The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) (7 page)

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 the 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.”

“Now don't scowl so, Forollkin,” said
O-grak, “or you'll tempt her to go back on her royal word. You won't lack for
company with your silver-tongued brother, your charming Forgite, and an angry
snake to talk to.”

Ignoring the interested stares of O-grak
and his men, Forollkin kissed Gwerath briefly on the lips before he allowed her
to be escorted to the second ship.

“Now,” said the Khan, “for your homecoming.”

*****

The ships of Oraz hugged the coast of Az
for three days but on the fourth they sailed out round the island of Gant, for the
straits were impassable. The fire giant was angry and strove to reach his rival
more fiercely than ever. O-grak told his prisoners that such an eruption was
thought to signify that the Goddess had left the temple and was walking unseen
through her lands.

“And is that a good omen?” Forollkin had
asked.

“With a goddess, who can tell until after
the event?” Smiling, O-grak had gone on to talk of the mysteries of women, with
no encouragement from anyone but Gidjabolgo.

As the Khan had foretold, Shageesa did
disturb the prisoners but it was only the worst of many noises. They were
separated from the main part of the hold merely by the thickness of a hide
curtain and the guards were always close, so they had no real privacy. For the
first time Forollkin began to feel the grimness of their captivity. Kerish
seemed to need no reminder. He spent hours by Shageesa's cage, watching the
serpent fling herself against the bars, desperately trying to find a weak
place. It was some time before Forollkin realized that Kerish was not
mesmerized by the snake but simply aware that the noise would cover a whispered
conversation, even when their guards were only paces behind.

At the first opportunity, he asked why
Kerish had wanted Gwerath to stay with O-grak's wife. Shageesa thrashed against
the door of the cage and Forollkin flinched, but the bars held.

“I want them to be friends,” murmured
Kerish. “The Khan's wife could be a valuable ally.”

Forollkin snorted. “She's too meek to hiss
at a butterfly. What use could she possibly be?”

Kerish's eyes remained fixed on the furious
snake. “Also, she needs help and comfort.”

“And there was I,” exclaimed Forollkin, “foolishly
thinking that it was us who needed help!”

Kerish smiled wearily. “Perhaps we're
beyond it. Helping Neeris may do us no good, but at least it shows we still
have some freedom of choice.”

*****

A high wind that night caused the three
ships to anchor in a cove on the eastern coast of Gant. Since they would be
there until morning, O-grak gave permission for the Galkians to be escorted to
the second ship to fetch Gwerath.

The Princess of the Sheyasa was seated
opposite Neeris, playing a board game which she had quickly mastered and was
now winning for the third time in succession. The Khan's wife dropped all pretense
of concentration and urged Gwerath to tell her more about Seld. The Princess
moved a piece shaped like an axe towards the bridge built by her opponent
across the neighboring square, and was describing the absolute power of the
Queen of Seld, when she was interrupted by familiar voices.

The curtains that divided Neeris's quarters
from the rest of the hold were drawn back, and as the messenger from the Khan
entered, Gwerath glimpsed Forollkin and Kerish standing just outside. The
messenger was speaking in Orazian but before he had finished Gwerath was on her
feet.

“If my cousins have come to fetch me, I'm
ready to go . . . that is, if you'll let me, Neeris.”

The Khan's wife murmured something that
Gwerath took for acquiescence. In a moment she was through the curtain.
Forollkin smiled and opened his arms. Kerish looked away and noticed Neeris
shyly holding back the curtain to watch the reunion. Her face was in shadow but
the crimson bracelet glittered on her thin wrist.

Kerish made a courtly bow. “Lady, thank you
for looking after our cousin.”

Neeris nodded mutely and would have let the
curtain fall between them but Kerish said hastily, “Gwerath could never be
entirely unhappy on a ship. She has grown to love the sea. In my travels I have
come to like it less and less. It even disturbs my dreams now . . . you look as
if you understand.”

“I hate the sea,” whispered Neeris.

Kerish stepped a little closer. “Were you
born inland?”

“Yes, in the mountains, the Mountains of
Zarn.”

She was leaning forward now, light attacking
the defensive lines of her taut face.

“Do you still miss the mountains?”

She nodded and he smiled encouragingly. “What
is it that you miss about them? The splendor of silence? The snows that can't
be marred? The astonishment of spring?”

