Samples from books that we have published under the Eartherean Press imprint.
This is another in a series from the second book in the 4-book series The Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn: The Divine Queen.
© 1982 by A. Adam Corby
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License. The license is included as an appendix to this work.
A Far-Off Note of Anvils
THERE WAS TO BE a staging of the Ilazrius by the satirist Metrobal at the Chiral Theater, the largest and finest in the city; and as it was rumored the Divine Queen herself might attend, most of the court also appeared. The play featured Alcibarin in the title role, and presented, beneath a transparent veil of the story of Ilazrius the Swift’s first journey to the city of Vapio, a bitterly mordant assault upon the morals and characters of most of those present. It was immensely well received.
Between plays the highborn presented themselves before her majesty, among them the Chara of Corthio.
‘No, there is still no word from Mersaline of Elnavis, Ilal,’ Allissál answered her. ‘Be sure, you will hear of him as soon as we.’
‘Surely not earlier than Dornan Ural?’ the lady asked mischievously.
‘Not if he continues to pursue you about the city like some graying, fat huntdog on the blood,’ rejoined the Queen, laughing.
‘I confess, he is making affairs rather difficult for me,’ Ilal said with a show of pretty ruefulness. ‘Though not, of course, so difficult as things have been for the Chara Ruma and a certain gentleman dancer from the Thieves’ Quarter. You have perhaps already heard?’
‘Have you mind for nothing but such dancings, Ilal?’ Allissál asked shortly.
‘Why, is there anything else?’
‘Philosophy – art – power – history – glory.’
The Chara of Corthio laughed. ‘Shadows of dreams, all! Those two orbs in heaven are the origin of all our coming to light. Goddess and God are my paired master elements, and all that passes between them my philosophy. All else is mere contingency.’
Having presented the prizes, Allissál returned to the Citadel, where she met with her agents in secret, in a chamber whose walls and ceiling were painted with happy pastoral scenes of handsome young shepherds and beguiling dairymaids. It matched well her mood, for she too had enjoyed the Ilazrius; besides which, early that waking a letter had arrived from Ampeánor, explaining his delay and his hopes for Tezmon.
Attending this meeting to offer her the news of their latest journeys on her son’s behalf were Tersimio, Bistro, Fentan Efling, Kornoth and one or two others. Last to arrive was Qhelvin of Sorne, in deep purple and pale gold of the latest fashion, all smiles and good cheer. He settled himself upon a cushioned sill and began to stroke a silver-clasped aliset, singing to their great delight: for progress in all the lands had been excellent, and the League of Elna now all but given fact. Only the fear with which the little nations regarded Tarendahardil’s ambitions now delayed it. And that would surely be dispelled by the commitments of Pelthar, once known as Aruna when part of the Empire, and now leader of those onetime provinces. And thither the new agent from Gerso had recently been sent, to gather King Orolo’s signature upon all the articles of the concords with Tarendahardil.
Allissál grew merry to hear their words of cheer, and Qhelvin’s witty songs; and much laughter and many jests were passed back and forth. She gave the contents of Ampeánor's letter, at which they all expressed confidence that all should be prepared for the prince well in advance of his taking of the Ivory Scepter. It was into the midst of these happy notes that a slave came to abase herself and announce the appearance of the Gerso.
‘Word from Pelthar so soon? He must have sprouted wings.’ The Queen smiled eagerly. ‘Hurry then and let him in.’ The maid fell again to the floor and backed from the presence.
‘He was quick about it at least,’ said Fentan Efling.
‘Well, but,’ shrugged the Ancha, ‘it was only the task of a messenger after all. Orolo had already been convinced, by me and others; needed but be shown the documents guaranteeing Bordakasha declaration of Pelthar’s independence to give his signature.’
‘Yet my lord, even you must admit it argues good horsemanship,’ said Qhelvin mockingly, stroking the strings of his aliset. The doors opened, and the Gerso entered.
All heads were turned to him, but those of Tersimio, Bistro, and Fentan Efling had lost their smiles. Kornoth looked upon the newcomer with a touch of faintly disdainful curiosity. Only Qhelvin of Sorne seemed glad to see him. To each of them the Gerso inclined his head, with an ironical smile upon his cruel lips; then approached the Queen.
