The Dragon in the Sword (23 page)

At dawn I woke to see that near the horizon of the lake the clouds had parted and great red-gold waves of sunlight were pouring through, staining the water where they struck. Elsewhere this explosion of light stood in heavy contrast to the black and grey of the surrounding mountains and waters, giving them an added dramatic value. I half-expected to hear music, to see the people of the river valley come rushing out into the morning, cheering in that magnificent dawn. But the only sound from the settlement below us was the occasional clank of domestic pots, the yap of an animal, a thin voice.

I could still not see where the city itself was. I supposed these people to be cave-dwellers who camouflaged the entrances to their houses. This was a common enough custom in all the realms of the multiverse I had visited. Yet I was somehow surprised that the traders who risked the journey through the Pillars of Paradise to barter with neighbouring realms did not live in what I would think of as more civilised buildings.

Alisaard smiled when I voiced this puzzle. She took me by the arm and looked into my face. She was more youthful than Ermizhad and her eyes were a subtly different colour, as was her hair, but again it was almost painful to be so close to her. “All the mysteries will be solved in Adelstane,” she promised. Then she linked her arm in von Bek’s and, like a schoolgirl on a picnic, led us down the grassy hill towards the settlement. I paused for a moment before following. For a moment I had lost any notion of where I was or, indeed, who I was. I thought I smelled cigar smoke. I thought I heard a double-decker bus in the nearby street. I forced myself to stare at the blossoming dawn, the huge tumbling clouds on the far side of the lake. At last my head cleared, I remembered the name of Flamadin. I remembered Sharadim. A tiny shock went through my body. And then, for my present purposes, I was whole again.

I caught up with my friends when they were almost at the bottom of the hill, passing through a gate in a low wall and looking back as if they realised for the first time that I was not with them.

We walked together down a winding track to where the water was shallow, forming a ford. I could see now that this weir had been artificially built to do away with the need for a bridge which could be easily seen from above. I wondered at this strange precaution even as we waded through the cold, clear water and eventually stood on the other bank, staring up at a series of mighty openings in the cliff face, each one of which had been cunningly fortified and then disguised as natural rock. Now I was beginning to realise that these people were not bereft of architectural and building skills.

Alisaard had replaced her visor. Now she cupped her hands and called up. “Friendly visitors here to throw themselves upon the mercy of Adelstane and her lords!”

There was a sudden silence. Even the tiny sounds of cooking could no longer be heard.

“We bring news in the common interest,” called Alisaard. “We have no weapons and we are neither loyal to nor serve any of your enemies.”

This had begun to sound like a formal declaration; a matter of necessary courtesy, I supposed, if we were to be granted an audience with the troglodytes.

All at once the silence was broken by a distinct thud. Then another. Then a louder sound, as if metal struck metal. Then the long booming note of a gong came rolling from the higher entrances of the cave system.

Alisaard lowered her arms as if in satisfaction.

We paused. Von Bek made to speak but she motioned him to hold his tongue.

The note of the gong died away. Next came a kind of breathy roaring as if a giant failed to find a note on a monstrous trumpet. Then part of the nearest cave entrance seemed to fall inwards, revealing a dark, jagged opening; it might have been a natural fissure in the rock.

Alisaard led us forward and, with an easy movement of her body, slid herself through the opening. Von Bek and I followed, with rather less grace and some complaint.

And then we were turning and looking in awe at what was next revealed to us.

It was perhaps the most graceful city of spires and slender architecture I had ever seen in all my wanderings. It was white, glistening as if the moon shone upon it. It was stark against the surrounding semi-darkness of the vast cave. Above we heard the breathy noise again, then the booming, and we realised that the sounds had been created through natural acoustics in the cave which had to be more than three miles in circumference and whose roof was lost from sight. It was so delicate, that city, with its traceries of marble and quartz and glittering granite, that it seemed a breeze would waft it away. It had the fragility of a wonderful illusion. I felt that if I blinked it might not be there when I looked again. I had been right to be suspicious of apparent primitivism, but I had been wrong to think for a moment that the river traders were barbarians.

“It’s like a city made of lace,” said von Bek almost in a whisper. “A thousand times more beautiful even than Dresden!”

“Come,” said Alisaard, beginning to walk down the large, polished steps which led to a road which in turn led to Adelstane. “We must now proceed without a hint of hesitation. The lords of this city are over-quick to detect spies or scouts from an enemy.”

Behind us little fires were burning in the rocks. I saw white faces peering from the shadows of crude shelters. These people shuffled and scuffled and muttered to themselves before gradually returning to their interrupted tasks. I found it very difficult to associate such obvious savages with the people who dwelled in and had built the city.

I asked Alisaard who the people of the walls were and she apologised for not telling me more. “They’re Mabden, of course. They are afraid of the city. Afraid of almost everything. And being permitted no weapons with which they can attack what they fear, they are reduced to what you see. It seems the Mabden can only kill or run away. Their brains are of no use to them.”

Von Bek was skeptical. “They look to me like the useless economic units of some over-rigid political system, driven out here so that they will not be a burden on the others.”

Alisaard frowned. “I cannot follow you.”

Von Bek was smiling, almost to himself. “You have great experience of magic and scientific marvels, Lady Alisaard, but it appears there are very few economically complex civilizations in the whole of the multiverse!”

She appeared to understand him. Her brow cleared. “Ah, of course! Yes, your assumption is more or less accurate. This is not the right sector for those societies.”

