The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) (9 page)

“But you are lost . . . and Forollkin died
with you.”

“We are both safe,” said Kerish, unable to
bear the bewilderment in Jerenac's gaunt face. Suddenly the Lord Commander of
Galkis seemed old and sick and helpless.

“Look, Forollkin is with me.”

Forollkin shook back his hood and stared in
horrified pity at the man who had once seemed to offer him so much.

Then Jerenac recovered himself. “Khan, the
Prince is not a warrior bound by your code. Ransom him as you would a woman or
a child.”

“There are worse weapons than the sword,”
said O-grak. “No ransom would be enough for such a prisoner.”

Kerish stepped forward. “Rise, my captains.
Jerenac, the Khan is right. You have been betrayed by the Godborn, but of all
his sons, I alone had our father's blessing and the High Priest gave the fate
of Galkis into my hands. Lord Commander, will you serve me?”

In slow agony, Jerenac forced himself to
his knees. Forollkin started forward to help him and felt the prick of a dagger
in the small of his back. Kerish stood unmoved.

“I am bound to serve the Godborn,” said
Jerenac wearily. “No doubt the Gentle God sends you as my final punishment.”

“You never loved me, Jerenac, but obey me
now.” Kerish looked round at the ruined village, the drawn faces of the
Galkians, the figure of Zeldin on the scorched tapestry. “My sole command is
this. Fight! Surrender only to death, and let the white-walled city burn before
a single stone falls into the hands of our enemies. Die in battle or by your
own sword, but never surrender!”

Jerenac's eyes blazed with a fanatical joy.
“My Prince, I shall obey. Khan, I thank you for giving me such a Lord!”

“By the Breasts of Idaala.” O-grak dropped
the Flower of Peace and dragged Kerish back as Jerenac tried to kiss the hem of
his cloak. “You shall die in battle, Commander, and Viroc with you. On that day
the people of Galkis will beg for peace. We shall see then, Prince, if you will
stand by your proud words. Be sure that I shall make you look into the face of
every innocent your orders have butchered. I promise, you shall not die until
Galkis is a wasteland and Death herself is crowned in the Golden City.”

*****

The Khan did not speak to his prisoners on
the journey back to the camp and they were sent straight to their tent. Gwerath
greeted them anxiously and it was Forollkin who answered her questions. When he
described Kerish's final command to Jerenac, she cried out, “Oh, magnificent!”
But Gidjabolgo muttered, “Well, you have signed our death warrant with a fine
flourish!”

“What does that matter?” Forollkin flung an
arm about his brother's thin shoulders. “You were right to do it, and I'm proud
of you.”

Kerish stared at Forollkin's excited face
with a puzzled frown and broke away. He knelt in the darkest corner of the tent
to pray. Full of embarrassed concern, Forollkin looked away and began talking
to Gwerath, but Gidjabolgo's pale eyes were fixed on the Prince's bowed head.
When he finally looked up, even Kerish couldn't read the Forgite's expression.

That evening, when Forollkin's exhilaration
had faded, and the long tedious hours had given them all time to realize
exactly what Kerish's defiance might mean, O-grak sent for the Prince.

The Khan was alone in his tent, except for
the great serpent, coiled at his feet. Glancing round, Kerish had a brief
impression of simple furnishings carved in dark wood, contrasting with foreign
treasures brought back from raids or journeys. There was a tapestry woven with
sea-birds; a lamp of translucent alabaster carved like a shell, and a damaged
statuette of the Gentle God that must once have stood in some Jenozan temple.

As the guards withdrew, Shageesa surged
towards Kerish and coiled about him lovingly.

“She has been told of your words, as she is
told everything. Shageesa dotes on courage,” said the Khan, “and by our Lady of
Blood, so do I. Prince, I do not often lose my temper, you should be honored,
but words spoken in anger must still be kept. Do you understand that?”

The Prince disentangled himself from
Shageesa's embrace and walked towards the Khan.

“Your word will stand, and so will mine;
however much sorrow, it brings on our heads.”

“Sit and drink with me then,” said O-grak, “before
I offer you life and power for the third time.”

The Khan poured out a stream of red wine
into a single horn cup and Kerish drew up a stool.

“Viroc will fall to me,” began O-grak.

