The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) (4 page)

With a rattle of bolts the door was thrust
open.

“What, Prince, all in darkness?” demanded
O-grak. “Perhaps that's no disadvantage in such lodgings.”

Kerish turned very slowly. “I have known
worse on my travels.”

“Ah, these travels of yours.” O-grak fixed
his own torch in the sconce and studied the Prince by its light. “I could believe
anything of them when I see how much they've changed the dainty, quick-tempered
Prince I remembered. Have you killed a man yet?”

“I have tried to.”

“In hatred?” asked O-grak, “or in your own
defense?”

“In hate and jealousy. “ The Prince spoke
very calmly and his face was the impassive mask of the Godborn.

“Do you still hate?” demanded O-grak.

Kerish smiled. “No. Not now that I have
cause.”

“I am glad you are still no warrior. It
will make it easier to protect you. My people do not kill those who have no
blood on their hands.”

“The Brigands of Fangmere do not make such
a distinction.”

“The Brigands of Fangmere do not kill, they
sacrifice. They cling to older ways as though piety was their greatest
treasure, and if you'd seen Fangmere you'd know that it is. That makes
releasing you no simple task.”

Kerish sat down on the couch again. “Is one
hostage worth so much trouble?”

“You rate yourself too low, and modesty is
not called a virtue here.” O-grak sat down beside Kerish. “In Zoanaxa, it is
rumored that you left Galkis to seek for some secret way to save the Godborn.
Since your quest is at an end, you may as well tell me what it was.”

“I will not despair until Zeldin tells me
to,” said Kerish.

“If eyes were daggers there would be a hole
in my heart.” O-grak was smiling. “Have you considered that your Zeldin may
have wanted you to fall into my hands? Did you know that your Gentle God was
once the consort of Idaala? He left her for the one whose name we do not speak.
For that, the Men of Fangmere hate the Godborn, the children of Zeldin the
Betrayer . . .”

“That can't be true!”

“No? Well, the Godborn should know. I only
tell you what our Lore-keepers say.” The latch of the door was rattled from the
outside. “Now I must crawl deeper into the temple for your sake and abase
myself before the Chief Priest.” O-grak got up, sniffing the air. “There is a
fullness here where there should be emptiness. Remember one thing. If she
should come, don't look at her.”

“The Goddess?”

“Her living body. If She herself came, you
would not be able to close your eyes on your destruction. Whatever may happen,
don't look.”

“I will remember.”

A jovial blow nearly knocked Kerish from
the couch as O-grak strode out.

*****

Gwerath bullied her attendants into
surrendering enough of the Second Tower's meager water supply for her to wash
herself and her hair. Of all their baggage, only one dress remained, the dress
the Brigands had spared for Gwerath to wear on the slave-block. The necklace
that Kerish had given her was gone with the rest of the jewels but Forollkin's
scarf was still knotted about her throat. Gwerath's two attendants slipped the
Seldian dress over her head, just as the Khan's wife entered.

“May I touch it?”

Gwerath nodded and watched curiously as the
other woman stroked the silver-green silk as if it were a live thing that might
suddenly dart away.

“Surely the wife of a Great Khan has many
dresses as fine?”

“No man may give such treasures to a woman
without angering the Goddess, and the greater the man, the greater her
jealousy.” She spoke like a child repeating a lesson, but suddenly a smile
transformed her pale, pinched features. “Yet I have one treasure and he lets me
wear it.” O-grak's wife rolled back her drab sleeve to display a silver
bracelet set with rubies. “The Prince of Galkis sent it to me. He is not afraid
of the Goddess!”

“Customs are different in Galkis but,”
added Gwerath kindly, “it is very beautiful.”

Indeed it was the only beautiful thing that
Gwerath had seen in the austerity of the Second Tower, the Tower of the Women.

“Your Lord . . . the Prince's brother,”
began the Khan's wife timidly, “does he give you such gifts?”

“He gave me this scarf.”

The other woman touched its glittering
folds. “And are you to marry him?”

“I don't know . . . perhaps when there is
peace. How long have you lived with the Khan?” asked Gwerath hastily.

“Nearly three years. I am not his first
wife.”

