“No matter how hard we fought, no matter how many lives were sacrificed, we could not stop King Ba’land’s hordes. Not only was their sorcery greater than ours but we had never been confronted with a superior army. In the past, as I said, our only opponents had been savages. Even so, it took many centuries for them to drive us back. Many centuries for us to be forced to abandon an empire — until only Tyrenia remained. Here we have held them, praying that some day a time would come when we could rid the land of King Ba’land’s influences.”
“Excuse me, your Highness,” I said, “but I must ask a bold question.”
“Please do,” the Prince said. “I’m no scholar and I’m sure I’ve left out much.”
“Tell me this, if you will,” I said. “If Tyrenia has fought continuously over the ages, why is it no one in the West has had any indications of those wars? Not just in my time, but my father’s time and his father’s as well? Our wizards in those days may not have been near the equal of yours but surely they would have noted such mighty forces locked in battle.”
The Prince blushed. “I exaggerated our boldness,” he said. “And I’m sorry for that.”
I admired the Prince for making such a confession. It is very difficult for anyone to admit he is wrong, much less a man who would someday be king.
“First off,” he said, “we made a stand in the land you know as Vacaan. There we lost half our forces. The agony we suffered in that defeat was so terrible, so soul shattering that few are willing to bring up the subject to this day. We made a second and final stand on our Eastern shore.” I nodded, remembering the ruined city and beast men. “Once again we were defeated. But we fought more desperately and managed to inflict grave losses on the demons. For awhile their attacks ceased. During that time the demons made their first diplomatic contact.”
The young Prince sighed. “What happened then is a shameful incident in my family’s history. The king who ruled at that time — King Farsun — was a weak man. A coward, if you will. Over many years he negotiated with King Ba’land. Little by little he gave up the remainder of our kingdom. During his reign the demons even had free run of Tyrenia, debauching themselves at our expense and including themselves in even our most sacred celebrations.
“One of our legends, in fact, tells the sad tale of a dancer King Ba’land became enamored with. It is only a myth but like most myths paints a telling picture of what might have been. The dancer, it is said, was the most beautiful and talented woman in all Tyrenia. Her art was not just natural but imbued with a magical force that made her dances a wonder to behold. According to that legend King Ba’land pressed his attentions on her but she refused. He increased his unwanted wooing and when the dancer begged our king to help her, he refused. In the end the demon took possession of her. Made her his captive. His slave. The end of the tale, however, claims that she was so spirited that the demon could never fully possess her, that no matter how much he promised or tormented her she held on... and retained her soul.”
I looked at Janela. She crooked a finger to beg my silence. For some reason she didn’t want me to tell the Prince what we knew of the dancer.
The Prince plunged on. “Finally, King Farsun died. His successor ordered the demons out, retook the region around us and fought a series of battles that showed Ba’land our resolve. They were small wars, sieges really, since we’ve proved to be better at defending what we have than gaining more. Others kings followed who maintained that warlike policy. And over time the demons seemed to lose interest. They seemed mostly satisfied with leaving Tyrenia alone as long as the rest of humanity remained frozen in barbarism.”
I made so bold as to comment “it seems to me it was more than we barbarians who were frozen.”
Once more the Prince took the criticism of his people calmly. He started to say something, hesitated, then stared at us for a long moment, as if deciding whether we were worthy of more. He nodded once, satisfied.
“It may have appeared a truce to outsiders, but it was not. In fact, we were losing slowly but surely, and from within. Now, what I am about to tell you is a barely-remembered legend. Unfortunately, I did some digging in our archives, much like Janos Greycloak did in those of Irayas, and discovered the legend to be truth.
“In this unnatural false peace, certain Old Ones, our finest leaders, our greatest philosophers, thinkers, wizards...left us.”
“I don’t understand,” Janela said.
“Nor do I, exactly, but that is the best I can put it. One of them said, in a farewell letter, that it was ‘time and past time to move on, to seek other worlds.’”
