The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels )

by Geraldine Harris

  “So, cousin,” O-grak clapped the Envoy on the shoulder, “what do you think of my captive Prince?”

  The Envoy of Chiraz chewed at his meat and looked the Prince slowly up and down. Kerish stood perfectly still and seemed unaware of the scrutiny.

  “Prince? He's pretty enough to be a Princess. Were you thinking of a new alliance, O- grak?”

  Color flooded into Kerish's cheeks but nobody laughed and the pause before the Khan said, “Of a kind,” was long enough to make the Envoy shift uncomfortably.

  “You need not be so distant, Prince,” continued O-grak. “Lord Cil-Rahgen is your kinsman too. The Empress, your stepmother, is his aunt.”

  “And yet you plan to attack her?” put in Forollkin, who was tired of being ignored.

  “All the best fights are kept in the family,” said the Khan amiably. “Cil-Rahgen, this is the Prince's brother, by one of the late Emperor's numerous concubines. Lord Forollkin is in the habit of saying exactly what he thinks and my guards inform me that he is likely to be a bad influence on his brother. What should I do with him?”

  The Envoy shrugged. “If he is a warrior, kill him. If not, make him your slave.”

  “All according to custom, but I,” announced O-grak, “am a great breaker of custom. Tonight I feel less bound by the past than ever. Perhaps you should both try harder to keep me in such a mood.”

  Forollkin suddenly found himself dismissed and led away to one of the furthest benches.

  O-grak reached out for Kerish and tugged him down to sit at his left side. “Eat with us, Prince, if your pride hasn't sealed your lips.”

  “My brother deserves a place of honor as much as I do.”

  “He wears no death-rings...” began Cil-Rahgen.

  “Neither do I,” answered O-grak, “to choose only ten from among so many dead would be unfair. Will it satisfy you, Prince, if I order Forollkin to be served first, or should I have sent you to eat with the women?”

  “Do they always feast apart?”

  “Oh, the women will come in with the wine. Not before, “ answered the Khan, picking up a slab of meat. “Do you find the custom strange?”

  “No. I have met such customs before. In Seld, the women eat by themselves because . . .”

  “In Seld, the women do everything by themselves,” interrupted O grak, “except beget more women.”

  Cil-Rahgen licked the grease from his fingers. “You have been in Seld? Men say the Queen is very beautiful.”

  “And that she has as many lovers as a snake has skins,” added the Khan, “and changes them as often.”

  “Queen Pelameera is beautiful to look at,” said Kerish coldly.

  “You speak as if she didn't move you. What kind of woman does a Prince of the Godborn admire?” asked O-grak.

  “An unexpected one,” said Kerish.

  “Hah,” O-grak threw down a bone. “That's so in every country.”

  “It's true enough of you, O-grak, “ said Cil-Rahgen slyly. “No one expected you to choose a bud from Mintaz that might never open, when all the flowers of Oraz were eager to be plucked.”

  The Khan did not seem offended. “Open flowers lose their petals sooner. Ah, here is your food at last.”

  A greasy portion of meat thrust into a split loaf was placed before the Prince. O-grak handed him a knife and Kerish gingerly attacked the meat.

  “Daintiness fills few bellies,” remarked the Khan, “perhaps you'll be bolder if I don't look.”

  He turned his back on Kerish and spoke abruptly to Cil-Rahgen. “How many ships will be sent?”

  “Sixty, if it's understood that the plunder from the Governor's Palace is to go to Chiraz.”

  “Strip it bare. All I want is space for a garrison.”

  Kerish listened numbly as the final assault on Viroc was casually discussed. The ancient capital of Jenoza was a formidable fortress but it had been weakened by continuous attacks, and how long could Jerenac hold it without hope of help from the north?

  “Why do we need to delay for a parley?” Cil-Rahgen was demanding.

  “We do not need a parley,” answered O-grak, “but since the quarrel is over land and not blood, it is proper to offer terms. Prince, you shall come with me to the parley with Jerenac . . . Ah, you've hardly touched your food. Let me help you.”

  To the amazement of the warriors at the nearby tables, O-grak cut up the Prince's bread and meat with his own knife.

