Samples from books that we have published at Eartherean Books.
This is another in a series from the third book in the 4-book series The Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn: The Iron Gate.
© 2009 by A. Adam Corby
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
Blossoms
EMSHA WAS GLAD for the return of spring. She went out of the gloomy halls of the Palace, and the songs of the women working in the camps and the warmth of Goddess’ light made the old nurse happy in her heart. There were no more rebellions: they were at peace now in those hundreds of gaily-colored tents beneath the young sky. It had all been the Gerso’s doing – even Emsha had to admit it. He had overseen the allotment of the tents of the highborn among those Tarendahardilites who were most needy. He had delved the dusty storerooms to find what was needed to give shelter to all. While the last tents had been in the making, he had found shelter in the Hall of Justice. Now the people had emerged to drink in the blessings of the Lady, and that Hall, properly scrubbed, had been left vacant and silent once again.
Sections of the grounds had been dug and sown with the season’s first crops. Tasks had been meted out among those best able to fulfill them – to work in the fields, to see to the tents, to tend to the ill, and to go down with torches and long staves into the granaries to rid them of rats. Disputes were settled by the Gerso, who seemed to know every man and child of the encampment by name, province, and history. So by his grace routine had fallen on the Citadel of Elna and, save for the occasional rattle that reached them from the battlements, the last subjects of the Empire might scarcely have known they were yet besieged and at war.
Emsha smiled to hear the women’s songs. She too felt like singing, for her Allissál had emerged at last from the shadow. She ate better now, and no longer sat brooding in the chambers of the White Tower, but would venture forth to oversee the works and even sat beside the Gerso when he settled the disputes of the Tarendahardilites.
At the edge of the dark pines, that last remnant of the groves of the Imperial Gardens, Emsha found some wildflowers. The blossoms were yellow with black centers, the leaves marked with purple and covered on the underside with some sticky substance. Strangely, Emsha, who had known all the myriad flowers of the Imperial Gardens, did not know these. Doubtless they had been sown by some birds of passage. Still, they were pretty enough. Her tongue moved softly to an old nurse-song she knew, as she bent and picked some of the flowers for her mistress. She returned to the Palace to find a man sitting on the floor before the doors of the White Tower. It was Kuln-Holn.
‘Please, nurse,’ he said humbly, ‘will you come with me? There is a woman of the slaves about to give birth.’
‘That is a thing to happen any week,’ Emsha answered. ‘There are women of their own rank to see to them. Why then ask this of me? What is this woman?’
‘My wife.’
Emsha nodded. ‘Very well,’ she said.
They went below, into the cavernous smoky halls below the earth, where the lower slaves had their couches. There for several hours, out of Goddess and in dampness that did her bones little good, Emsha aided the birth. It was a birth hard enough, but no worse than many she had seen. The woman was young and rather fair, and held Kuln-Holn’s hands and showed courage, and at the end was delivered of a good-sized boy.
Tenderly Emsha tended to the babe and held it against her boson. She felt for it the deep-surging love she felt for all such. Then she held it for the mother to take.
‘No,’ Salizh whispered. She was pale and damp with sweat, but there was a light of triumph in her eyes. ‘Give him first to my husband.’
Kuln-Holn took the bundle hesitantly. There was awe in his face. He held up the tiny, delicate, mewling creature in his thick, coarse hands, and gazed into the half-closed eyes.
‘Name him, Kuln-Holn.’ Salizh sighed. ‘He is your son.’
‘But it’s Berrin’s child,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘You are my husband. He is our son.’
Kuln-Holn set the little burden upon his wife’s breast. Of a sudden his heart had grown too large for the ribs that girdled it. He wondered how many winters it had been, since his own wife had borne him a son and both had died? Ever since then, Kuln-Holn had been alone. His gaze wandered over the faces of the slaves gathered about them. He saw their happiness, and knew that it was for him. Through the person of his wife, Kuln-Holn was now one of them.
