Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (33 page)

“Not only that, but he didn’t even smile when I told him that. Again I wondered why most of those who choose some sort of spiritual life seem to give up their sense of humor?”

“Janos was like that,” I remembered, “in the latter days.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” she said. “Kings and those who would be kings don’t seem to laugh a great deal either, save at the discomfort of others.”

I sat, thinking for awhile. “You know,” I said, “at one time I was concerned about you... that you might be too much like Janos.”

“You mean be willing to turn against anyone and anything,” she said, “to gain this magical crown of knowledge? Knowledge that gives real temporal power? I don’t think I would. I never have held respect for such men or those few women I’ve encountered who sat a throne.

“Look at those coming behind us. Modin has, or had at any rate, great power and now he’s sculling along in our wake after something I doubt he knows much about. Except it is of value to us. And Cligus? What would Cligus gain if he caught and... dealt with you as he plans? Nothing. Orissa will continue on, Cligus will inherit not much more in the way of riches and certainly no more knowledge than what little he possesses now.

“I share all too many of my great-grandfather’s faults and have many all my own. I lust after knowledge as badly as Grandsire Janos did and long to discover that single law that lays all worlds and all knowledge open to me.

“But then to use that knowledge to gain temporal or even spiritual power? Power for its own sake isn’t what I desire. But I’ll be honest, Amalric. Such a diadem isn’t in my grasp yet. When we reach the Kingdoms of the Night you’d best watch me closely. If I stop making jokes, reach for your dagger.” She grinned, then turned serious.

“There was something I gained from that master,” she said. “A willingness to be alone with my thoughts. I found that I was able to consider some things I’d never quite known how to handle. Such as what my great grandfather was. It was most important I deal with this, since he was the one who set a name and a goal for me. But it’s hard to accept the reality that my grandsire, my hero I guess I’d have to name him, was in many ways a monster.

“Do
you
dismiss him — disclaim him because of that? Or do you do what most of us do and paint over his vices and sing loud about his virtues? I was... am able, or so I honestly believe, to accept Janos Greycloak as a whole man and still find him great and worth following to a certain degree.”

“To be able to do that,” I said, “is very hard. I thought when I performed the cremation rites that I had forgiven him. But when I wrote my journal I discovered I still harbored ill feelings toward him, as well as many guilts of my own. There were two journeys in that book. One was the search for the Far Kingdoms. The other was a search for a man I had once called my friend.”

“In my view,” Janela said, “that was the most successful journey. You may have mistaken Vacaan for the Far Kingdoms. But you did not mistake Janos Greycloak in your final summation of the man.”

For reasons I could not fathom I took her hand. We sat silently in the night for a long time. Finally a hunting lion roared satisfaction from somewhere on the plateau above us and we made our way past the sentries to our bedrolls stretched on the sand.

* * * *

Two nights later we were forced to stay at one of the village-caves, since we’d sighted no islands by afternoon. I could lie and say only the more superstitious men were afraid but shall not, since all of us were apprehensive. After the enticer on the island and the crocodile folk, who knew what strange enchantments lay in this land beyond the seas?

Janela cast a divination when we tied up and said she felt no threat, no jeopardy. But she cautioned us to stay close together since there were many kinds of magics here and her senses weren’t yet attuned to all of them. We needed little warning. But nothing happened and we found the small hideaway most cheerful, particularly as it had clouded over and threatened rain. In our nook above the river it could storm as much as it wished.

After we’d eaten some of the braver men, Chons and the Cyralian brothers, even went exploring. Chons came running back in great excitement and said he’d found a flight of steps that might lead to the land above the gorge.

Janela and I decided to see what lay above us. Quatervals pretended he would have rather napped but in truth was glad of some exercise and he dug out some torches in case night fell before we returned. The Cyralian brothers, Chons and three other well-armed men accompanied us in the long climb.

The steps climbed in zig-zags, parallel with the gorge. There were high gallery windows cut into the rock and there was still enough light to see clearly. Centuries of passage had badly worn the middle of the steps, making me realize just how long ago our shelter had been built. When we were just a few flights from the top I whispered a warning and all of us except Janela drew our weapons. There was nothing to fear that I knew of, but it was senseless to play the innocent.

On the last landing lay scattered bones. I studied them closely in the gloom and decided they were those of a horse and rider. Driven into the stairwell to tumble to their deaths by... by what? I didn’t know. We went on with much more caution.

We came out of a low stone building that might have been easily mistaken for a small rise in the ground. On either side were broken-down hitching rails and not far away stone corrals. The hideaway below would’ve been a connecting point for traders from inland and river merchants.

The land around us was sparse, bare, unwatered. There were strange-looking trees, twisted, reaching up at the heavens for water that came but seldom to this desert. We looked far out into the wasteland and saw no sign of life. Wherever the traders had come from was either destroyed or a far journey.

We crept to the gorge and looked over. Far, far below, like tiny motionless waterbeetles lay the
Ibis
,
Glowworm
and
Firefly
, tied to the dock.

Quatervals muttered in what he possibly imagined to be singing: “...to see what we would see/But all that we did see/But all that we did see/Was more and more to see/Was more and more to see...”

One of the brothers tssed sharply — no doubt one of their secret poaching signals and pointed off, upriver. I looked but saw nothing.

“At the clouds,” he said, his voice in a needless whisper. “See the lights?”

By now it was close to full dark and I craned, seeing nothing, then seeing, very faint then more discernible, lights reflected off the overcast.

“There’s folks over there,” he said. “’Nough of ’em to shine like they’re a city. Big village, anyways.”

We waited for another hour and by then it was clear we weren’t seeing the moon’s reflection but illumination from some settlement. I couldn’t tell how much further upriver it lay, nor could anyone else make an estimate.