  “I suppose the Galkians will have to see him before they offer a ransom,” began Cil-Rahgen.

  “Perhaps I shan't ask for a ransom,” said O-grak, wiping his knife on his cloak. “There are other things one could do with such a captive. Suppose we were to set him on his father's throne and have him order the Galkians to lie down for us to trample on?”

  “We need no puppet Emperor,” answered Cil-Rahgen contemptuously. “We can take the throne for ourselves.”

  “And fight over it like curs in the dust? When will young men learn to take only what they can keep?” O-grak gave the Envoy a jovial slap on the back and bellowed to a passing slave: “Tell my wife to bring the wine.”

  It was obvious that Cil-Rahgen was puzzled and dissatisfied, but O-grak launched into a lively description of the Emperor's court and the city of Galkis.

  “There is gold enough on those walls,” he concluded, “to fill every cauldron in Chirandermar. You look doubtful. Tell him, Prince.”

  “The Khan is right. I'm afraid,” said Kerish dryly, “that you will be put to a great deal of trouble to melt it all down.”

  The words were almost lost as the chamber reverberated with talk and laughter and snatches of discordant songs. O-grak was watching the Prince's face. “Do you find my feast barbarous after the cold courtesy of Galkis? Here we think it courtesy to let our guests do whatever they want.”

  Suddenly the noise lessened as a figure rose up in the center of the circle of braziers. After a moment three more women ascended like ghosts from the stairwell. There were hoots of welcome as they sauntered among the tables with earthenware jugs of wine. The first woman walked towards the Khan carrying a metal flagon that seemed almost too heavy for her. Kerish looked into her pale face and saw that beauty was hiding there, unwilling or afraid to appear.

  “Wife,” said the Khan of Orze, “honor our guests.”

  Neeris bowed her head but instead of moving to the right to pour out wine for Cil-Rahgen, she stood in front of Kerish. Neeris stared at him so intently that for a moment her grey eyes were remarkable. She whispered, “Give me your cup.”

  As she held up the flagon Kerish glimpsed the crimson jewels that had once circled his own wrist.

  “Wife,” growled O-grak. “First you should fill the warriors' cups.”

  “I do. Surely one who does not fear the jealousy of the Goddess is the bravest of warriors.”

  Cil-Rahgen made a sign against blasphemy. O-grak sucked in his breath and Kerish said quickly, “Lady, no one knows the evil of jealousy better than I do, but to be served first by you is too great an honor. I ask you to excuse me.”

  Neeris hesitated for a moment and then turned meekly to serve Cil-Rahgen. As she walked towards the next table, O-grak's huge laugh suddenly erupted.

  “Well, Prince, you nearly succeeded where I have always failed and provoked her into disobeying me. Ah, what pleasure is there in riding if you never have to use the spurs? I promise, I have tried to explain the customs of Galkis to my wife, but she has no gift for learning. You must forgive her confusion.”

  “Teaching is also a gift,” said Kerish curtly.

  Neeris returned to fill the Prince's cup last of all, tears clogging her pale lashes. Then she led the women out of the feasting chamber.

  Kerish watched in fastidious horror as O-grak ladled honey into his wine. After a first incautious sip from his own cup, he realized that the pale amber liquid was stronger than any Galkian vintage. He drank as sparingly as he could but even so Kerish soon found that the tower was swaying slightly and t
he painted leaves seemed to rustle.

  “I believe I know why you paint your towers like this,” he said suddenly.

  “We don't need telling what pleases us,” snapped Cil-Rahgen but Kerish continued dreamily, “On the island of Gannoth there is a cave and on its walls the first men who came into Zindar carved their history.”

  “Came from where?” demanded O-grak.

  “From across the Great Ocean,” said Kerish, “from a land where they built houses in huge trees. Perhaps your towers mirror those trees and were built to remind you of how you once lived.”

  “It is said that the Goddess . . .” began O-grak but Cil-Rahgen exclaimed, “Whenever I see the paintings they remind me of when I was a child, but now I think about it, there never were such birds, or trees, or flowers, in my childhood.”

  “I felt the same,” murmured Kerish. “They reminded me of something I didn't realize that I knew.”