“Like the demons have the power to do?”
“No. Something entirely different. First, it meant the death of the body. Suicide in one of several forms. But it was not the real death as we know it. This destruction of the physical self, when accompanied with certain drugs, or rituals or spells made something else happen, or so the wizards our kings ordered to investigate reported, not understanding themselves.
“The best explanation that was offered was by a man who was more of a poet, really, than a sorcerer, and he wrote a short note to his ruler that this moving on meant going to an entirely different place, a place beyond men, beyond women, beyond demons, beyond the gods themselves and even beyond death.
“Then, he, too, killed himself.” The Prince smiled wryly. “This information, of course, was kept not only from the people at large, but from the demons as well. The first would have been sent into despair when they found there appeared to be some goal, some golden place they themselves would never be able to reach. As for the demons, surely it would have driven them into a frenzy to learn there might be a place even their evil could not reach, and they would require us to provide the knowledge on how to reach it.
“But this knowledge we lost as the years passed — — that had vanished with our best as well as ideas on how to smash the demons or at least end the war with a permanent victory. And so time drowsed on.”
Janela leaned forward. “Then Janos Greycloak and Amalric Antero appeared,” she said.
The Prince seemed surprised at her guess. Then he smiled, saying: “Yes, that is when the demons became... interested again. Here in Tyrenia, I am told, everyone took comfort our brothers and sisters in the old kingdoms were gradually throwing off the skin mantle of savagery. We delighted at the successes of places like Orissa and especially Vacaan — where they discovered our old books and pretended to the world they were the Old Ones. It made Tyrenians hope that one day the world would be as before. But, we dared not show ourselves to you at that time because we didn’t want to draw the attention of Ba’land.
“When Greycloak and Antero joined together it was as if some great force had been released. Our wizards said the very ethers were astir with forces they could not explain. Some said it appeared Janos Greycloak was on the verge of a great discovery. But he died before he could make it. Then Lord Antero’s sister Rali made her voyage to the west. Once again the ethers were full of sorcerous storms as she pursued the Archon into the very worlds the demons commanded.
“King Ba’land became very angry when he realized what was happening. But for some reason he couldn’t or wouldn’t or feared to launch attacks on your regions as he had done with us ages ago. He was forced to use subterfuge, infiltrating Orissa and Vacaan, making bargains with men of evil intent. He also came to fear our presence here in Tyrenia again.”
The Prince had become pale and disturbed. He drank down his wine, filled the goblet and drained it again.
“He came to my father and threatened full-scale war. He said he would crush us, wipe the mountain top of our very presence. My father resisted at first. But plagues were sent that killed many, including my mother. Small but very bloody assaults were made on our defenses. Gradually, my father... gave in. He abandoned long plans to expand the kingdom to our old borders on the Eastern sea. He relinquished the few gains we had made over the years.”
The Prince gave Janela an anguishe
d look. “When you took your great grandfather’s place and persuaded Lord Antero to once more seek us out, King Ba’land approached my father again. While all Tyrenia cheered you and the ballad of the dancer who refused the demon king was sung in all our taverns, my father did nothing to help. Instead he turned surly and cursed the names of Greycloak and Antero.”
Solaros wiped an eye. “I did what I could,” he said to Janela. “I have very quietly used my influence to help you when it was possible.”
“I know you have,” Janela said, gently. “I have sensed an assisting hand from time to time. Always when we needed it most.”
The Prince nodded his gratitude. Then he said, “My view is that now is the time to fight. We should the attack the demons in full force as they attacked us long ago. Most of the army agrees with me. And I believe the people want the same. I’m hoping that with you here it will be easier to persuade my father to see I am right.”
“We are at your disposal, your Highness,” I said, although I knew he was too green to know what would be required to mount such a war.
I was feeling a bit hopeless. After traveling so far, overcoming so much and suffering the loss of my son’s very soul we had found a kingdom of legendary greatness. In reality, however, that magical realm was hollow to the core.