His eyes caught the gleam of metal in the storage-niche: it came from the guardsman’s armor that he had worn when he had wandered back from the burning city into the shelter of this Citadel. He had not dared do battle since: now he knew he could fight again, even against the warriors of his own tribe. His eyes returned to the little thing huddled on Salizh’s naked breast. A son—!
‘Well then,’ he said at last, ‘I will name him Bornin. It means “Flower” in my tongue.’
‘That was well-named,’ Emsha murmured. Again she took up the babe and looked to the mother. Then she rose and left them.
Emsha took another path to the upper stories. She had drawn her mantle over her head, and the many slaves gave way respectfully before the linens of the upper stories.
‘Woman! What is it you do here?’
Emsha stopped. The words had been uttered lowly and with menace. Half concealed by one of the pillars was the half-shaped form of some man.
‘It’s I who should be asking that,’ she answered sharply. ‘If you are here thieving, I will get the guards to give you a good beating.’
‘Be silent, old fool.’
The man stepped forth with a broken gait. Even in that gloom, the shabbiness and dirtiness of his robes was apparent. Something gleamed golden on his chest. Emsha knew him only by that pectoral as Dornan Ural, at one time the High Regent and the most powerful man in the world.
‘My lord, forgive me,’ she said. ‘I knew not who you were.’
‘Tell me than old woman, do you go above? In this light I cannot make you out – my eyes are bad – but your voice is known to me. What season of the year is it now? Is it summer yet?’
‘No, my lord. It is but spring.’
‘And aren’t the tax-rolls ready yet? – But no, they could not be: I haven’t seen them yet. Little is done but I must put my hand to it. – And how is it out there, eh?’
‘Well enough, my lord. They grow grain on the grounds, and the barbar—’
‘Be still! Not a word!’ The round, pale gray skull twisted away, then back. The dingy form of the once-High Regent drew itself up in the gloom. ‘I do not often go above,’ he said after a moment, in the formal tongue of court. ‘This place has all to serve my needs. Still, on occasion I have ascended to the Hall of Justice. I am all that remains of the Council now, you know. But the last time I went, I found the hall filled with folk from the lower quarters! It was a sleep, and they lay about there below the dais like the fallen dead! Fear of plagues took me, and I returned here, where it is safe, and easy to avoid the voices.’
He leaned against the pillar, and drew a hand across his face.
‘My lord,’ Emsha said, ‘the air and gloom of this place breed strange moods and sicknesses. Come up with me. The light of Goddess will do you good, I know, it was the same with majesty.’
He repulsed her with a suddenness that surprised her. ‘I know you now,’ he said, ‘you’re one of them. Did she send you here? – Or has Ampeánor come back, to offer me his noble regrets that he let my city fall?’
‘Come, my lord. I will see you safely to the tents of the wounded. The physicians will tend to you, and see that you are—’
‘—Betrayed again? – or merely laughed at, like some clown? Do the men on the Iron Gate need more amusements? They thought I did not know they mocked me, but I saw through them! Do even slaves now think it safe to taunt me? Begone and bear this saying to your dear majesty, if you dare: that there is one here who waits, who has forgotten no word or deed!’
‘I grieve for you, my lord.’ Emsha sought the upper levels and the light.
The old man watched her go.
Then he turned back to the gloom.
Dornan Ural wandered among the support-pillars of the main halls. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back and his head hunched low, grumbling to the shadows.
He had not expected to be honored while he was in office – had not expected the indolent, drunken, highborn to appreciate his efforts on their behalf. But he had hoped to be granted some small measure of respect after his retirement. Surely some little honor was due to him now. But no, not a word of thanks or praise did he receive, but only scornful jests. He had more in common with the barbarians than these noble charai and charanti. Should he then have looked for the Empress to offer him anything but hate and mockery? They had been enemies for centuries, her kind and his.
‘But I am proud,’ the old man whispered to the support-pillars, ‘proud to have been born of the race of slaves! Good, honest folk who worked hard for all they won. And yet, O Dornan Ural, was your father granted his freedom only so that his son should become a slave?’