“Oh, all of that. The towers of Azanac
remind me a little of my father's valley in winter, when the world is shut out
by storms, but inside everything is safe and warm and spring is coming.”

“But on Az you are not certain of the
spring?”

“Spring never comes there,” whispered
Neeris.

“Then perhaps you should walk to the next
valley to find it,” answered Kerish. “The high route may not be as impassable
as you think. I should like you to see the mountains above Galkis in spring . .
. but of course, if Viroc falls and the Khan marches north to burn the Golden
city, you will.”

“There is always war,” said Neeris dully.

“Not in every land or in every age. Still,
you have reminded me that even if the city falls, the mountains I love will
remain. There is comfort in that.”

He bowed again and was astonished by the
intensity of the pleasure mirrored in her sudden smile. Then Forollkin was
offering his formal thanks. Neeris murmured something and let the curtain drop.

As they were rowed back to O-grak's ship,
Gwerath talked scornfully of the dull life of Neeris and her women and their
ignorance of the world, until Kerish asked, “Why does she make you so
uncomfortable?”

Gwerath frowned and then answered readily
enough, “I suppose because she is so like me. Like me as I was in Erandachu.
However could you have borne me?”

“We didn't.” Forollkin smiled
affectionately. “You were thoroughly exasperating.”

`I loved you even then,' said Kerish but
not aloud.

The next morning Gwerath declared herself
unable to endure the stuffy hold and she and Forollkin went up on deck,
escorted by two guards. Gidjabolgo spat at the mention of fresh air and curled
up again amongst the cushions. Through slitted eyes he watched the Prince
kneeling by Shageesa's cage. Kerish was still dressed in the green Galkian
tunic with the heavy collar gleaming at his throat. He did not appear to notice
his guards retiring to a discreet distance as O-grak approached and he jumped
as the Khan sat down beside him.

“In Oraz, women say that if you look at a
snake too long it will change hearts with you.”

“And do they say whether it has happened to
you?”

“To the noble and generous Khan of Orze?
No.” O-grak thrust his blunt fingers through the bars to caress the angry
snake. “I am as renowned for the lavishness of my bounty as for my courage. The
poor and the oppressed flock to my halls.”

“And with such a reputation comes power?”

“It does indeed.”

Kerish sat back on his heels and studied
the Khan, lingering over the black mane kept long in defiance of custom, the
careless splendor of his jeweled weapons, the strength of his ugly hands, the
large, disquieting eyes . . .

“I see now,” began Kerish, “that in Galkis
you behaved to match our false ideas of what a barbarian chieftain would be
like.”

“True enough. The thought seems to upset
you.”

“No.” Kerish's good hand had strayed to the
uncomfortable collar at his neck. “But I was thinking that only condemned men
are spoken to with such frankness.”

O-grak withdrew his hand from the cage and
gave the Prince his full attention.

“Only your own stubbornness, or if you
like, your scruples, could condemn you. If you are to be Emperor, we will need
to know each other very well.”

“It seems unlikely that the rulers of the
Five Kingdoms will agree to your plans for me.”

“They will listen to the conqueror of Viroc,”
said O-grak calmly. “Do you think I have worked all my life to build this
precious unity in vain? My nephew will do as I suggest and Oraz will pour out
its share of the plunder until the other Princes are convinced.”

“Cil-Rahgen did not appear to take to your
plans very eagerly.”

“He snaps at what he is too stupid to
swallow,” growled the Khan, “but he has gone to fetch an army from Chiraz.”

“O-grak, there is one flaw in all your
reasoning. You don't understand how small grievances can swell to fill a whole
man and turn him against you. You take no offence at what I say. No doubt you
would think it a waste of effort, but other men would be angry. Khan, I think
you will fail because men are too small to fit the world you want to make for them.”

If O-grak was shaken by the intensity of
Kerish's words he showed it only in the seriousness of his reply. “What you say
might be true in other lands. Here, our constant wars have prevented even the
small in spirit from ignoring the long shadows. Death has always stood too
close, and that has shaped my people in ways the Galkians cannot understand.”

“But you want to take them out of the
shadows?”

“I mean to make my people the balance
between darkness and light. Prince, will you help me?”