I looked with private pleasure on von Bek’s face as he realised that not only had he been guilty of intellectual arrogance, he had been put in his place by someone who was undoubtedly his mental superior.

Von Bek looked at me and saw that I had recognised his response. “It’s odd how easily we slip into the assumptions and follies of our own cultures when we are faced with the alien and the inexplicable. If ever I come through this and am successful in my ambition; if Germany is ever free of war and insane terror, I have it in mind to write a book or two on the subject of mankind’s reactions to the novel and the unlikely.”

I clapped him on the back. “You are avoiding one trap and falling into another, my friend. Never fear, when the moment comes you’ll decide against those treatises and get on with the business of living. It’s example and effort which improve our lot, not any number of learned volumes.”

He took what I said in good part. “You are truly a simple soldier at heart, I think.”

“There are probably few simpler than me,” I told him. “Few more ordinary. It baffles me why I should have become what I am.”

“Perhaps only a fundamentally sane creature could accept the amount of experience and information you have accumulated,” said von Bek. His voice was almost sympathetic. Then he cleared his throat. “However, there’s a danger in too much sentimentality as well as too much intellectuality, eh?”

We had arrived at the glowing, circular gate of the city. A ring of fire, it seemed to me, burned steadily and without heat. It shone so brightly that we were half blinded, unable to see beyond the gateway into Adelstane herself.

Alisaard did not pause but walked directly up to the mighty circle and stepped through it at the point where it touched the rocky surface. We could do nothing else but follow her example. Closing my eyes I stepped into the fire and immediately found myself on the other side, unscathed. Von Bek was next. He found the whole thing, he said, remarkable.

Alisaard said: “The fire burns cold only for friendly visitors. The Lords of Adelstane have extended to us their most trusting welcome. We can feel flattered.”

Now we saw about five figures ahead of us on the white road which still reflected the firelight behind us. The figures were dressed in billowing robes, heavy weaves of sober colours, lighter silks and lace to rival the exquisite complexity of the city’s architecture. Each figure held a staff on which a small, stiffened linen banner stood. Each banner was a finely detailed picture in its own right. The pictures were extremely stylised and I could not immediately recognise the subjects. My attention was quickly drawn away from the banners, however, by the faces of the waiting five. They were not human. They were not even the eldritch faces of Alisaard’s people. I had not realised that Barganheem was the realm dominated by those strange beasts, the Ursine Princes. These people resembled bears, though it was plain there were many differences, particularly about the hands and legs. They stood upright with no difficulty whatsoever. Their black eyes were like rainwashed ebony, yet they did not threaten.

“Be welcome in Adelstane,” they said in chorus.

Their voices were deep, vibrant and somehow to me they were also comforting. I wondered at those who had made themselves this people’s enemies. I felt that I could trust any one of them to do exactly what they claimed. I stepped forward, extending my arms in greeting.

The bearfolk moved back a step, their nostrils quivering. They attempted to recover themselves and it was plain they thought they had been discourteous to us.

“It is our smell,” said Alisaard softly in my ear. “They find it revolting.”

7

I
HAD EXPECTED
to find myself and my friends in some vast receiving room, an auditorium where guests could state their business and be seen by all the Ursine Princes and their retinues. Such ceremony would have been suitable for the city.

Instead we were led by the five dignified creatures through streets of exceptional cleanliness, filled with buildings of astonishing beauty, until we came to a small domed hall which, in its simplicity, reminded me somewhat of an old Baptist church. Within we found warmth, comfortable chairs, a library—all the accumulated treasures which, say, a university don might come by in a lifetime of quiet appreciation of the world.

“This is where we live much of the time,” said one of the bearlike people. “We have domestic quarters, of course. We conduct our business from this place. I hope you will forgive the informality. Will you have wine? Or another drink?”

“We appreciate your hospitality,” I said awkwardly. I was going to add that we were rather anxious to see the great princes as soon as they could spare time to see us when Alisaard, doubtless anticipating me, interrupted.

“We all appreciate it, my lords. And we are honoured to find ourselves in the company of those who are called the Ursine Princes throughout the Six Realms.

I was surprised, even while I was grateful to her. It seemed completely wrong to my expectations that such a wonderfully decorative city should not indulge the most elaborate of ceremonies. And I had thought we were to be inspected by a whole host of noble bears. Now I could only presume that these were the only ones. Certainly the only ones we should meet.

The large room was heavily perfumed. From the fireplace in the centre of the left-hand wall great gusts of incense billowed. I realised that our odour must be inconceivably disgusting to them for them to go to such pains.

“Ah, that,” said one of the Princes, seating himself and his complicated arrangement of clothing in a great armchair, and pointing at the fire with his pole, “that is our custom. I trust you will forgive our fads. We are all somewhat old and set in our ways. I am Groaffer Rolm, Prince of the North River, successor to the Autuvian family which, sadly, ceased to produce issue.” He rubbed at his snout and sighed. The closer I came to them, the more I realised they only superficially resembled bears. It seemed to me this species had existed long before the advent of the bear. “And this is Snothelifard Plare, Prince of the Big South River and the Little East, hereditary head of the Winter Caravan.” A wave of silk and lace at the creature beside him. “Over there is Whiclar Hald-Halg, Prince of the Great Lake Spill, last bearer of the Flint. Glanat Khlin, Prince of the Deep Canals, Bat Speaker. And lastly, my wife Faladerj Oro, Prince of the Shouting Rapids and Regent of the Western Seasonals.” Groaffer Rolm made a small, polite grunting noise. “I am, I’m afraid, the last male Prince left.”