The nobles deserved all they had suffered at the barbarian’s hands. But it was not right that Tarendahardil should have suffered for their sins. For that the blame must lie with the Empress and her beloved, Ampeánor of Rukor. He had forsaken them and brought on the destruction of the city. Many times Dornan Ural had foretold it: Ampeánor would return to this place, and face the penalty for his desertion.
Now a sudden keen longing took Dornan Ural as he passed nearby a narrow familiar stair. Dornan Ural ascended to the Hall of Justice.
The huge hall was empty now. Slowly the old man crossed the floor inlaid with tiles depicting the mountain of the Citadel rising above his city. As he did so he felt the sightless eyes of the painted busts of the Emperors of Tarendahardil where they lined the niches.
Dornan Ural stepped upon the empty dais. Before him fell the warm shower of Goddess they called the King’s Light. Weakly Dornan Ural knelt, then sat in the glittering pool, bathing in its warmth.
He gazed down the deep hall. He was reminded of the many meetings of the Council of Regents he had summoned here. From this spot they had decided the fate of the South for almost twenty years. He had been Chief of the High Council, High Regent of Tarendahardil. Ambassadors and princes had offered gifts to win his favor in his official hall, where he had been able to look out upon the beauty of Tarendahardil, that city he had loved…
Dornan Ural held out his hands before him and gazed upon them. He saw himself even as that old nurse must have seen him – a deformed, ugly, coarse, stammering, filthy, twitching parody of a man. Slowly he covered his face from the light. What had become of him? How would he end? Groaning, the old man cast himself down miserably, and wept on the warm stone.
§
AS SPRING WORE into summer, the crops grew green, and the dark aspect of the Citadel was softened and made almost serene. Months had passed since High Town had fallen and the Citadel was besieged; now it seemed the Iron Gate might withstand forever the blows of the barbarians. There were many women who went about the grounds, their bellies full and swollen; the young men of the Tarendahardilites practiced with their new-fashioned weapons under the stern eye of the Charan Ennius Kandi, whom many now had taken to calling Father. The guardsmen did their rounds, and in their off-watches visited the women in the Palace who granted them the honor of their couches; even the nobles seemed not so sullen or bored as theretofore. So for that while at least the people in the fastness were as happy and contented as their state would allow, and had even gone so far as to pass round jests at the expense of the barbarians and Ara-Karn.
But there was one at least who was far from content.
Captain Haspeth’s brows fell darkly across his eyes, which now and again shot fiery glances over the ruins below, as if hoping to descry the next approach of the enemy. He had no watches, the Rukorian: but at all hours he stalked the ways of the battlements, lance on shoulder, helm on head, his great shield like an anchor-stone upon his arm.
Sometimes he scorned even to descend to eat. He passed the other guardsmen with neither word nor gesture to acknowledge their salutes: was as if he knew nothing beyond his own dark thoughts and the city streets leading up to the Iron Gate.
It was Haspeth who was ever at the hardest point of battle during the assaults, fighting desperately, careless of wounds and equaling the fury of even the most fearsome of barbarians.
The others came to shun him at meals and sleeps, and pass him in silence on the battlements. Sometimes the men gaming in the yard between the gates would glance at the sky, and their laughter would die in their throats at the sight of that gloom-ridden sentinel wearing down the black volcanic stones.
‘I tell you sir, I like it little,’ Narrano Delcarn said at last to Berowne. ‘He was ever stern, but of late has grown to brooding. He will not smile nor speak any word to me except of battle. I have heard him laugh but once these four months, and then it was when he tore barehanded the guts of some barbarian through a hole in the poor man’s armor. Only Charan Kandi can speak to him for any length of time, but what they speak of I dare not say. My captain grows blood-darkened, sir. I fear for his health.’
‘And has he no woman to warm him with her thighs?’ Berowne asked.
‘None, sir.’
Berowne shook his head. ‘When a man frowns in springtime, it is life he frowns upon,’ he said. ‘But then, what can one hope for? He is a Rukorian, I after all.’
‘Not all Rukorians are alike, Captain,’ Narrano responded. ‘My captain comes from the mountains near Torvalinal, the seat of my lord Ampeánor’s charanship. That is near to the shore, and not sixty fastces come between the city and the Isles; yet it might as well be six hundred for all that our kinds are alike.’