“It seems likely,” answered Kerish calmly.

Shageesa's head was on his knee and his
fingers explored the texture of her cool, glittering skin.

“Will you watch it burn unmoved?”

“No.” Kerish was leaning over the snake and
the Khan could not see his expression. “You will see a Prince of the Godborn
curse his own words.”

“Then why did you speak them?”

“Because my quest has failed,” said Kerish
slowly.

“And has Galkis no hope but you?” O-grak
took a gulp of wine. “Even I cannot match such pride!”

“Galkis has no hope but the Promised
Saviour, because what you want to take from us is our country's soul. To burn
the Golden City and scorch the last drop of Godborn blood from Zindar would be
small things beside robbing us of our Foremother. What does it matter now if I
speak her name? Imarko suffered and died for us, to prove that men should not
fear death. We must cling to her truth. It is the best we have. In your peace
we should live like ghosts who have forgotten who they are.”

“Brave words again, Prince.” O-grak handed
him the horn cup. “But have you the right to speak them for anyone but
yourself?”

“I don't know. You won't need to show me
those who die because of me. Their sufferings torture me already; but I will
keep to my words.”

O-grak watched the Prince drink and said, “I
will mourn you, Prince, but you are too dangerous to live.”

Kerish smiled wearily. “Spare your grief. I
shall be more than ready.”

“It will be quick, I promise you.” O-grak
stared at the Prince's throat. “I could snap that neck with a single hand. But
it must wait until the Golden City falls. I have sworn it. I will send you back
to Orze with the next supply convoy and imprison you there till Viroc has
fallen and we are ready to march north.”

Kerish handed back the cup. “What will you
do now when the throne falls? Let your allies fight over Galkis?”

“Perhaps Jerenac was right, I should plot
with Zyrindella and put your mad cousin on the throne. Your people will not
follow him as they would have followed you, but it might persuade my allies to
hold the Empire together. The mad are sacred to Idaala and my own followers
might accept him . . . Ah Prince, when I have killed you, I shall miss having
someone to speak my true thoughts to.”

Kerish stared at the statuette of Zeldin
whose broken hands reached towards the light of the lamp.

“Did you speak to your daughter in the same
way, before she was taken?”

“To her, and to her mother while she lived.”

“And can't you speak to Neeris now?”

There was an angry pause before O-grak answered.
“Prince, I would not endure such questions from anyone else. No, I cannot talk
to Neeris. Her mind is nothing like my daughter's, however much the face
resembles hers.”

“All the better.”  Kerish looked at the
Khan again. “What is the use of talking to someone who thinks like you? To
disagree with the great Khan of Orze may not always be a sign of stupidity.”

O-grak smiled reluctantly. “You may be
right but I cannot loosen her tongue for good or ill.”

“Little wonder,”  said Kerish, “when you
give her no hint that you would value her words.”

“Hah, how are you so wise in the ways of
women?” demanded O-grak. “It's your brother who seems to know how to woo.”

“Khan,” Kerish's face was shadowed again as
he bent over Shageesa, “as I am to die, may I ask three favors of you?”

“You would ask for your companions' lives?”
O-grak scowled. “I cannot spare your brother, he would make too stout an enemy.
He shall have a warrior's death, quick and clean. The girl may go free, unless
she chooses to die with you. I will release the Forgite whenever you choose.
What more?”

“When I am dead, “ said Kerish quietly, “you
will find six keys on a golden chain around my waist. Will you send them to the
King of Ellerinonn?”

“The Men of the Five Kingdoms have no
dealing with sorcerers . . . but don't look so stricken, I'll get them to him
if I can.”

“Thank you, Khan. There is one last thing,”
began Kerish carefully. “My third wish is that if your wife should ever ask to
see me, you will allow it.”

“By the Hair of the Goddess, that's a
strange request to make of any husband!”

“I think you know that you may trust her to
my honor,” said Kerish stiffly.

O-grak nodded. “True enough, and the wishes
of the condemned should not be questioned . Granted then . . .
if
she
asks.”

He looked into the Prince's calm eyes. “I
would drink to you, Kerish, but the words for such a toast are hard to find.”

The Prince smiled at him. “Drink to where
our thoughts meet.”

“To that,” answered O-grak. “And to a brave
conflict.”