“And do you have any children?”

“There are no children now in the Towers of
O-grak. Shall I take you to your Lord?”

“To my friends,” said Gwerath firmly. “Yes,
if you may.”

“I think I may.” She looked miserably
uncertain.

“I'm sure the Khan did not mean to keep us
apart. What is your name?” asked Gwerath.

The Khan's wife seemed startled at the
question, as if her name had long ago fallen into disuse.

“It is Neeris,” she whispered.

They crossed the rope-bridge between the
towers, with Gwerath gripping the swaying ropes and hardly daring to look down
at the scorched rock below. A few serfs were trudging along the road from the
harbor, laden with supplies, but no other people were in sight and the nearby
groups of towers seemed deserted.

“Are there always so few people in Azanac?”
Gwerath shouted against the wind.

Neeris nodded. “The Goddess demands that
there always be one Khan or Prince to honor her in Azanac. Most of them come
for no more than one month in three years. My Lord is different.”

Before Gwerath could ask her why, Neeris
had turned her back and continued along the footbridge.

Once inside the First Tower again, Gwerath
was struck by the noise. The wooden walls and floors of the upper chambers were
so thin that every sound carried.

“How can you bear to live so close to each
other?” she demanded.

“Oh, it is so much better than the
emptiness of the great Halls of Orze,” said Neeris. “Here, you need never feel
alone!”

Gwerath remembered that when she was left
alone with Forollkin and as he came to meet her, whispered, “Where's
Gidjabolgo?”

“Why? Are you disappointed to find only me?”

“No! I thought he could . . . Oh, you're
teasing me.”

Forollkin smiled. “You're easy to tease and
I like to watch you prickle, like a marsh kitten refusing to be stroked.
Gidjabolgo is listening to anyone who will talk, and trying to find out about
the temple where Kerish is held.”

“The Khan will soon free him.”

“We can't be sure of that.”

“If O-grak has said he will do something,
we can be sure of it.”

“The Khan seems to have found an admirer.”
Forollkin sat down on one of the bedrolls that were the small room's only
furnishings. “I shall never understand women.”

“I am not women. I am Gwerath.”

Forollkin stared up at her. “ When we met,
it troubled me that you didn't fit my idea of what women were like, but now...”

“How many women were there before me? I
mean...”

“I know what you mean,” said Forollkin
hastily, “er...customs are different in Galkis and what's past is past...”

“I have never loved anyone but you.”

“And I...”

A curious expression clouded Forollkin's
face and he stopped speaking.

“You were going to say that you had never
loved anyone else either, but it wouldn't be true. I do mind about the Queen,
but I mean to make you forget her.”

Gwerath knelt down to kiss him. Forollkin
kissed her back but they broke apart when a cough from the sentry just outside
reminded them how little privacy they had.

“Do you think we'll be ransomed?” asked
Gwerath.

“If the Khan negotiates with Jerenac, the
Governor of Jenoza, then yes, but if he deals directly with the Emperor . . .
Rimoka would rather have us killed than freed. Even if we are returned to
Galkis, it may only be a brief respite. .The whole Empire is at war.”

“My people are warriors, I am not afraid,”
said Gwerath, but her hands were twisting the silk of her skirt.

“I should be afraid for you,” answered
Forollkin. “Gwerath . . .”

“No! Don't send me away! I don't want to be
safe. I want to be with you, whatever happens.”

Forollkin pulled her towards him and
stroked her silver hair. “I won't send you away. I promise.”

*****

Kerish was determined not to lie down
again. He circled the chamber, tracing the joins between the great boulders
with his fingertips. The workmanship was crude but there was nothing profane
about its ugliness. The temple seemed a natural thing, a hill of shadows; but
was the darkness to hide the forbidden beauty of the Goddess or to imprison it?

Kerish wished he knew more about the Men of
the Five Kingdoms. In Galkis they were simply thought of as the barbarians at
the other end of the sword. He tried to remember everything about his brief
meetings with Khan O-grak.
`My word on it, Prince, for your brothers the
sword, but for you, soft captivity.' 
Where he had once threatened slavery,
the Khan now seemed to hint at freedom, but why? If it was only a fat ransom
that O-grak wanted, he must know that with the Emperor Ka-Litraan and Lord
Izeldon both dead, there was little chance of payment.  It was a bitter
thought. The only one who would be anxious to save him was Queen Kelinda, and
she was his brother's wife, not even blood kin.