Perhaps Solaros caught some of my mood. For next he said, “My father hasn’t always been this way. When he was young he was a great dreamer. But Ba’land bled him little by little. Now he fears Tyrenia is tottering on the edge of disaster. We have fought the demons for thousands of years. And it has taken a great toll on all our spirits. You must know this if you are to understand my father’s dilemma.”
He rose, walking toward the far wall, motioning for us to follow. A heavy curtain blanketed the wall. The Prince tugged a cord and the curtain was swept aside.
“Look,” he said.
And we did. Instead of stone the wall proved to be an enormous window looking down on the terrain on the opposite side of Tyrenia.
It was like viewing another world. The sky was a veil of cold darkness with unfamiliar stars peering out like the hungry eyes that gather near a wilderness campsite. A bleak moon glared over barren hills in the distance. But it was not the graceful goddess we know at home. This moon was red as blood and I could feel it tugging at the dark things I keep hidden in my mind. I had to fight hard to stop it from unleashing a nightmare tide. The plain beneath us was pitted and scarred from thousands of years of warfare. Wind blew clouds of ashes across the bleak landscape and my imagination made them ghosts crying out in soundless agony.
It was such a terrible sight that I finally had to turn away. I looked at Janela and she seemed as shaken as me.
The Prince pulled the curtain shut.
“Now perhaps you understand,” he said softly, “why they call this ‘The Kingdoms of the Night.’”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE WITCH AND THE QUEEN
The Heavens, they say, are the realms of the high gods. And the gods, it is claimed, are glorious, all-knowing beings who do not know pain or want or fear. Most are said to have taken such a kindly view of our affairs they have permitted us to become their subjects — poor mortals though we be. However, a multitude of vanities must scurry about in the gods’ hair like lice plague a savage, for we are also taught their favor must be purchased and their kindness leased through continuous payments at the altar.
That last remark aside, in the past I have normally not been a cynic about such things. When Janos spoke of his doubts concerning the gods, my childhood teachings made me worry for him and gave me no little shock. Like most gods-fearing men and women I keep a small temple in my head whose four pillars are Faith, Fear, Myth and Ignorance. And I imagine Godhome to be like the legends of the Far Kingdoms, except even more glorious because the mystery is even greater.
But when we came to Tyrenia and saw its cowardly king, brave but foolish crown prince and the too-pretty people who were their subjects, those pillars were collapsed one by one until only Fear remained. Janos once said he was always seeking the wise men of the world. But each time he thought he’d finally come into their company he was sorely disappointed because it always turned out they knew less than he. This made Janos despair for as the wisest man of my time, at least, he knew best how shallow was the well of human knowledge.
What I saw in Tyrenia made me finally grasp that despair which was the engine of Janos’ destruction. The Prince’s dramatic plea for understanding lifted a veil he did not intend. I suddenly thought all must be chaos. There were no gods — or if there were they must be as hollow as the Old Ones. There was no grand design for a heavenly palace which the gods continually improve for our eventual spiritual residence.
I never thought of myself as one who leaned too heavily on religion. I did my work, trusted the gods did theirs and in the end we would see what we would see. So it surprised me when the crutch was kicked away and I had to struggle for balance. In the days that followed it became more difficult to maintain.
Part of my difficulty was the sudden great absence of Janela. Like her great-grandfather she flung herself into the vaults of the Old Ones. She pored over ancient books and scrolls day and night. She dug into the deepest caverns of the Tyrenian libraries to find others. She stalked the warrens of their museums for forgotten relics. She crept into dark alcoves and abandoned rooms of the palace, ferreting out any secrets they might hold.
Each time I saw her I looked for signs of Janos’ affliction when Raveline tempted him with knowledge in exchange for his soul. Janela seemed weary, eyes red-rimmed with reading, but each day she buzzed with fresh excitement and if anything her spirits seemed to rise while mine grew stale.
