The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) (11 page)

No challenge came. Forollkin reached the
water's edge and held the boat steady as Kerish lifted part of the awning that
covered it. Gwerath leapt deftly up, pushing aside unseen obstacles to crawl
inside the boat. With subdued gruntings and complaints Gidjabolgo followed her;
then Kerish. Lastly, Forollkin heaved himself up and dropped down between the
benches of silent figures, just as a closer horn call sounded the alarm.

The four travelers crouched in the narrow
aisle between the benches. At first there was complete darkness, barbed with
small, disturbing sounds. Forollkin groped his way past twisted wooden feet, to
the side of the boat not overlooked by sentries, and folded back part of the
awning. The moon was rising now and its ominous light seeped in, showing just
enough of the shapes huddled on the benches to make the travelers wish for
darkness again.

To Kerish's right, the bench was occupied
by one huge figure, still hooded in shadow. On his left two images were closely
entwined. One had his arm about the other's shoulders, as if they were tenderly
embracing, but the long wooden fingers tore at his companion's heart. Kerish
looked up at the faces, and recognized one from the night of the feast.

“They've changed!” he whispered.

“I wouldn't know,” answered Forollkin
hoarsely. “I took care not to look at the things too closely.”

“They're only wood.” Gwerath's voice came
from the dimness behind the Galkians. “Someone must keep carving them.”

“It would be pleasant to think that the
slaves deceive their masters into believing they have souls,” said Gidjabolgo.

“I expect they just pretend not to know
what happens,” answered Gwerath scornfully, “like children of the Sheyasa
pretend to be frightened of the Irollga dance, before the gifts are given out.”

Horns sounded again, this time much closer,
and Forollkin pulled the awning back into place. The travelers crouched in
tense silence, straining to catch a recognizable word in the confused uproar
spreading towards them.

Soon there came the muffled tread of boots
on the sand, shouted questions and the negative answers of the sentries. During
the ensuing conference, each of the travelers became aware of their cramped
positions and longed to move a stiff arm, or an awkwardly folded leg.

“What's going on?” whispered Gwerath,
unable to bear it any longer.

Forollkin moved slowly towards the other
side of the boat, squeezing past a figure that seemed to be covered in spines.
There was just room for him to kneel upright and lift the awning a little.

“They're searching the dunes.” He narrowed
his eyes against the light of a dozen torches, carried by running men. “And I
think some of the boats are about to be launched . . . Zeldin, I hope you're
right about this boat, Kerish. There are two men coming straight for us.”

Forollkin dropped the awning and Kerish
heard the rasp of a dagger being drawn. He clutched awkwardly at his own stolen
weapon. There was a sound of armed men running, gasping breath, the clank of
weapons on mail and then a splash as they entered the water. They were past,
and running northwards along the edge of the beach before Kerish could think
out a prayer.

Forollkin peered out again, to see the
first of the longboats being launched. More and more men were appearing with
torches and the beach was now bright as noon.

“We would have had no chance swimming,”
said Forollkin grimly, as half a dozen archers clambered into the next boat.

“Do we have any chance now?” asked
Gidjabolgo, “or must we sit here until this boat has four more souls?”

“We wait till the search turns inland,”
whispered Kerish. “However long that takes.”

His eyes were becoming accustomed to the
dim light and he was almost sure that he knew one of the mute figures.

“Well, while there's all this noise to
cover us,” said Forollkin, “let's see what we can do in the way of oars.”

One-handed, Kerish could be of very little
use, so he changed places with Gwerath, bumping into Gidjabolgo, who swore in a
venomous whisper. Forollkin knelt between the two spears that he had laid out
along the aisle. Kerish handed over his stolen shield and retrieved the sash
that had been wrapped around their store of food. Forollkin used Kerish's sash
and his own to bind the shafts of the two spears to the leather grips on the
backs of the shields. With the poor light and restricted space, it was a slow
task and Gwerath was soon demanding to take over.

“Well, if you think you can do it any
better,” said Forollkin irritably, as the two changed places.

“They are not going to be tight enough,”
Gwerath announced almost at once.

