The Far Kingdoms, page 51
“Not before we found out their intent,” I said.
“I wonder,” Janos said. “I wonder. Let us consider something else, as long as we are talking about Orissa. We — you and I — won a victory not long ago against the Evocators and their strangle hold on Orissa. They represented the long dead past, and they used that past to diminish today’s life and tomorrow’s dreams. Do you think all of those hidebound fools vanished with Cassini? I know they will try to impose their choking tradition again, most likely within a short time after we return to Orissa and inform them the old ways are doomed. And what of Lycanth? I know those people. I know their Archons. They are talking even now of rebuilding their damned monstrous wall. How long before they begin increasing the size of their army? And once that is accomplished they will cast covetous eyes on Orissa.”
“What of it?” I wanted to know. “We defeated them once, we can do it again.”
“I am not sure of that,” Janos said. “I have not seen men in Orissa recently with the mettle people like your father and his generation showed. No, Amalric, we need Raveline. I beg your pardon, let me be more exact. We need what he represents. We need the knowledge that this city and these lands hold. I sneered at those dusty archives and their librarians, but there is more knowledge on one cobwebbed shelf than in the entire Citadel of the Evocators. With this knowledge, with these powers, we can bring about a Golden Age; a Golden Age such as Man passed through before, and then was found unworthy to live in. In a few years we shall have all the wisdom these lands possess, and then we can step beyond them. We are a young people, and they are old, tired and set in their ways. I see Vacaan, Irayas and Raveline as a false dawn, a harbinger of a new, fresh age, an age beyond gold.”
“Well said,” I replied. “But this is not the time for a battle oration. Consider reality. Do you really think Orissa could rise up against the rule of the Far Kingdoms? I look about me at all these happy contented faces, like so many pure-bred bulls who do not realize their sole purpose is to breed more cattle and eventually grace their master’s table. Do you think these people of Vacaan will ever revolt? And if they do, what would their chances be? Do you want to see Orissans, the people you’ve taken as your own, become like these cudchewing cattle?”
“Would they be worse off?” Janos asked. “Do not answer hastily. Think of that slum we walked through when we returned to Orissa. Cheapside. Have you seen anything near its poverty since we’ve been in these lands? And Cheapside is far from the worst ghetto in Orissa. I shall not even mention Lycanth’s seething tenements. I believe that if you offered most Orissans a choice between the golden chains of this land, and what they now live with... they would loudly be shouting for the blacksmith, his hammer and shackles.”
I held my angry retort, poured wine, and forced myself to sip. Then I became even angrier. “I remember, years ago, in the desert, when we freed Deoce and tried to free the other slaves the nomads had taken... and how furious you were at those who chose to return to their chains. So now you think it acceptable wisdom to seek out the slaver? Hold, sir. I have another statement. You said `most Orissans would chose to be ruled by the Far Kingdoms if they were richly rewarded.’ What of the others — those you think to be a minority? What of men like Ecco, Gamelan, or even Maeen and the other soldiers here in Irayas? They’ll think it a capital jest when we tell them what their pains have produced. And what of the women? What of that little chambermaid, Spoto? What of my sister, Rali? And Otara, her lover? Or the other Maranon Guards? Do you think they will cheerfully invite tyranny? What will Raveline do with them?”
“All kings have laws to support their rule,” Janos said, a bit weakly. “Is Vacaan’s law, where those who rebel simply vanish, more evil than the Kissing of the Stones? Or even the Archons’ Calling?”
“As to the first,” I said, “yes. No one is executed in Orissa without an open trial. As to Lycanth, I cannot answer. Especially since I have not spoken to anyone who has been disappeared, and know not what agonies were connected with their going.”
“Perhaps,” Janos said slowly, “we should summon such a spirit and ask him. Although I warn you the dead speak in awful tongues.” Then he made a slight shift in course: “Say you are right in your doom-crying. What plan do you have?”