‘And how is this?’
‘The men of those hills are darker, with deeper eyes. They are the older race, and trace their ancestry to the years when the barbarians ravaged the lands before Elna’s coming, when they say men were ruled by priestess-mothers. They are folk of mountains, and have dealt ever with iron and bronze that are sharp and hard for death. But we men of the Isles came from the seas in the years after Elna, and have mixed with all the peoples of the coasts; we deal with the winds and waves, which sing and laugh to Goddess, and give way each to the other.’
Berowne smiled. ‘So, and now you fear for your captain’s virtue?’
‘Sir, I do not think that it is fitting to joke about such things. I would have asked this of Father Kandi, save that he is not of the guard.’
‘He would not have refused you.’
The Rukorian looked away. ‘I know. But we are already too greatly indebted to him.’
Berowne clapped his great ham of a hand on the curve of the young man’s armor, above the shoulder. ‘Well then, if you ask it, my friend, I will speak with your captain. And perhaps I will have something to say that might cheer even him.’
So Berowne mounted the steps to the battlements, and found his quarry passing beneath the southern lance-tower. Side by side the two marched for a space, the great-bodied Tarendahardilite making his fellow-captain look like some boy in play-armor.
‘And how goes it with you, friend captain?’ Berowne asked after some moments.
‘Eight passes now,’ Haspeth muttered, ‘Not long now, perhaps, before they come at us again.’
‘It goes well with me also,’ Berowne said. ‘Kiva is always fresh this season, with all the sweetness of hill-flowers dancing in the breeze of Goddess’ breath.’
‘We kill them now,’ Haspeth said, ‘three-fourths score to every one of us we lose. It is not good enough, Captain. There are too many of them.’
Berowne sighed. ‘Yet at least, Captain, we may perhaps discourage them?’
‘That idea of Ennius’, to pour down on them the harsh poisons and potions of the Imperial embalmers, was the thought of genius,’ Haspeth said. ‘The barbarians had to drive the mercenaries against the walls, and then the balance was almost two score to one. But the vats ran dry and the barbarians returned. We must plan anew. Even now, if you notice, our supply of stones grows short: and those that we have dropped now are mounding even over the feet of the Iron Gate.’
‘Perhaps if we rained the Palace slops on them?’ Berowne asked mildly.
‘None of your jokes, Berowne. I’ve no mind for them.’
They went on in silence a space. Suddenly Haspeth halted and seized the Tarendahardilite’s broad shoulder. ‘Captain Berowne, what do you think of her majesty’s words of a traitor among us?’
‘Why, what would you have me think? Her majesty told us it had been meant as a test; for the rest, I have never seen sign of any traitor.’
The Rukorian resumed his step, as if he could bear to abide in one spot for no more than a few short moments.
‘I wish there had been a traitor,’ he said shortly. ‘It was my chance to redeem myself. Captain, we fight a doomed battle, wasting our arms against an enemy numberless as the winter rains. Any soldier, any slave, might do as much – yet we are called captains.’ He brought up the huge shield and swept it over the fields of ruins. ‘So it is said, that the great Ghezbal Daan, may Goddess curse him now for a traitor and coward, was once caught in his tower and surrounded by two thousand of Yorkjax’s best warriors. In less than three months, fifteen hundred of the Belknuleans were slain, and the remaining five hundred had joined the service of Ghezbal Daan.’
‘The Raamba was a great captain in his time, there is none who will deny it. But what are we to do?’
The Rukorian struck the stones with the haft of his lance. ‘More.’
‘Then perhaps this will cheer your spirits, Captain,’ Berowne said, coming to a halt. ‘I come now from speaking with her majesty. She wishes to see us both in the White Tower after the third meal.’
‘But why did you not say this straightway? It is two months now since she has so summoned me, though she has seen you often enough. What is her purpose?’
‘I don’t know. But she asked me a great many questions about you, and spoke of great plans.’
