"

  "It is Kelinda's beauty that is real" said Kerish gravely, "Pellameera's is the shadow."

  Gwerath's fingers nervously unravelled her braided hair.

  "I think Forollkin is right. No-one could be more beautiful than this Queen."

  "Still cousin," said Forollkin cheerfully, "you must meet Kelinda. She is a poet and you would like her."

  Kerish smiled. "Do you remember her poem about the crown trees of Seld?"

  "I remember you singing it," answered Forollkin, "and they are fine trees. The Emperor would enjoy this garden."

  "What is a garden?" asked Gwerath.

  They were disturbed by a sudden burst of laughter. Djezaney had dragged Gidjabolgo from his hiding place and was displaying him to his companions.

  "Come, Forgite, you've made us laugh with your looks, now sing or dance and I'll give you this jewel to hang round your neck."

  That caused more laughter among the noblemen.

  "Surely, my Lord," protested one, "you'll not waste so pretty a treasure on such as him!"

  "The blacker the setting, the brighter the jewel will shine. Yes, the contrast is exquisitely pleasing." He swung the jewel in front of Gidjabolgo's face. "What will you give for it, my splendid ugliness?"

  "I do not sing for painted dolls," rasped Gidjabolgo.

  Djezaney struck him across the cheek with the sharp-edged jewel.

  "You will sing till your throat is as parched as the Red Waste. You will dance till you sweat yourself slender..."

  Forollkin's strong hands descended on Djezaney's shoulders and the Prince spoke with quiet authority, "Her Majesty would be gravely displeased if she knew that one of her guests had been insulted. I suggest that you apologize to Master Gidjabolgo."

  Furiously, the Seldian muttered something to Gidjabolgo and walked away. Awkwardly, his companions hastened after him.

  "Gidjabolgo, must you always provoke people into hurting you?" asked Kerish.

  "I thought that I was the one provoked," Gidjabolgo rubbed his bleeding cheek, "but I thank you both. Though I'm sure you won't defend me so gallantly if the Queen insults me.”

  Later, in their opulent quarters, Kerish and Forollkin dressed for the Queen's entertainment. The Prince wore his zeloka jewels and the best of
the clothes Sendaaka had given them. Forollkin had accepted a gift of full Seldian dress from the Queen. He explained at unnecessary length that it was sensible to adopt the customs of their hosts, and put on the emerald and umber silks. Kerish found the clothes disturbing but loyally said that Forollkin looked magnificent.

  With Gidjabolgo tagging behind, they went to Gwerath's apartments. They found her sitting on the floor staring at the elaborate furniture. Forollkin pulled her up and dusted down her dress.

  "It rustles when I move," said Gwerath faintly.

  "You look like a Princess. Shall we go down now, Gwerath?" asked Forollkin.

  She clung to his arm as they went down the gilded staircase.

  Throughout the long summer night Queen Pellameera entertained her guests beneath silken canopies on the greensward. Musicians were hidden among the trees and there was to be dancing after the singers of Lamoth had presented their offerings.

  Kerish was seated in the place of honour, on Pellameera's right, with Forollkin by his side and Lilahnee at his feet. Gwerath sat, stiff-backed, on the Queen's left, next to the High Stewardess of Lamoth. Gidjabolgo was incongruously placed among the gaudy, scented ranks of Seldian nobles, who lounged in a circle on embroidered cushions. Their dyed curls, feathered cloaks and vivid silks were in contrast to the pastel shades of the women's simple robes.

  Goblets of wine were offered to the Galkians and the noblemen but not to the Queen and her ladies. To eat or drink in public was below the dignity of a Seldian lady. The Stewardess of Lamoth brought forward a solemn-faced child with hair brighter than the Queen's. The child curtsied carefully to Pellameera and, after some prompting, to Kerish.

  "I did not know Your Majesty was blessed with a daughter, " said Kerish.

  "I have two," answered the Queen lightly, "but the younger is being reared on Trykis."

  "As your sister was?"

  "As all sisters of a Queen must be," said Pellameera. "They leave it only to marry some foreign ruler or to die. You should see our royal tombs, Prince. Only for the dead do we build in stone, for life is brief and death is everlasting. I will show you my tomb if you come to Mel-Kellin; it is not completed yet but it will be very fine. Now, if you have finished your wine, let us begin."

  Pellameera clapped her hands and a tall grey-haired woman tuned her harp and began a traditional song in praise of the Queen, lauding her beauty, wisdom and clemency in elaborate verse. When it was over, Pellameera turned to the Galkians and asked their opinion.

  "No song could do Your Majesty justice." Forollkin stumbled over the trite compliment.

  Pellameera's limpid green eyes met the Prince's cool gaze and her smile was of self-mockery. "No indeed."

  The next performer sang an ancient ballad that Kerish had once studied with Kelinda. The memory of their quiet hours together made him suddenly intensely homesick. Then the singer announced the Lay of Pergon of Lamoth.

  "An old story," said Pellameera, "but one that should interest you, Prince."

  She herself, translated the Seldian into Zindaric for them.