Grumbling bitterly, Gidjabolgo stripped off
his leather belt and she knotted it around the shaft, to fix it firmly to the
shield.

“I need something to secure the other one.”

There was no response, and after a moment,
Gwerath took Forollkin's gift from around her neck and knotted the scarf
mercilessly tight about the iron and leather. Forollkin felt for her hand and
drew it to his lips.

All but one of the longboats were now
launched. Forollkin considered their situation. Even if they could slip away
from the shore, once the river search was over, their makeshift oars might not
get them out as far as the fierce current that would sweep them towards Viroc.
If they were pursued, a boat full of oarsmen would soon be within bow-shot, and
they would be a sitting target.

Aloud all he said was, “We could do with
more oars.”

“We've got daggers,” answered Gidjabolgo. “Let's
hack up some of these statues.”

“No!” exclaimed Kerish, rather too loudly. “To
do that when it might not be necessary would be wrong.”

“Why?” demanded Gwerath.

“To damage his soul is the worst thing you
can do to a Man of the Five Kingdoms,” answered Kerish. “They have treated us honorably
. . .”

“They've condemned us to death!” protested
Gwerath. “How can it be wrong to try anything against them?”

“I'm afraid that Gwerath is right,”
whispered Forollkin, “but I'll try to do as little damage as possible.”

He knelt beside the nearest soul figure.
His dagger had a cutting edge but it was not easy to get it into the right
position in so cramped a space and he was afraid of making too much noise.
Cautiously, he brought the blade down to make a cut in the thinnest part of an
arm. Almost at once, he dropped the weapon with a gasp.

“Forollkin, are you all right?”

Kerish wished that he could see his
brother's face.

“Didn't you hear . . . I'm all right,” said
Forollkin shakily, “but we'll leave the figures for the moment and make do with
the spears.”

“But why?” began Gwerath.

“Can't you just accept what I say for once?”

Another horn sounded, offering Forollkin an
excuse to crawl to the side of the boat again and crouch there, giving a
whispered commentary, without having to look at the others.

It was two hours before the first boat
returned and the men came ashore to be met by a warrior Forollkin thought he
recognized as one of O-grak's own captains. After a brief conference, all but
one of the crew marched back into the camp, carrying their oars.

The same thing happened when the second and
third boats came back. Then the beach became very quiet again and moonlight
replaced torchlight. Finally, the last of the four boats moored along that
stretch of Vaish came ashore. There was a long pause while the men milled about
on the beach and two of the leaders seemed to be arguing. Then the fourth crew
also left the beach. This time a single sentry remained to pace beside the four
boats.

Forollkin watched his route, noting exactly
how long it took the man to cross the area he was guarding, and where he
turned.

“I'll swim along behind the boats and try
to take him by surprise,” whispered Forollkin. “Watch me, Gwerath. If I bungle
it, you'll have to help. Kerish, give her your dagger.”

He raised the awning on the north side of
the boat and prepared to slip as quietly as possibly into the water. Gwerath
clasped Kerish's dagger and took up her position on the other side, also
lifting the awning a fraction.

“Stop! There's someone coming.”

Kerish grabbed at his brother's feet to
haul him back and Forollkin thudded down beside him. The sentry called out a
challenge and was answered.

“It's the Khan!” whispered Gwerath, letting
the awning drop.

Each of the travelers froze: Forollkin as
he had tumbled; Kerish kneeling beside him; Gidjabolgo with a crust of bread
halfway to this lips. Every breath, every heartbeat seemed far too loud as the
heavy tread drew closer.

The boat rocked suddenly as a hand was laid
against its bows. Stifling the nervous cough that tickled his throat, Kerish
listened to the slap of the waves, trying to judge where the Khan was. He
failed, and when the voice sounded only two feet away, his body jerked with
shock.