Haspeth opened his arms like some huge, metal-winged bird of prey. ‘At last!’ he breathed. ‘O barbarians, mind my words, and do not attack again until I have returned!’
§
IN THE AUDIENCE-CHAMBER all was even as it had been half a year before, when Berowne had first been guided there by the maiden of bewitching eyes and scent. Her majesty sat cross-legged on the reed prayer-mat before the two captains, who knelt on the thick and costly rugs. Once again the great black and yellow gerlin perched upon the jeweled throne.
They were alone.
With all due courtesy the Queen inquired after Haspeth’s health, of the state of the defenses, and of the men’s outlooks on the war. She heard them in silence, with deference and politeness. Then when they had done, she fell into a deep meditation.
The silence gathered weight within the low chamber, broken by nothing but the soft outward whisper of the winds across the window-face, and by Niad as he preened. The two captains sat waiting; Haspeth with his eyes politely cast upon the floor before him, Berowne with the heavy pads that were his hands set like steaks on his knees, regarding her majesty with wonder and curiosity. Then he cast aside his gaze, coloring somewhat: for he’d caught himself wondering most intently what she truly looked like, the naked beauty underneath the robes and mask.
The Queen bestirred herself. She lifted her mask slightly. Then all at once she rose, beautifully, like some cloud lifted by the airs in a narrow defile; and the black robes swept down from her form in long sinuous lines, so that for that one instant Berowne knew he would never forget, she stood above them looking down, more compelling than the finest statue of Goddess that had ever graced that City famed for the beauty of its statuary.
‘Stay, rest as you are,’ she said. She stepped back, and then with a simple grace that took Berowne’s breath, seated herself in the jeweled throne. Absently, with one slender naked hand, she caressed the gerlin.
‘Now, sir captains, to the matter at hand.’ She spoke with the sureness of one long used to the order of men. ‘Captain Haspeth, it will perhaps surprise you, after our long confinement here, to learn that we might have left this place upon any pass we wished.’
Captain Haspeth was surprised, as the look upon his face bore witness.
‘That we have not done so, has been a matter more of policy than the ease with which it might have been done. This was the seat of our House. It was here great Elna chose for the archstone of his strength. The Citadel is all that remains to us of Tarendahardil: and Tarendahardil was the sign and symbol of civilization. Had we fled in ignominy, there surely would have been no man of the unfallen cities who might defend us: no, but all would have sent legates to the enemy to sue for peace and grant him what he will. Thus it was our duty to remain.
‘Now regard, six months and more have passed, and the Iron Gate remains unforced. We have withstood all Ara-Karn might do, and dwell here secure. We have water, we have meat and grains and crops: in brief, all that we need to remain so for some years. This all the world has seen. Doubtless the other cities of the South marvel at what we have done, and have gained hope for themselves. Elna laid siege to Urnostardil for no longer a term, and we have seen how well the barbarians, rude and unlettered, survived that. What they did, so may we do and surpass.
‘So I have wondered, what move were best to employ next. The barbarians are weary of war, and long for their own lands again. Almost are they on the very edge of rebellion against their deadly, damned lord. If then we were to leave, suddenly and of no choice but our own, and the barbarians were faced with a hollow hull, might they not indeed turn back to their own cities? And even if they did not, do but think of how this mocking of them will appear to the unfallen cities. We stayed here and defied the foe to do his uttermost; when weary of the game we left, as easily as the free winds of passage.’
Berowne sat bemused by the scheme. Haspeth too was caught up out of his darkness for a moment by it.
‘Yes,’ the Rukorian breathed, ‘your majesty, whet a general you would have made! Is this to be done, then? Shall we set things in movement for it?’
‘Not yet, my hasty soldier,’ she said gently. ‘It is not so simply done: how might we leave here in our thousands and not draw the notice of the enemy? The secret way is narrow, as Captain Berowne, who has used it, may tell you. Its outlet is in High Town itself, upon the Way of Kings. And then, what if we win away? The barbarians will overrun an emptied Citadel and, in sudden anger at the trick, may be after us as swiftly as their horses can bear them. On the open road we should fall to their swords and axes like summer wheat.