‘Well, Charan Kandi,’ she said, raising him, ‘you were swift on this first mission in our son’s behalf. What news from Pelthar?’
‘Exceedingly good, your majesty. His Majesty Orolo is prepared to sign all documents.’
‘That was the state of the thing before you left,’ she said. ‘Do you mean that Orolo has yet to sign them?’
‘Regrettably yes, your majesty.’
‘Damn your regrets!’ swore Bistro. ‘I was last to see this little monarch, and then he was all eagerness to give seal! Why, his country is impoverished since the wars – they all depend upon a supply of bandarskins to put into cloaks and rugs.’
‘His majesty remains eager,’ replied the Gerso coolly. ‘Yet his people still recall the rule of Tarendahardil and the high tribute they were forced to pay with some bitterness, it would seem. They fear nothing more than the shadow of this Black Citadel.’
‘We instructed you in this when you left us,’ Allissál said, perplexed. ‘It was no different when Bistro or Tersimio went to meet with Orolo. You did not say anything that might give him pause, did you, Charan?’
‘All I did was pay homage to the beauty, subtlety and ambition of your majesty. He seemed to have had the notion your majesty was no more than some vain pleasure-adoring Vapionil lady, which might have given him doubts on your majesty’s abilities to oversee so vast and deep an enterprise.’
‘Well, what did you tell him?’ asked Tersimio.
‘Why, my lord, I merely spoke of the craft of kings as I understand it: how it is always best for a monarch to seem less able than he is, and his ambitions be underestimated, so that he may always deliver to his people more than they expected while at the same time never raising hopes that he will do things that later turn out to be beyond his power, or interest, to accomplish: and how this mask of idleness will serve to delude his enemies. Well, we spoke of several things, I cannot recall them all. I was generous in my promises to his majesty – indeed, I rather exceeded my instructions in my eagerness to sway him.’
‘Such as?’ asked Fentan Efling.
‘Why, only that Pelthari troops would ever be in the place of honor, fore- and center-most, in all the battles of the League; and that if too many Pelthari fell to glory, the Empress would be only too glad to provide Imperial lancers to protect the peace and borders of her honored friend. I also assured him that the Empire has never considered the tribute levied from Aruna in the past to have been vital, though I understand it was considerable: and that the Empire would never consider anything more than to ask a small loan from them.’
‘What was this of a loan?’ she asked. ‘Did we not explain that the bankruptcy of Pelthar was the prime reason for her desire to join the League?’
‘Of course; but I know these merchants, your majesty. I was raised in a city of them, after all: not a one but pleads poverty with vaults piled high with gold. Pelthar has monies enough, and Orolo was a poor fool if he thought to deceive us – which he did not. He understands payment will be demanded, and would grow suspicious if I misrepresented the case to him. In truth, I fail to understand your concern. Orolo is as eager as ever to sign the concordat; it is rather his people who worry. So soon as others have openly joined the League, Pelthar will also.’
‘It was in the very role of first we so counted upon Orolo,’ she mused. ‘He is the leader of these smaller kingdoms.’
Qhelvin, who had been frowning in thought, now asked, ‘Ennius, did you bring up these matters, or did the king? And were there any foreigners in attendance at Orolo’s court?’
‘There were half a dozen Belknuleans who seemed high in his confidence, that I recall.’
‘Yorkjax again,’ Fentan Efling said sourly.
Qhelvin nodded. ‘That was as I thought. Your majesty, I have heard that Yorkjax has some idea of our plans, and works against us. No doubt these agents of his had poisoned Orolo’s mind against us long before Ennius reached Pelthar.’
‘Is it so?’ she wondered. ‘Then more and more it appears that a solution in Belknule is the key we seek to unlock success. In the meanwhile, we shall declare Pelthari independence now, without Orolo’s seal, and send him a train of gifts: perhaps that will restore some of his confidence in us. Bistro, you seemed to have the better side of our little king: you shall head up the train of gifts.’
‘I shall be delighted to, your majesty,’ the Eliorite said, bowing. ‘And, while there, I will see what can be done to put Belknulean bugs from the blankets.’
Qhelvin of Sorne, now with a smile playing about his lips, struck up a tune upon his aliset:
A kingdom so pretty,
A nation so witty:
Here’s where Orolo holds sway!