I took several deep breaths, again to calm myself. “I have but the beginnings of one, and welcome your additions — or even an alternate proposal,” I said. “I would suggest both of us temporize with Raveline. Make vague promises such as any merchant does when a shipment is overdue. It was my impression that King Domas has already decided to allow some trade to commence. Now, since you say Raveline is a creature of momentary enthusiasms, perhaps we should use that agreement as a way for us to return to Orissa. Once in our homeland, I think it absolutely imperative we immediately put my plan of a few days ago into action. You, Janos, must take the entire Evocators’ Guild in hand, and begin preparation. But not for an immediate war, nor for war at all. I am thinking aloud as I speak, admittedly, but I cannot see how Raveline could mount an attack, either magickal or physical, against us, when his people have no interest beyond their own noses. Further, I agree that these Vacaanese are terribly hidebound. I think we should trade with them, and learn everything we can. I think you should be in charge of synthesizing this knowledge. “ I suddenly ran out of words, and slumped back in my chair. “Beyond those thoughts... no, I have no precise plan, especially since Raveline, in fact, has not even proposed attacking our lands.”
“But he will, in one form or another” Janos said firmly. “However, in the end, it shall come to naught.” He pulled me to my feet, and led me across the chamber to a circular mirror. “Look in this glass, my friend. Look at us. When we met, you were a boy, and I was a youth whose greatest responsibility was a company of spear-throwers. Now we have reached the Far Kingdoms, and in our grasp is all the power, all the wisdom, the gods which do not exist are reputed to hold. All that stands between us is one person, someone I know can be dealt with, in the proper time, and I cannot make my point too strongly. If we cock a snook at Raveline now, and flee for the border... I doubt we shall even make it as far as the Pepper Coast. So we die in some wasteland... and Orissa returns to its unchanging obstinacy. Amalric Antero, we were chosen to bring Orissa into a new age, and you must realize it. If we must temporize with this Raveline for a space... well, so be it. We are both still young, and there are years ahead, and the times change.”
I started to respond, then really looked into the glass. At the moment I looked anything but young: my face was lined by the miles and the pain and all the deaths; my hair no longer flamed as red as it had; and my eyes looked beyond, as if I’d seen too much and my soul needed time to recover in peace and green. But I looked like a swaddling babe compared to Janos. He was but a few years older, but now, in this light, he could have passed for the father of the man who had rescued me from that dockfront bar. His thinning hair and beard were striped with gray — a yellowed gray as if Janos had recently risen from a sickbed. Time’s scars slashed furrows across his face: his complexion was jaundiced; his cheeks had begun to sag, and I could see the beginnings of wattles where his beard ended. But it was the eyes that held me. They were red-rimmed and set deep in their sockets. Their haunted gaze had experienced... and welcomed, horror. I had seen eyes like that recently, and recalled where: at Lord Mortacious’s banquet... when I first met the wizard’s deathstare. I repressed a shudder and pulled away, angry once more.
“You actually believe that we can stand against a man who can create a nightmare city like Wehumwa?” I said. “Not only stand, but in time destroy him or render him impotent? Janos, wake up. If I agree to his plan, he will permit me to exist just so long as I follow his every desire, his every wish, as if it were graven on my soul. Pawns are not permitted to debate with the master. But there is something more important than the role I would play in Raveline’s new world. Janos, I cannot believe you think you can somehow subvert this man to your ends. Frankly, I am not entirely sure he even is a man. Prince Raveline has spent his entire life playing royal games of death and power. He will eat you for a light lunch!” My voice was loud in the post-midnight silence.
Janos, too, was angry. “You think I am that weak?”
“I think you are that foolish!” I snapped. “You are dancing attendance on Raveline, just like I was a puppet for that whore Melina. Not only do I see no Captain Greycloak to come to your rescue, but in the end you will prove yourself an even bigger dunce than I was.”
“How dare you,” Janos hissed. “You... a merchant’s son, barely a man, who never had to fight a real battle. Whose most difficult decision was the markup on a bolt of cloth. You... preaching wisdom to me, Janos Kether Greycloak, whose line has led a people since the beginning of history. How dare you?”