‘Something must be done to cast their minds to some other quarter and engage them for enough time to let us scatter in the winds. And it is there, Captain Haspeth, that I would use you: if you have the strength, the genius, and the courage to bear such harsh usage.’
Haspeth did not answer her. He only drew off the heavy war-glove from his right hand, pulled out the massive long war-knife from his belt and laid it, pointing back at him, on the floor at her feet.
Gravely, the Empress nodded. ‘Yet before I accept what you have offered, Captain, I must warn you of the dangers. For I sit not before you as Goddess, who has but to speak and expect that it be done. I am only a woman with perhaps little understanding of these things – you yourself thought me as much once.’
‘It is cruel of you, your majesty, to speak of that.’
‘Very well,’ she assented. ‘It is agreed, that shall be forgotten. You have redeemed yourself with your months of faithful service here. You need not accept this new danger to gain my pardon: you have it freely already.’
He nodded.
‘Yet if you do choose to accept this task, I will expect of you such works as perhaps not a handful of men in all the world might have the daring, the cunning, the strength or the wisdom to achieve.’
‘I accept it,’ he said.
‘You will die in doing it,’ she said.
‘I accept it.’
‘You must wear rags and lie in mud; you must deal with men you despise, and laugh with them at their vile jests. You must do many things repellent to your own honor. And you will condemn yourself again and again, though in outward seeming you do but relish all you do.’
‘I accept it.’
‘You must become a thing more – or less – than mortal: you must make of yourself a rod of bronze, sleepless, tireless, ever vigilant. There will not be an hour of peace for you, for a pass, for a week of passes, for months. You will always be moving, ordering, overseeing the greatest and most trivial works alike. You will need to hold in your head great lists of men and numbers, and commit none of it to parchment. You will need greater cunning than I have ever seen in any man but one.
‘And then, at the end of all this labor such as would break almost any man, you must be prepared to see it fail – but you must not let it fail: for it will be you, and only you, who will see that it succeeds. You will need to compel it to succeed.
‘And at the end you will win no triumph, no glory, no cheers, no honors for your reward. Not even the thankful word of a sovereign will you have. For you will be dead, Captain: and you will die with the blood and souls of thousands of your own innocent countrymen as your burden. And when you die, you will not even know whether you will have succeeded or failed.’
The Rukorian shuddered visibly at her words. Berowne marveled, both at what her majesty said, and at the play of his fellow-captain’s features. Even more did Berowne marvel when he heard Haspeth’s voice calmly answer yet again and for the fourth time,
‘I accept it.’
The Queen arose and took up the war-knife on her lap. ‘Then this shall I guard among my most treasured jewels,’ she said softly. ‘Captain Berowne, you may leave us now. When the hour is ripe for Captain Haspeth’s departure, you will take him to that place you know of, and see him safely upon the streets of High Town. There you will counsel him on what way you think best for him to pass unnoticed out of the ruins. I would be as sure in my heart as I may, that he has won free from the barbarians. Then you will return to take up your former duties. You will thereafter speak no word of this to any man, any child, or any woman – not even to your own beloved Kiva – not even to me, unless I first speak of it and order you to do likewise. Do you understand?’
‘I do, your majesty,’ Berowne said solemnly. ‘And may I say, your majesty, that even your great ancestor would have praised you in this.’
She inclined her head as Berowne stood heavily to his feet and saluted her. Then he departed.
In the outer hall he bowed gallantly to the saucy-eyed, white-wigged maiden, who abased herself to him prettily. Berowne laughed; by now, he and Bijjame understood each other’s games so well! She laughed with him, and ushered him below.
§
IN THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER behind the still, closed doors, Haspeth remained kneeling upon the rug. His face was calm now, settled. A sort of peace had claimed him. It was the sort of peace the court embalmers fashion upon death-masks.
The Queen leaned back in the throne. The gray-blue eyes were lost in the shadow of the golden mask. ‘You also, my lord,’ she said gently, stroking the great bird’s head. ‘This is a matter for no ears but this man’s and mine. Go, and keep clawed watch upon the windy walls without.’