*****

“I will die with you,” said Gwerath.

“No!” protested Forollkin, for the third
time. “Gidjabolgo can take you to a safe place, Ellerinonn perhaps or Gannoth,
and . . .”

“Do servants get no choice?” asked
Gidjabolgo acidly. “Is the swift road only for the nobly born?”

“I'm sorry,” said Kerish gently. “I should
have made it clear; the choice is entirely yours.”

“You're not obliged to help us,” continued
Forollkin, “but I have saved your life before now and if that means anything to
you, I charge you to help Gwerath to safety.”

“I might forgive even that,” said
Gidjabolgo sweetly, “but I don't think the lady wants my help . . .”

It was the day after the parley and the
four of them sat in a tight circle, as far as possible from the open tent-flap.
The furnishings of their prison - the carpet of scuffed fur, the wooden stand
that held a water jug with a handle shaped like a beast devouring a man, the
stained platters and thin bedrolls - were deadeningly familiar now, but their
own faces seemed more and more mysterious. Forollkin had spent dreary hours
wondering what the others were feeling. He even  found it difficult to remember
what he had felt about anything before the end of their hopes.

Once more, Forollkin tried to persuade
Gwerath to leave them. He wasn't sure what he wanted her answer to be.

“I know I promised not to send you away,”
he said carefully, “but I shall die with an easier heart if you are safe.”

“Safe! If I wanted to be safe I would have
stayed in Erandachu!”

Gwerath was wearing her boy's clothes again
and her silver hair was hopelessly tangled. She looked very much like the
impulsive young Torga that they remembered from Erandachu, except for the scarf
glittering at her throat and the angry misery in her grey eyes.

“Don't you understand that, Forollkin?
Without you I have nothing. I have no home and no skill or wisdom that would
make me welcome in a foreign land. I should be an unwanted stranger all my
life.”

“The King of Ellerinonn would be kind to
you or. . .”

“For your sake, not mine, and I can't bear
such kindness. Please understand. I have done nothing; I have nothing; except
my love for you.”

She hid her face but the ugly sobs that
racked her body robbed her of even that frail privacy.

Kerish, who wanted more than anything to
hold and comfort her, got up very fast, and walked to the other side of the
tent. After a moment Gidjabolgo followed him. Something had to be said to cover
Forollkin's voice giving Gwerath her freedom to die.

“And is the wise Prince of the Godborn
really helpless before the barbarians?”

Kerish smiled coldly. “O-grak believes that
I am resigned to death and will not try to escape.”

“He still sets guards.”

“Only two: one stationed outside the flap,
one marching round.”

Gidjabolgo scowled. “There are a dozen
others within call.”

“But after dusk, not within sight.”

“And can the fabled power of the Godborn
not smite two guards?”

Kerish shook his head dreamily. “I was
never taught to wield the powers of the Godborn, but at least I understand them
now. The gift of Zeldin was simply that we should understand men. From that
gift flow many different kinds of power. When I know a person I can touch their
mind more closely than they realize and even make my wishes theirs, though
Zeldin knows, that is an abuse of his gift.”

“And since you do not know our guards, I
repeat my question,” said Gidjabolgo. “Are you helpless?”

“Not quite,” murmured Kerish, still not
looking towards Gwerath and his brother. “There is Neeris.”

“She may eye you like a hungry Dik bird,
but she has no claws to snatch you up.”

“She has wings,” answered Kerish, “although
they're folded.”

Gidjabolgo snorted. “However much she may favor
you, even the Khan's wife can't get us off this island. You can't swim any more
than I can, and every boat must be guarded . . .”

“Not every boat,” said Kerish. “I noticed
on the way back from the parley. Every boat except one.”

“Why should . . . Oh!” Gidjabolgo's eyes
widened in admiration:.” Oh, wicked Prince . . . O-grak will be well punished
for the arrogance of thinking that he understands you.”

Forollkin held Gwerath in his arms and
stroked her hair until she stopped sobbing.

“In Galkis,” he said quietly, “we believe that
those who love each other will meet again beyond the Gate of Death.”

“My people thought the same,” whispered
Gwerath. “I believed it too, when I believed in the Mountain Goddess. Now, I
don't know, but being with you till the end of life is enough.”