  For a moment the two men were linked by astonishment and Kerish suddenly wanted to see the Envoy of Chiraz simply as a person. He stared deep into Cil-Rahgen's eyes, and as if they were a door that the Chirazian was too late to slam, Kerish thrust himself in and began to sense a nervous presence, half conceited, half consumed with self-dislike. He seemed a very young man, uncertain about almost everything, whose basic decency was being ground away by pressures he was too weak to resist. Then Kerish opened his own mind and tried to draw Cil-Rahgen in. The Chirazian felt the mocking circlet on his brow and saw himself through the Prince's compassionate eyes. Horrified, Cil-Rahgen pushed back the inviting presence. In a second the link was over and it was only a foreign hostage who sat beside the Khan.

  O-grak himself yawned. “On Gannoth, you say?”

  “The Prince of Gannoth wishes to raise a fleet to sail across the Great Ocean,” said Kerish, “and find the land of our ancestors.”

  “A brave enterprise,” murmured Cil-Rahgen.

  “And a worthless one,” said O-grak grimly. “Young men are alike in every country. Drink your wine, Prince, it is courteous to be drunk during what is to follow.”

  “You will let the Galkians stay?” asked Cil-Rahgen.

  “Our souls are shaped as much by our enemies as by our friends,” answered O-grak. “Your souls are on your ship, and we are not afraid to show ours to any man. You do not understand us, Prince. Did you know that in the Five Kingdoms it is said that Galkians have no souls?”

  “All men have souls, “ said Kerish, startled and intrigued.

  “Then show me yours,” demanded O-grak. “Ah, you cannot, for all the Godborn think themselves so holy.”

  “Look into the eyes of a beast, and then into mine, and perhaps you will see the soul.”

  “A good answer, Prince. I might even accept it, but tell me, how do you know the shape of your soul and whether it is growing fair or crookedly?”

  Kerish frowned. “I suppose, by reflecting on my acts and thoughts.. “

  “Men make cloudy mirrors,” said O-grak, “and how often do we look in them?”

  “Rarely.”

  “Your Gentle God trusts you too far,” continued O-grak. “Our Goddess is more merciful. She lets us watch the shaping of our souls.”

  The head and shoulders of a serf, stooping to drag something heavy behind him, appeared in the stairwell.

  “I warn you, Prince, it is not permissible to ask to whom a soul belongs, though I have not been struck down yet for guessing in silence!”

  O-grak grinned but Cil-Rahgen's answering smile was forced and it was obvious that silence would have fallen if custom had not forbidden it.

  As a procession of serfs carried cloaked burdens to the empty benches, all life and humor seeped out of the talk and laughter at the tables. Kerish found himself wishing that he was closer to the steady presence of his brother. Then across the room, their eyes met and he saw that Forollkin was equally disturbed. The serfs stripped off the cloaks and shuffled away, leaving Kerish with a clear view of the inhabitants of the Third Tower.

  The wooden figures were mostly human in shape, but none of them could be mistaken for the portrait of a living man. No two were alike. One had eyes in the palms of its hands, a second bit its own limbs, a third had grown a double-head whose faces could never see each other, a fourth was covered in thorns, and a fifth had a jagged hole in its breast. In some of the figures there was dignity or even beauty but most were hideous or grotesque. Half fascinated and half horrified, Kerish wished the figures covered again, but he couldn't stop himself wondering which of them was the soul of O-grak.

  The Khan rose from his place. “Men of the Towers of O-grak, speak of the deeds that shape our souls. Tell what has been and what will be done.”

  He called on the oldest of his guards to begin. The grey-haired warrior stood with his back to the silent benches. He recounted his deeds in the last campaign against Galkis and vowed to kill twice as many men in the next. A second man got up and admitted to cowardice in a snake hunt, a third explained his failure to avenge a murdered cousin, a fourth described his recent marriage, a fifth acknowledged that he was envious of his elder brother. So it went on around the room, with straightforward accounts, proud boasts or muttered confessions; all received in silence. How close to the truth each speech was, only the soul figures would know.