The gerlin eyed her, then ducked its head as if in understanding. The feathers formed a black arch over the jewels in the throne. Then it straightened, flung wide its wings to bestir the air of the chamber, and swept out the narrow window.
‘Now, Captain Haspeth, it shall be one of the most difficult tasks of your mission that you will need to perform first. When next the barbarians attack the Iron Gate, in the thick of battle when no man thinks but for his own safety, you will make as if your enemy stabs you through. You will fall and lie with the dead so that all, the enemy and your own men alike, believe you slain. Berowne, and only Berowne, will be party to the secret. He will see that you are borne away in such a way that none will know anything but that your corpse has been cast down over the cliff-side with the others. These may seem needless cares, but please believe me, they are of the first importance. If but a single soul within this fastness but Captain Berowne and I know you still live, then is all your mission undone and a failure.
‘For men, you may take two – but they are not to be privy to the secret until you are all out of the city. See that they are hidden away during this battle and led by Berowne directly to the way without knowledge of where they go; afterward Berowne will see that they are counted among the slain. I will speak to him later to explain all of this.
‘Your goal is to be Rukor. There you will visit every folk-gathering, every town, every farm if need be. You will gather all the men you can find who can fight and serve your purposes. You will feed them on false hopes of victory; glory, and wealth; but in your heart you will know you are condemning them to their deaths. Spare no man on this account! The enemy has conquered up to now, because he has the soul of the Darklands of God. All is shadow in him, and this he uses for his greatest strength. We must do likewise, and find the shadow within ourselves.
‘I have observed you, Captain: you alone I find have already embraced the shadowside of your heart. I am at the start of learning mine. Rejoice in it, for dark and deadly deeds are needful if we are to bring about another age of peace and light. Discard then all notions of honor, using them only as they may further your mission. It is this mission that has now become like the Couple Themselves to you. You will kneel and pray at its shrine at every meal, for the length of every sleep. This world itself is half shadow, Captain: so are we mortals made as in its image: become the world, half no longer but whole, light as well as darkness. Nor shrink not from what you find there, for if you hesitate also, all will be undone and thousands will die for nothing.
‘After you rouse the folk-gatherings, you will go even into the islands – even among the pirates you will go. There you will name yourself renegade and mercenary, a drunkard, a thief, a swaggerer, a liar and a whore-monger – whatever is the worst in men, you will adopt as your mask. You will tell all the men of the islands that you have been sent by me, your Queen, but in your heart you mean to betray me. You hatch another scheme in your heart, to ride to my rescue, only to rob me of all the gold and jewels stored here in the citadel. Tell the pirates that with your own eyes you have seen the treasure, and pile it as high as you can!’
‘But your majesty,’ Haspeth said, ‘I understood there was no more gold here?’
‘There is not. We are poor as field-workers now. But the barbarians seem still to believe in the old fables of the treasure-hoards of the Bordakasha, and so it seems likely that the pirates will believe as well. Their own greed will convince them.’
‘The pirates,’ Haspeth said, ‘are a lawless band of murderers.’
‘Indeed, that is their greatest asset to us in our plan. Think you, for centuries these pirates have defied the Emperors and the charanti of Rukor themselves, who have served as the most valiant of our noblemen. Will these same pirates then buckle the knee to barbarians? No, but they will only make a pretense at it when needful, even as they pretended to be our loyal subjects whenever Bordakasha warships ringed their isles.
‘When you have your men, return. Do not disturb yourself as to the passing of time: this is a thing that may take you fully a year to accomplish. We will remain here as before. When you are ready to return wait yet longer, until some time about the middle of autumn. Thus when we depart, there will be but a few weeks suited to travel remaining to the year – so I hope we nay be scattered and have found refuge, while the barbarians will be hindered by the rains and mud.