`No,' thought Kerish wearily, `the Godborn
are no longer worthy to rule. If there was justice in Zindar, Zeldin would
reject his children: but the people . . .'

He remembered with agony the gentle
resignation of Valorkis. Would the Galkians still trust the Godborn as the Men
of Fangmere dragged them to Idaala's altar? Kerish pictured ruin and murder in
the nine cities and could almost smell the blood. The jangling of the keys at
his waist seemed to mock at him and his head ached.

Kerish strode up and down to clear it, but
the stench of blood had seeped from his thoughts into the air. Perhaps a
sacrifice was taking place in a nearby chamber. Kerish touched each of the
keys; the cold jewels chilling his fingertips. What could be more useless than
a key without a lock?
“Hope without fulfillment is more cruel than despair”
- the first words of
The Book of Warnings
. Was that a warning against
the beauty and splendor that shone through the pages of
The Book of the
Emperors
, or against despair itself? Kerish knew that he had inherited
despair, but however painful, he must choose hope.

In the darkness something rustled and the
hairs crawled on Kerish's neck. He had paced to the furthest end of the chamber
and stood in front of the crack, facing the door. The torch flared brighter in
defiance of the shadows stumbling through the room. This time Kerish shuddered
at the velvet touch of darkness and the rustling sounded closer.

“It's nothing,” said Kerish aloud. “And
Zeldin guard me from all empty fears.”

The torch spluttered and the darkness
sprang. It wrapped itself around Kerish and for a moment he thought he would
suffocate and tried to tear it away. His fingers met nothing and he found he
could breathe again, but the air seemed richer and heavier.

“Do not utter His name here; it has no
power. “ The soft voice spoke close behind him. “Who are you?”

“My name is Kerish-lo-Taan and I was once a
Prince of Galkis.”

“I saw your face in a dream and it was His
face. Look at me, you are mine now.”

“Lady, to me His name has power in all
places. I greet you humbly but I am not yours.”

“But you are the offering they bring me.”
It was the sweetest voice Kerish had ever heard. “The others died so quickly:
but you will live and we will love again as we did in the morning of the world.
Look at me!”

“Lady, it is dark, I couldn't see you.”

“No! This is not darkness. You are as
mistaken as the rest of them. This is true light. It shines from me but men
cannot bear its radiance so they call it darkness. Look and you will
understand.”

A slender hand reached through the crevice
and touched his hair.

“Lady, I must not.”

“The priests dare not look at me. They
crawl blindly and I despise them. You are not like them. Who told you that you
must not look? No one may command you, but the Queen of Love asks you to look
at her.”

The exploring fingers stroked his cheeks. A
sweet perfume enfolded him and his mind filled with crimson flowers.

“Lady, men say that you are too beautiful
for any man to look at you and live.”

“You alone could endure my beauty; others
would die, desiring what is yours.”

The fingers delved through his hair.
Bloodflowers . . . it was the scent of Bloodflowers.            Kerish would
have stumbled away but the sweetness made him giddy.

“Ah, you are faint, turn and rest in my
arms.”

Kerish leaned back against the rock and two
hands moved over his face, tracing the line of his lips, caressing his brow.

“Open your eyes. It will only hurt for a
moment.”

“I can't; I mustn't!”

He was no longer sure why. The fingers slid
down to his throat.

“You shall!” Sharp nails dug into his flesh
and darkness surged around him. “No man may refuse Idaala. Look at my beauty
before I tear out your eyes. You shall not betray me again!”

Kerish tried, one-handed, to break the
terrible strength of her grip, and failed. He twisted and struggled as the
hands crushed his throat. His blood screamed in every vein and his eyes would
surely burst from his head.

“Oghara,” a new voice rang out, distorted
by a sea of pain, “let him go!”

“No, he is mine. His blood belongs to me!”

“It does not. The Chief Priest has released
him to me.”