  "It is said that Saroc was a kinsman of the first Queen of Seld. He studied deeply in the arts of sorcery, for men were capable of learning in those times. Some secret source of immortal power he must have discovered. He has dwelt in Tir-Tonar for many centuries, dividing the Queendom of Seld, for no-one crosses the wasteland between the White hills and the Red mountains. And yet, the Red Waste was once a garden and Tir-Tonar a peaceful citadel. Over the centuries the power of Saroc has darkened, the garden has shrivelled, and Tir-Tonar has become a place of fear."

  "They say," called out Lord Djezaney, "that the Citadel of Saroc is guarded by fearsome beasts that hover above the Red Waste."

  "It is true," said the Stewardess of Lamoth, "I have seen their shadows on the red sand and I did not dare set foot on the wasteland."

  "Nor would any of my lords, except Theligarn. Alas, Prince, he did not return to us but he died for the glory of his Queen and lives on in my daughters."

  Her voice was perfectly calm. Kerish didn't know what to reply and Forollkin stared into his empty goblet.

  "Only Pergon has ever returned from the Red Waste," said the Stewardess of Lamoth.

  "Pergon of Lamoth," Pellameera took up the story again. "All Seld knew that Saroc held captive a young and lovely girl. Pergon swore to rescue her from Tir-Tonar. He crossed the Red Waste, slaying the monstrous guards with the strength of his sword. He breached the Citadel, defied the sorcerer and found the captive maiden in an enchanted garden. They fled together, facing many terrors and at the edge of the Wasteland, Pergon cried out in triumph. He swept the maiden into his arms, kissed her lips and set her down on the green grass of Seld. Before his eyes she aged, died and crumbled to dust. Saroc had his revenge."

  Saroc, her father, thought Kerish numbly and understood a little of Sendaaka's agony.

  "Are you still determined to reach Tir-Tonar, Prince?" asked Pellameera.

  "We must," answered Kerish.

  "How grim you look, and Lord Forollkin too." The Queen laughed. "Tomorrow I will try to dissuade you again but tonight we will forget Tir-Tonar. Princess, I hope you will delight us with some song or story of your own people? The Prince has told me of your learning."

  Gwerath shook her head. After a scowl from Forollkin, she added, "They would not be fitting here."

  Pellameera's fingers played with the winking jewel at her throat.

  "Why not, Princess?"

  The question seemed serious, but Gwerath noticed the ripple of amusement among the courtiers.

  "Because you would not understand the ways of the Sheyasa," she answered. "Our songs are made in praise of the Goddess and the Hunter of Souls."

  "A Hunter of Souls! When he catches souls, what does he do with them?"

  "Our songs tell us that he hangs them as trophies in his tent, but that is a way of saying..."

  "Why what a dangerous huntsman!" exclaimed the Queen, "how fortunate we are in Seld to have no souls."

  The courtiers laughed but Gwerath looked bewildered. "Everyone has a soul."

  "Do they, Princess? Then where is mine?" The Queen tilted back her head and spread out her lovely arms. "Can you see it?"

  "No," said Gwerath fiercely, "I see no soul in you."

  For a moment Pellameera ceased to laugh and her green eyes seemed drained of life. Then the familiar smile appeared again.

  "I am glad you have been so swiftly converted to the ways of Seld. Here you will soon forget your gods and goddesses."

  "Never," said Gwerath, but she spoke now like a sulky child.

  Kerish intervened. "Your Majesty, allow me to divert you, in place of my cousin."

  "Most gladly," answered Pellameera. "It will be curious for us to hear a man skilled in the higher arts."

  Kerish's zildar was fetched from his quarters and swiftly tuned. After a moment's thought, the Prince began the song of the Poet Emperor and his cat. The voice that reminded Gidjabolgo of the crystal wind chimes of Forgin filled the hushed summer's night.

  The Prince told of the pair of golden cats brought to Galkis by Imarko herself and of their descendants, cherished in the temples of Hildimarn until only one remained - Reshad, the beloved companion of the Poet Emperor. When he sickened, the Emperor of Galkis despaired of his life but one night in the Emperor's garden a servant tending the yilg trees, whose ashen blossoms open only in moonlight, saw a cat; a cat that seemed to leap down a stair of moonbeams to hunt among the shadows.

  Night after night the Emperor tried to catch the moon cat and failed. Finally he carried Reshad into the gardens and sat, with the sick cat on his lap, in the heart of the yilg grove. When the moon rose, a second cat climbed onto his lap and licked Reshad from his dry nose to his limp tail. The Emperor sat patiently until dawn and at the first ray of sunlight the moon cat's silver fur turned gold and Reshad sprang up and chased his tail. The Emperor named the moon cat Lilahnee and her kittens filled the temples of Galkis with beaut
y and mischief.

  In spite of the sincere applause for his song, Kerish refused to sing a second time. He returned to his place to stroke his own Lilahnee. The Queen clapped her hands and a page brought forward an ivory box, containing a golden collar set with green gems, and a silken leash.

  "A pretty story Prince, and here is the collar I promised for your pet."

  "Your Majesty is kind, but I cannot accept your gift. A cat should not be collared. Gold and silk mean nothing to her. She would believe I had betrayed her."

  "But think how beautiful it would look, set against her green fur!"

  "She needs no ornament to be beautiful," said Kerish firmly. "I cannot accept your gift."