‘Send me no warning when you return. I wish to hear nothing of you until Berowne spies the barbarians rushing to meet you on the field of battle. That shall be the only message I require or desire. Fall upon them as suddenly as you may, or else they shall make short work of you – forget not Egland Downs! But let the pirates risk their necks more than the good folk of Rukor, for the fewer pirates we must deal with, if this plan succeeds, the better for what comes after.’
He nodded. As the Empress had spoken, Haspeth’s face had resumed its former grimness. Narrano Delcarn had spoken rightly of the character of the men of Torvalinal. They might be anything but mixture. Degrees were beyond their capacities. Haspeth had been a man of the most scrupulous honor; now at a blow he had been unleashed as a soul the equal of a Madpriest’s. And through it all it was the lust for fame and glory that remained. His sovereign had asked this of him: he needed no other warrant. He would dissemble, lie, steal, slay or beg to achieve this that she asked of him. It came upon him in a moment, what he had so long sought unknowingly and blindly, as holy revelation will come to a priestess in the Desert, her mouth blackened by salt and thirst. He had attained a dreadful, fearsome serenity.
Allissál, regarding his features intently, was satisfied that she had chosen well – albeit the final result frightened even her who had brought it to pass. Was this what it was like, then – was that the point she herself would reach in the end?
‘Your majesty,’ Haspeth breathed, and even his voice was now changed, ‘I have been a soldier in an age of peace. I have dreamed of war and fame and glory, and seen poets lauded, fat merchants enriched, and nobles laugh like women. Now a war has come, the great War – and I missed it. I was camped by Bollakarvil when she fell; I did nothing. I watched the armies of the League of Elna spill down like a flood to meet the foe: I remained behind. And now your majesty, I confess that this has become even more than a thing of fame to me. I have looked over the parapets and seen the barbarians with such hate that now I long for nothing more than to defeat them all, crush them and stamp them underfoot to stain the land for a hundred years. I know what your majesty requires. It shall be done. I shall see it done. Upon all my hope of the Blessed Shores, I, a dead man, swear it to you. Haspeth has become but a sword held in your majesty’s hands. So let it be.’
‘That was spoken after my own heart.’ She arose from the throne and held out to him a small jeweled casket. ‘Herein you will find jewels and my ring. The jewels will purchase whatever you may need, and mayhap give the better credence to your lies about our treasury. The ring will show you are my legate. Also there are two scrolls here, written and signed by my own hand. You are no longer a mere captain of the guard. Now you are Captain to the Queen, a man whose word shall be obeyed as if it issued from my own lips. Also I have made of you Charan of Vapio, Charan of the Eglands, Charan of Fulmine, and Under-Charan of Rukor. So all the vanished Empire is one within your person, and so may men flock to you as to some being of the skies. You know your own people better than I – you know what these powers grant you. Use them well – by which I mean, use them with criminal ruthlessness.’
‘Your majesty, that I will.’ He took the casket.
‘Captain, my High Lord, it may be that the barbarians will attack again on the next pass. Then I will never again see you. This may be as our final meeting. What I have asked of you is more than I have asked of any other man. I tremble even to think of it. And yet we are strangers, for I feel as though I know even Berowne better than I know you. That should not be so, but it is. If you accomplish what I have asked of you, then will I see that your name shall be sung for a thousand generations. But is there anything else you might wish of me? I will grant you anything. My powers are small for now, yet Goddess willing, and by your aid, I may yet return to some preeminence among men. Is there anyone dear to your heart, perhaps, you would wish exalted? Do you have kin you wish to carry on some of the powers I have granted you now?’
‘I have only a son in Torvalinal, your majesty. He is now twelve summers old.’
‘I will ennoble him.’
‘No, your majesty. My son will not survive me. He will be my first recruit, and he will die by my side.’
‘You frighten me, my lord. It shall be as you wish – yet there is one gift I will give you unasked, for it is in my heart to grant it you, and in my mind that it may be helpful to you in all the trials you must face hereafter.’
And so saying, the Empress of Tarendahardil did off the golden mask, and at the sight of her face the Rukorian paled and gasped. Then taking his head between her hands, she kissed him full on the mouth, deeply, in the way of a woman who sees her lover off to death.