“Where are you? In the center? At the
heart? The furthest edge would be more fitting, but doubtless you deceive other
souls, just as I hide you from other men.” The Khan stood waist deep in the
sea, resting both hands against the Boat of Souls. “Shageesa is dying and my
household wails of omens. We don't believe that, do we? She is only a snake,
another dumb creature for me to speak to and receive no answer; like you, my
soul. But my questions change you, and what will the legacy of this night be?
The hand I held out is broken by the very touch that it desired. Will you show
that, soul twig, soul lump? Idaala, how the Galkians must mock at us . . . but
not the Prince. Do you remember what I told you about him?”

Beside him in the darkness, Forollkin could
feel his brother trembling. The sound of his companions' breathing seemed so
loud that Forollkin couldn't understand why the Khan didn't hear it. Surely
four people couldn't make so much noise, and the rustling and creaking . .
.Forollkin suddenly remembered the first terror of his childhood. He had been
playing at Seek with some other children and had chosen to hide in a hole at
the base of the wall of the Emperor's garden. It was much deeper than he had
expected and very dark.

After a few moments he had heard movements
and a voice, horribly close, had whispered to him in a language he didn't
understand. He had fled to his nurses, and cried so hysterically that a search
had been made of the outer gardens. Nothing was found, but for a long time
afterwards he had refused to go to sleep without a lamp burning beside his bed.
Forollkin wouldn't acknowledge why he was reminded of the story now. He gripped
Gwerath's hand, to reassure her, and hardly listened to the Khan's low, unhappy
voice.

“I was right to respect the Prince. He
plays my own game all too well.
Forgive me, Khan
,” mimicked O-grak, “
I
will try to make amends
- he warned me and I didn't listen. I would give my
honor to get him back, yet I could almost wish him freedom. No, we both know
that escape is impossible and I will have to kill him now to pacify my men. All
his pretty deceptions will have been wasted. They didn't simply intend to swim
the river, whatever Neeris may believe. Deception . . . perhaps that's unjust.
She is content with what he gave her and so must I be. I wanted the unexpected,
now she has provided it. Soul . . . would she scream and cower if she saw you?
A wise man would never try to show her.” O-grak's voice had sunk to a faint
growl: “And what manner of soul did she see when she looked in the Prince's
eyes?”

“Lord Khan . . . “ A second voice cut
timidly into O-grak's mutterings. “All the search parties are ready. They are
waiting for your command.”

“Can't you set one foot in front of the
other without waiting for my leave?” bellowed O-grak. The boat rocked wildly as
he waded towards the beach. “Tell them to go, all except the party that's to
search the southern coast; they can wait for me to join them.”

Kerish knew that the Khan was standing at
the edge of the beach, staring at the Boat of Souls. The Prince reached up to
touch the figure squatting on the bench beside him. O-grak extended his right
hand and looked at it for a moment, before striding back towards the camp.

Forollkin waited several minutes before
lifting the awning again. Gwerath took up her post and the pale light showed
Gidjabolgo munching his crust and Kerish clasping the wooden fingers of a
withered hand.

As the sentry moved away from them,
Forollkin slipped quietly over the side. Gwerath watched anxiously as he
emerged into open water. A wind had risen and the water was choppy. Surely the
waves were breaking loudly enough to cover the sound of a single swimmer?
Forollkin reached the shelter of the first longboat and rested for a moment
against its bows.

The remainder of his swim was hidden from
Gwerath and she watched the sentry instead. He limped slightly and his
shoulders were bowed, like an old man's. Was that why he had been chosen to
stay behind? Gwerath wrenched her thoughts away from the man and tried to see
the sentry simply as a gate that had to be opened, a gateway to Galkis, and a
life, however troubled, in Forollkin's company.

Gwerath gasped as her beloved sprang like a
nightmare on to the sentry's back. There was a moment's struggle but before she
had got further than swinging astride the boat, Forollkin had tipped back the
man's head and neatly cut his throat. Gwerath did not wait to see him bundle
the body into the nearest boat.           

“Gidjabolgo, help me with the moorings.”
She slipped over the side into the shallow water. Less gracefully, the Forgite
followed. Dark and dripping, Forollkin strode back along the beach to help
Gwerath unfasten the last stubborn knot and push out the boat. When the water
was waist high, Kerish did what he could to help Gidjabolgo and Gwerath climb
back into the boat.