Yet ask him to rule her,
Be warlike – be crueler—
He’ll answer: ‘I know not the way!’
This brought them all to laughter; and the Gerso said softly, ‘You are merry this pass, my lord.’
‘And why should I not be, my friend?’ Qhelvin smiled. ‘I have had great progress with the disaffected nobles of Belknule. And these others have all had equal good fortune. Be not discouraged in this minor setback of your first mission, or think it lessens you in any of our esteem. Such things have happened, more than once, to us all. Shrug it from your mind: Pelthar was never so vital to our plans.’
‘Not a third the importance of Belknule, of course.’ The Gerso smiled. ‘Who are these nameless rebel nobles you go so often to meet, my lord?’
‘That I cannot say, my friend, not even to you: for it is not my secret but theirs – and their lives hang on it.’
‘Yet, my lord, if something should happen to you (which Goddess forfend!), there would go all of your work to ruin.’
Qhelvin shrugged and laughed. ‘The High Charan of Rukor and her majesty know the names of the leaders, and where I meet them; and those in Belknule know I am but the tool of her majesty’s desires. Another, perhaps an abler, would succeed me, and the work would go on.’ He began softly to sing another song of his, at which all their hearts were lifted. When it was done, the maiden entered again and abased herself before the Queen.
‘Your majesty, a man below requests audience, from the city of Mersaline.’
‘It seems no news may come but at dambreaking,’ she responded. ‘Admit him, and let us see what ill news this fellow bears us.’
The newcomer was a young man of middle height but good proportions, light eyes and a simple, honest manner. He approached her majesty with some nervousness, evidently awed by the splendor and size of this famous Palace. Rather awkwardly, he abased himself.
‘Good sir, you need not fall to your belly so before us,’ she said winningly, raising him. ‘Have you brought us word from our son?’
He nodded. ‘Your majesty,’ he said stiffly, as if reciting words from memory. ‘When news is looked-for, there is no speed swift enough for its telling. Yet when the news is not so hopeful there is a difficulty in deciding at what a rate to unravel it.’
‘Your discretion is appreciated, sir,’ she said with a humorous glance at the others. ‘Yet consider for how long we have been awaiting this word. Proceed then with all swiftness, fearing no consequence of your words.’
‘Your majesty,’ he blurted, as if it broke from him, ‘your son – the prince – he’s dead.’
§
FOR SOME MOMENTS, there was a silence in that chamber. The Queen rose gracefully and stepped behind the divan, to where the sunlight poured through the open balcony. In her hands she held a small scroll of parchment tightly rolled, which was Ampeánor’s letter. Her back was to them, the sunlight gleaming in tight metallic arches from the bound-up hair and shoulders and golden clasps. The Mersalinal stood uncomfortably before the empty divan, putting his weight from one leg to the other. For a space the nobles stood about the chamber silently, all their eyes upon her. Qhelvin had put aside the aliset, and the Gerso stood off alone, staring at her back most intently.
Finally, slowly, she turned. Her face was a shadow in the brilliance of her sunlit hair and shoulder. ‘My lords, if you would leave us,’ she said quietly, ‘we would hear the remainder of this man’s words alone.’
When they had all gone, and only the two of them remained, the Queen came forward, and carefully arranged herself upon the divan once more. ‘Would you like wine, sir?’ she asked with a gesture as if she would wait upon him herself. The young fightingman, brave soul though he was, shook his head with a frightened look in his eyes. ‘Continue then with your tale, if you please.’
‘Your majesty, he was the breath of life to us. He arrived in the last passes of the siege, his troops beating a path through the startled barbarians. How we cheered him as he rode into the city! We were all certain the means of our deliverance had come at last. Straightaway my lord greeted his highness and met him in council. By secondhand I got the tale of it: how desperate and dismal were the charanti of our city, and how his highness renewed all their proud spirits. Not for him was waiting like an animal penned for slaughter: he would ride and gain death or victory, but glory either way. He urged an immediate massed assault upon the barbarians in the plains below the city, fields well suited for horsemen. When he’d broken through their lines, he had seen that the barbarians had only light armor and little knowledge of tactics. The Carftainians argued against it, but his highness laughed at their fears. Nor were their number so great, a large body having gone off to attack Tezmon.’