  Finally it was the turn of O-grak himself. The Khan described past battles and the preparation for the new campaign. As he spoke, Kerish's eyes were drawn to the silent watchers. This time he noticed one figure taller than all the rest. Its huge hands snatched at the air and the noble face was encircled with eyes, but the body was blackened and twisted like a great tree struck by lightning.

  “This I have done, “ boomed O-grak, “and this I will do - Viroc shall fall, the Godborn shall tremble, and I shall lead you to the Golden City. Drink, Men of Oraz, drink, Men of Chiraz, drink to the death of white-walled Viroc and the doom of Galkis.”

  Chapter 4

  The Book of the Emperors: Conflicts

  And they urged him to confess his greatest crime, thinking that if he repented his words concerning Zeldin in front of that great company, the Emperor could pardon him; but he said to them, “Once I failed to pause and speak to someone that I knew as I passed by. No sin that I have committed weighs so heavily on me and I taste the bitter fruits of it still.”

  Believing that he mocked them, they reviled him, and drove him from the Golden City.

  The captains of Fangmere had already returned to the Jorgan Islands to gather their ships for the great assault on Viroc and the morning after the feast Cil-Rahgen sailed for Chirandermar to summon the Men of Chiraz to war. A few hours later Khan O-grak embarked with all his household on the brief voyage to the forlorn island at the mouth of the Jenze where the attackers of Viroc were assembling for a new campaign.

  The four prisoners were kept together on the Khan's own ship. They stood on deck in the sultry heat looking back at Azanac, as the Orazian vessels were loaded. Now that they were aware of its presence, it was the squat darkness of the temple that dominated the island.

  “How can they worship in a place so ugly?” demanded Gwerath. “Even naked rocks under the sun would be better.”

  “It takes a mighty weight of stone to pin down a goddess,” answered Gidjabolgo.

  Kerish looked at him sharply and was about to say something when they were distracted by shouting from one of the other ships.

  Fifteen men were straining to lower a covered longboat and lash it to the side of the larger vessel. One of the ropes that held the longboat had almost slipped from their grasp. For a moment the boat hung unevenly over the purple waves, then more men rushed to help and it was righted and lashed fast. The guard who stood beside the prisoners took off his cloak and fastened it on again, inside out. Guessing that the man was trying to avert bad luck, Forollkin asked what was special about the covered boat.

  “It is the Soul Boat.”

  “You mean it holds the images that we saw last night at the feast?”
>
  The guard nodded. “The Khan will not return to Azanac before winter, so we must take them with us.”

  “What would happen if there was an accident, or someone harmed the figures?”

  The guard looked at Forollkin as if he were a madman or an idiot. “No one would commit such an evil. We all have souls.”

  “Well, suppose the Soul Boat had gone down just now?” persisted Forollkin.

  The guard was looking more and more unhappy. “It is not good to talk of such things before a woman.”

  “Why?” asked Gwerath, who had already been told about the silent figures. “Don't women have souls?”

  “Women say so, but they don't need a ship to carry them, just a box so small.” Grinning, he measured the length with his hands. Deeply affronted Gwerath began to express her opinion of men who had sticks for souls, when a general bustle on deck announced the arrival of O-grak himself.

  The Khan was preceded by four men carrying the limp coils of Shageesa, who had been drugged into an uneasy sleep. Only when he had seen the snake into her wooden cage did O-grak pay any attention to his prisoners.

  “Serpents hate the sea, so I am forced to cage my poor Shageesa, or she would drown trying to escape. I fear she may disturb your sleep by hissing and beating against the bars.”

  “And how long is it after each voyage before she forgives you?” asked Kerish.

  “Her temper will be villainous for a day or two,” answered the Khan, “and I shall be forced to coax her with live dainties . . . ah, that reminds me. Little Princess, my wife wants you to travel with her on the second ship, at least for part of the way. She didn't command you, so neither shall I. You can stay with your lover if you like . . . That's better,” O-grak chuckled. “A little color in your cheeks makes you easier to see.”

  “The Princess will remain with us,” said Forollkin, no longer bothering to take offence, but Kerish intervened. “It would be a kindness to go, if only for a day.”

  Startled by the entreaty in the Prince's eyes, Gwerath found herself saying, “Yes.”