Thinking to impress me Prince Solaros ordered a grand military display and asked me to review his forces. I must admit they made a handsome parade. The chariot regiments with their mighty steeds and dazzling vehicles filled the air with thundering menace. Battle wizards showed off wondrous machines that could turn a single attacking spell into a veritable swarm of magical missiles. Archers bent bows that would test a giant. Slingmen hurled shot amazing distances. Spears and javelins were thrown with similar results and brawny warriors shouted war cries guaranteed to strike terror in the heart of an enemy and admiring lust in that of a Tyrenian maid.
But in the exercises that followed the parade, the chariot heroes outflanked their mock opponents in the first few moments of maneuvering, the magical war engines had no sorcerous opponents at all and the brawny warriors turned back every attack with suspicious ease.
The Prince and I watched the martial amusements from his royal box in the company of his friends, Lord Emerle and Lord Thrade — who were Tyrenian generals — as well as Lord Vakram, who behaved more like a barracks chum than a wizard.
Whenever a particular feat caught Vakram’s attention — which was more often than not — he’d display those huge horsy teeth and neigh, “Good Show!” or “Mark that swordsman!” or “The demons will be chewing our dust for breakfast!” He’d clap either Emerle or Thrade on the back, depending on whose forces had most recently roused his generous admiration.
Later, when asked my opinion I was most diplomatic, throwing up clouds of comments that might be taken for praise — if one did not blow too hard on those clouds and reveal the implied criticism.
“You have made a lovely art of war,” I said. “It seemed almost theatrical.”
The Prince and the generals beamed with pleasure, and Vakram brayed, “Well said, Sir! Well said!”
Then after stringing together more creative dodges than it takes to make a fishing fleet’s net, I couldn’t help but ask: “Since this was merely for show I assume the strategies and attacks were well choreographed in advance?”
“With certainty,” Lord Emerle said. “We practice those moves constantly as well as whole volumes more.”
“Your comparison to the arts was most apt,” Lord Thrade added. “I like to think of my men as musicians who must dar
e tedium to pipe the most perfect refrain.”
My sister, Rali, would have burst her buckler laughing. I merely cleared my throat. “What an interesting notion,” I said. “Warriors as musicians.”
Then I said: “Some armies like to occasionally test their forces with... how shall I say this without revealing how much a foolish amateur I am?... Ah, yes... Test them with more active and unplanned opposition. What is your opinion, my lords, of such schools of thinking?”
The generals frowned. “What use is that?” Lord Emerle asked. “We have detailed records of every strategy used in history. For every action there is a known counter.”
“With study and practice,” Lord Thrade said, “there is no need to risk injuring our men.”
“And it’s a well-known fact,” Lord Emerle concluded, “that injury is bad for morale.”
“I suppose it would be,” I said. “Yes... I can see that now.”
My teachers smiled in pleasure for being the architects of my new understanding. But when I glanced at Lord Vakram he appeared more amused than pleased.
And for just a moment I thought I saw a glimmer of intelligence in those strange, wide-set eyes.
* * * *
Despite my disappointment, I did not think ill of the Tyrenians. I was guest of an honor at many a banquet — Janela was always too engrossed in her studies and experiments to attend — and the number of new born named for us would sorely test the King’s prediction we would soon be forgotten by his fickle subjects.
They were the pleasantest people one could meet at a banquet — where much is discussed and little said. When I had enough wine to fog my cares and warm my good nature I had to admit I’d never seen such a handsome race. Even the graceful citizens of Irayas would look plain beside these folk, who were tall and slender with broad foreheads, wide clear eyes and skin so healthy it was almost translucent like a child’s. They wore clothing of the most artistic designs with splashes of tasteful color, and the whole time I have been in Tyrenia I have never seen one costume that was like another. Since the days are always warm here, the nights balmy, such costumes might consist of only a swatch of fine cloth for modesty’s sake and a few baubles of simple jewelry to subtly light the wearer’s most prized feature.
Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) Page 42