My fist was clenched and drawn back before I could find control. Words danced on my lips about now I had finally learned what he thought of me, and then I saw myself in the glass, face as red as my hair, and instead of striking out I dug my nails deep into my palm. I was panting as if I had run a footrace. Calm, of a sort, came back.
“This is foolish of us both,” I managed. “And produces nothing. We will continue this tomorrow. When we have both learned to behave ourselves.” Janos managed a jerky nod of agreement. He began to say something more, then clamped his mouth shut. Without farewell, I turned and hurried out of the chamber and down the tower steps. In the courtyard I began shouting for Gatra and a gondola.
* * * *
It was very late when I returned to my palace. I did not know what to do. I shed my clothes next to the lotus pool, dived into the cool water, and swam three times across it, trying to make my muscles broaden my mind’s reach as they themselves stretched. I pulled myself out of the pool, the before-dawn wind chill on my skin. I felt a bit better, but no wiser.
Politeness dictated I should have waited, but I could not. Something told me that every moment was important. I must discuss this with the one who appeared the only person in this land who was still sane. I went to a kitchen and made a pot of tea without rousing the dozing attendant. I took it to our chambers, intending to wake Omerye gently and then tell her what had happened. But she was fully alert and standing at a window. I set the tray down and took her in my arms, wanting nothing more than to be able to start eternity at this moment, and never have to leave her embrace. After awhile, she pushed me back.
“Was it that bad?”
I told her what had happened, both at Raveline’s palace and with Janos. When I had finished, it lacked but two hours before dawn. Omerye poured two cups of the now-cold tea, and drank.
“There are those in Vacaan,” she began, “who would find it humorous, and no more than what should be expected from a half-man outlander, that a musician should be consulted for wisdom.”
“There is no one else who knows me better,” I said. “No one that I trust as much, including myself.”
Omerye kissed me, then she said: “Very well, then. Shall we start with your friend? Consider this: if someone came to me, as Prince Raveline evidently has to Greycloak, and promised I could know all chords, all fingerings, tunings and pitches of all instruments of this day and the time of the Old Ones, and be able to use that knowledge to build a music of the future... perhaps I myself might be blind to the failings of that gift-bringer. Besides, there is some truth to what he says. Not that Raveline’s great evil can be transmuted to good as easily as base metal becomes gold. But he can be turned aside.”
I felt a bit of hope. “How? Should I go to the King?”
Omerye gasped in horror. “Do not even think that, my love. If you went to King Domas, and told him all that had happened, he would indeed summon Raveline, and chastise him severely. He might even require the Prince to exile himself in a far-off estate, saying the sight of him sickens decent men’s eyes. And you would be rewarded for your honesty. But Raveline would be welcomed back to Irayas in a few months, and you would be gone. Even though the brothers hate one another... no one is permitted to embarrass the Royal Family. No one. Besides, in Vacaan, matters are handled more delicately. A way we might deal with the situation is for me to have a word with some friends who are considered wise in the eyes of the King. And for those friends to chat with their friends. These discussions would be held most privately and most quietly. In time — perhaps a week, perhaps a month, we can also have a word with Beemus. Then a whisper will float past the King’s ears. He will have his most subtle chamberlains investigate, most privately, and most quietly. Once he learns the truth, and he will learn it all if he wishes, then Prince Raveline might be reined in. He will suddenly be ordered to mount an expedition against the bandits to the north, perhaps.”
I was incredulous. “Just like that, the situation will return to normal, and Orissa’s and my problems solved?” I was quite incredulous.
“As I said, Raveline has been brought to heel before, and in matters that we, at least, consider more important than the fate of two barbarian cities far to the west. Forgive me, Amalric my love, but that is how Vacaanese think.”
I knew that nothing, especially the vagaries of prices, could be guaranteed. But Omerye had offered the only real plan that made sense. On the morrow, I would return to Janos and we could resolve our argument. I was still angry, having seen the raw steel of his ambition. But I told myself none of us are perfect, and the Far Kingdoms had been his obsession much longer than mine. But still, I knew as I lay down to rest, that our friendship would no longer continue on quite as easy a basis as it had.