This was producing nothing but a warning for the morrow’s travel. We turned back for the stairs and Chons looked puzzled. “I swear,” he said in a murmur, “I swear I can hear music. Coming from where those lights are.”

I listened, but heard nothing, nor did anyone else. The Cyralian brothers gently mocked Chons, saying he’d already impressed them and could go a-poaching, beg pardon Lord Antero, a-hunting, with them when they returned to Orissa. He didn’t need to be makin’ up tales about what he could see hear or smell. Chons looked stubborn, clamped his lips and said no more.

We lit the torches and crept back downward, minding our way, until we returned to the others.

Janela and I gathered the three captains and told them what we’d seen and asked how we should handle matters. Should we boldly sail up on this city and announce ourselves as peaceful?

Kele grunted, and said, “th’ odds don’t favor that, Lord, considerin’ th’ closest thing we’ve had f’r a mate in these parts wa’ th’ steer-shagger back yon.”

“By th’ same token,” Towra put in, “isn’t that as likely to mean our luck’s changin’? Or about to, anyhap?”

I didn’t know. Maybe we should break one of our rules and tie up short of the city and try to sail past silently in the depths of the night. I offered this but was argued with — surely any city would have sentries on their waterfront and anyone who tried to creep past would surely be thought as hostile, particularly in these times, when no one was on the river. None of the captains thought we had the slightest chance of not being seen even if we lowered all sails and used the sweeps — unless the river just happened to broaden out, and there didn’t seem to be much chance of that.

Janela was listening and as she did, preparing a spell. She lightly chalked a circle with a vee-through it, pointing upriver toward what we’d seen and a curve closing the wide end of the vee. She put a small candle about a foot in front of the arrow and then lit it. She re-outlined the figure with an unguent from her purse, then found an archer and got one of his arrowheads. Grimacing a little, she drew blood from a finger with its tip, touched its point to her eyelids, then laid the arrow in the center of the vee and chanted:

Go now

Go swift

Carry me

To the light

See the light

Find the light.

She cast the into the darkness, then sat hastily. An instant later her head snapped back, as if she was mounted on a stallion that’d just bounded away, then her head came forward, eyes tightly shut. In a moment her eyes opened and she sucked in air, shaking her head.

“Nothing,” she said. “I don’t know if the spell didn’t take, or if there’s wards, but I saw and felt nothing out there, nothing at all.” She thought for a moment, then went on. “Very odd, as I come to think, because there was not even the force from animals I should have sensed. I guess the spell just didn’t work.”

She began putting away her gear, and looked up at us. “I’m sorry. But I don’t know any more than anyone else.”

“So,” Beran put in slowly, “there’s nothin’ for it but to stick our heads in the noose, eh?”

There wasn’t. We doubled the guards that night and roused everyone before dawn. As soon as we could see the water we cast off our lines and raised our sails.

For the first time the gorge required careful navigation. Pinnacles ripped up from the river’s bottom nearly to the top of the canyon’s wall or worse, to just a few inches above the water, ready to rip into the hull of a careless sailor’s ship. The winds were somewhat fickle and we were forced to tack back and forth, wearing our way upriver slowly and laboriously.

By midday we still hadn’t come on the city, or village or whatever it was and I determined we’d pull into the next cave-village and deal with tomorrow on the morrow. But there was nothing, not a shelter, not an islet, not even rock pinnacles we could tie fast to.

We sailed on and the day grew later.

Sweeping around a bend we came on the city. The gorge opened into a wide draw and in this expanse the city had been built. It was large, but there was no sign of life. There were no ships tied up at the waterfront, no boats, no movement on the docks and not a light to be seen. I ordered the crews into armor and full readiness for battle and we sailed closer.

The city was deserted.

It wasn’t ruined and overgrown like the city at the mouth of the river had been, nor was it empty like the cities of the fables, in perfect order, where food still sits on the tables, kitchen fires smolder and clothes hang on their racks but there’s not a living soul to be seen.

The closer we came the more damage I could see, as if a storm had smashed through the town some time ago and the inhabitants had just given up and moved on. A half-stove-in door hung in an entryway and I saw buildings whose roofs had been crushed.

I waited for Janela to say something but she just shook her head. “Dead,” she said. “I feel nothing, no one.”

“Should we chance sailing on?” I asked Kele. “Perhaps there’s an island or at any rate a place to tie up further on.”

“I’ll do that if you order me, Lord Antero. But we’ll have to ready th’ boats for ready lowerin’ an’ I’ll tell you firm I advise against it. I wouldn’t fancy our chances all that much, assumin’ th’ rocks an’ shoals’re th’ same on up as they have been. Since Lady Greycloak felt no evil... I can’t say, Lord. It’s y’r decision.”

I hesitated long but the decision was only mine.

Not wanting to do it but seeing no other logical choice I told Kele to order the ships to tie up at the dock I indicated, which was close to an open square. Use a stern rope and a long head rope so we face out, into the current, I ordered and have seamen standing by with axes, ready to cut us free on an instant’s warning. I wanted a full watch on deck at all times.

Our three ships pulled in and reluctant seamen went onto the stone docks and moored us as I’d ordered. Maha sliced smoked ham, duck or pork into pocketed bread the
Firefly
’s talented cook had baked two days earlier, added an oil/vinegar/spices dressing and that, eaten at our posts and washed down with small beer, was supper. As we ate, we stared out at the storm-wracked city and wondered what could have happened. There was damage, more to be seen now that we were closer but not enough for the inhabitants to give up, and leave.

“Cursed, they was,” Pip said.

“What sort of curse?” someone asked in a near-whisper.