‘Tezmon? What know you of that city’s fate?’
‘Alas, your majesty, nothing. In the panic of the flight we dared not go that way, but took ship downriver in Torjulla. Yet how could little Tezmon stand with Mersaline in the dust? Of sailors, pilots and weavers they are a skillful enough race, but for warfare no better than Vapionil. Doubtless already they are defeated.’
The Queen nodded briefly. No grief sat upon her features now; but what had replaced it was even more terrible to the eyes of the young soldier. ‘Continue,’ she said in tones of iron.
‘My lord Zarendal was reborn at his highness’s words of great hope,’ he said uncertainly. ‘We assembled ranks. We of the city held the right wing, upon the left the exiles, mercenaries and outland recruits. His highness held joint generalship with my lord, and claimed for his Hunters the honor of the center. We called them that for the way they spoke of lancing the barbarians as if they had been mere beasts of the wood.’
He looked out through the balcony, his eyes unfocused in the infinite shimmering haze beyond. ‘The barbarians were assembling downfield of us in their typical ragtag fashion. We heard their screamed insults floating on the winds, and answered with a battle-hymn that they say Elna sang as he chased them through the Pass at Gerso. For a space we skirmished, each trying to gain the Goddess-end of the field. At this the barbarians proved adept. No doubt even rude tribal warfare has its points of tactics.
‘It came to a moment when Goddess was hanging in the dust-clouds upon our left hand, and neither side clear advantage. I remember, I had been prepared for long skirmishing, having been taught many’s the battle won in the first charge. Yet his highness was impatient with such flirtations. His great stallion was pawing at the earth, eager for blood and death; no less eager his rider. I looked to Goddess to mouth a prayer. Then – and I know not whether it was horse or rider, but doubt not he could control him – his highness was riding forward, and his Hunters at his tail, and all the wings suddenly surging forth irresistibly, yet the lines so well held that it seemed rather that the earth was passing us by underfoot. One advantage we had, for we charged down a slight slope.
‘I see him still, lance waving, stallion straining against harness as if to outrace its own rider. He was two lengths ahead of his standards, moving like the shadow of a wind-whipped storm cloud, dark beneath the hazy brilliance of Goddess above. Something caught in my throat at the sight of such splendor. The hoofbeats were as thunder in our ears. The standards of the Bordakasha rippled stiff in the winds. Almost I could hear the paean of victory rising in his highness’s throat, when the arrows came.
‘We knew how deadly those arrows could be: had we not cursed them most profanely, taking down the corpses of those foolhardy enough to show themselves above the walls? Yet we knew not they could be aimed with such sureness from horseback. They raked our lines with death: death, sudden and horrid beyond dreaming. Many rattled harmlessly off our armor, at which we laughed; many more found their marks, at which we fell screaming to our deaths. And one of the first to fall was his highness.’
He paused a moment, his eyes returning to the amber shadows of the painted chamber; but the Queen before him did not move or speak. He went on, tears starting to well from his light eyes.
‘I saw the shaft, swift as the shadow of a hawk, dart into the neck of his highness’s fierce dark steed. It gave a mad whinny, and down they went in a heap, and over their bodies rode the Hunters, helpless to restrain their charge or avoid the spot. The standards fell, and were likewise ridden into the dirt. Our lines grew uneven, our pace slowed; dead men tripped the legs of the living; and still the arrows came like rain. One of every ten of us was dead before we even came to grips with the enemy. Our center was eaten away, our wings tentative; the barbarians drove into us screaming, and tore us all asunder.
‘There was bloody battle then, but I expect your majesty does not care about those details. The battle did not go on for long. We were butchered by the thousand, and at last fled bleeding into the city. Mersaline was taken in the next hour, and we fled again. Not a single one of the Hunters returned to the city alive. I expect they all died with him rather than surrender the corpse: a fitting tribute of loyalty to so great a youth. When we came to Torjulla we thought first of your majesty, and came hither. Below are collected all your son’s belongings we could find. The rest are in the hands of Ara-Karn. As I left the city I could see the shadowy figures of the barbarians, already roaming the blood-soaked fields, picking clean the bodies of the dead.’