* * * *
I woke an hour later with a scream trapped in my chest. It boiled up violently and tried to prise open my lips, but still it would not come. Omerye tossed and turned uneasily beside me. It was if I was awake, and at the same time deep in a fever-stupor.
Two things blazed through my mind. The first I already knew, at least in principle: A black wizard will feed and batten off pain, fear and death. If Raveline were to carry out his plan Orissa and Lycanth would become chaos. Armies would clash and sway across our lands, armies degenerating into banditry and murderers. In time, we, too, would be nothing more than bloody wasteland like the Disputed Lands, and I could imagine Raveline’s face hanging high above those gory wastes, smiling at the destruction that was as mother’s milk to him.
If Raveline were to be allowed to carry out his plan... and then I recollected what Raveline had said about wanting Janos as his Hellhound. And I thought: Hellhound? Or assassin? Janos was not under any ban preventing him from conspiring against the House of Domas. Mistake me not — even in this waking nightmare I did not vision Janos skulking through the King’s Palace with a drawn and poisoned blade. But could Janos mount, lead and execute a coup? To then be cut down in his moment of victory by a newly-crowned King, sorrowing for his brother’s murder? No. That was too fantastic. I dragged myself out of my mind’s maelstrom. I looked out the window. Even though it was still dark, I could hear the sleepy chirping of birds in my garden. Once more, I should not have been able to sleep, but did. I do not remember my head striking the pillow. All I can recollect is my thought that the morrow would be a very different day indeed.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
THE CAVERN
I woke into nightmare. Torches flared on either side of me. I lay on cold, wet stone. The reek of mildew filled my nostrils and I tasted the hard iron of blood in my mouth. I knew where I was: I was still in the dungeon of the Archons, far below the great seacastle of Lycanth. I was awakening from one of those marvelous dreams where half a lifetime passes, and every moment is perfectly detailed. Janos and I had never escaped this dungeon, had never fought the Evocators for the soul of the Orissan people, had never journeyed beyond the Pepper Coast and the haunted city to enter the Far Kingdoms. I remembered the dream-woman named Omerye, realized she never was, and my eyes welled. At least the gods had sent me a moment of imaginary happiness in that long and frequently dreadful dream.
I awakened more, my mind still wandering the maze of that intricate fantasy. I remembered not only escaping from this dungeon, but just how we escaped. That brought me to full alertness. I looked about the condemned cell for Janos. I would tell him my dream, particularly that part dealing with this Lycanthian dungeon, and perhaps we could build on my illusion to prepare a real escape.
A voice grated: “Up wi’ ye, Antero! Th’ spell’s had more’n enough time to wear away.”
And I was not back in the Archons’ dungeon. I was in a sodden stone cell, but it was small and cramped. There was no one else around me — no guards, no torturers across the way, no fellow prisoners, and no Janos. I was alone... except for one other: Greif. He sat curled on a heavy bench against the far wall. He was smiling. I forced myself to my feet.
“Lord Antero,” he mocked. “Y’ wake. Shall I send in th’ wenches to draw your bath? Servants t’ lay out your silks? P’raps that fine-titty musician you been futterin’t’ play a tune? Woulda’ like to have brought that along, an’ let you watch me pleasure her f’r a bit. But ’twarn’t permitted.”
My mind a whirligig, I said nothing. Nor could I move further from where I stood. Greif got up and strolled to me. I saw his gaping eyesocket, black and oozing corruption. My thrust with the spearbutt had indeed put out one of his eyes. Greif knew what I was staring at and his muscle-knotted fist smashed into my stomach. I gagged, and went to my knees, breath driven out.
He booted me over onto my back and stared down. “Aye,” he said. “You put out one of my glims, you did. But I found a better way to see. M’ masters give me... somethin’ t’ spy with. Gi’ me a bit of their power, t’ look at men, an’ see some’at of their intents.” Greif tapped his empty eye socket, then laughed, very hard, and his mirth echoed around the stone room.
