The Silver City, page 51
They approached the door to the Council Chamber. She remembered the graceful dancing storks carved in its panels. Something, probably a Ska’i axe, had slashed across the delicately outlined legs. The officer opened it with a flourish, and she was pushed inside.
There were lamps lit here, and she blinked in the increased light. Around the long table were ranged perhaps a dozen men, only two of whom she recognized. One, Seardrith, was General of the Royal Guard, a man with an unpleasant reputation for ruthlessness and brutality.
And at the head of the table sat her cousin Tsenit, Third of His Name, King of Zithirian by right of treachery and murder.
The soldiers let her go, and she rubbed the tingling blood back into her bruised arms. Then they backed away to stand in ceremonial pose against the curved walls, leaving her alone in the middle of the chamber.
‘At long last — my dear little cousin!’ Tsenit rose to his feet with the athletic grace she remembered so well. His face, however, no longer wore that look of handsome smugness. To her considerable satisfaction, Kefiri saw printed on the regular, deceptively pleasant features the unmistakable marks of tiredness, anxiety and stress.
Good, she thought vindictively. I’m glad to see that he’s not enjoying his ill-gotten gains.
As he approached, she stared at him with open contempt and hostility. ‘I may be little, but I am certainly not dear to you — and I am shamed by the relationship between us, you murdering usurper.’
Tsenit stopped in his tracks, and she saw surprise and anger battling in his face. He said in bewilderment, ‘Kef? Come on, now, Kef, we were friends — we were betrothed — ’
‘One of the bigger mistakes in my life,’ she told him furiously. ‘How dare you stand there and pretend to friendship? You had almost your whole family slaughtered — including my father.’
Tsenit’s eyes shifted slightly. ‘Believe me, Kef, that was not my doing. You know what the Ska’i are like — murder was no part of my plan — ’
‘If I’m expected to know what they’re like, then so did you, you lying snake!’ Possessed by a sudden surge of rage, she walked up to him and struck him as hard as she could across the face.
The sound echoed through the chamber. As two soldiers pulled her away from him, she had the vast satisfaction of seeing his split lip begin to well blood. He put a hand to the place and stared at the red mark on his fingers. With sudden fear, she saw his face flush with wild fury. ‘You’ll pay for this before you’re done, you little bitch! Take her away, take her below, and give her nothing, d’you hear me? Nothing, no food, no water, no light, no bedding. Let her rot down there until she’s more docile.’
Kefiri had heard terrible rumours of these prison cells, concealed deep beneath the central tower. She had never, even in her most dreadful nightmares, expected to occupy one of them herself. She was dragged down and down and down into the darkness, smelling of damp and decay and foulness, and thrust into a hole quarried out of the rock on which the Palace had been built. The floor was wet and uneven, and she fell, banging her knees and elbows painfully. A barrier clanged shut with the implacable ring of iron, and she was left alone.
Darkness, impenetrable, suffocating. A space hardly more than a crack between rocks, in which it was almost impossible to lie down. No straw, no bucket, no water, no food — nothing. And, worst of all, the distant and piteous cries of others who had been incarcerated here, perhaps for months.
She wanted to break, to weep, but she could not allow herself to give Tsenit and his guards the satisfaction. With difficulty, she pulled her underskirt off and wrapped it round her shoulders, both for extra warmth and to alleviate, a little, the bitter and unyielding discomfort of the rocks. Then she curled up on the cold hard floor and closed her eyes. And surprisingly soon, despite her discomfort and despair, she gave way to exhaustion, and slept.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
He had thought of everything, he was sure. The pigeons, quiet in their cloth-covered basket, slumbered peacefully beside him. He had a bag of grain, a water container — empty, there was no point in lugging it around full when the Kefirinn was only a few paces away — and some food for himself. He had even remembered to filch one of his mother’s precious kitchen knives. Now all he needed was a boat.
The curfew horn had blasted out its message at sunset, echoing round the city. Well-hidden within a patch of bushes and thick scrub just by the river edge of the cemetery, Herris knew he was quite safe. He had watched, rather wistfully, as the last boat left with its cargo of mourners, and rowed across the sluggish, summer-low Kefirinn to the docks on the other side. He heard distant voices, dogs barking, someone playing a Sith. As darkness fell, lights began to appear in the remaining tower of the Royal Palace, but in the city, where all windows looked inwards into courtyards, there seemed to be no illumination at all.
‘Hegeden curse him,’ Herris muttered, with a rude gesture at the distant tower and its royal occupant. He waited until darkness was complete, and then picked up his few belongings and crept down to the jetty.
And encountered his first real stroke of luck — there was a boat still there. He could see it plainly, a rounded darker shape against the pale, star-lit river. Probably its owner, for reasons best known to himself, was still somewhere in the cemetery. It had always been a popular place for young men to take their girls, away from disapproving parental eyes, and although there weren’t many young men left now in Zithirian, Herris knew some still came there for that purpose. He listened intently. Was that a giggle he heard, very distantly amongst the furthest tombs?
If it was, the boat’s owner was hardly likely to have his attention focused on his craft. Herris slunk down the jetty, peering intently into the darkness. The starlight was quite adequate for one whose eyes were used to it, and he was less likely to be seen.
He found where the boat was tied up, and pulled it gently in. It wasn’t a ferry, being much fatter and shorter than those slender craft, and probably only meant to carry two people. To his relief, its owner had left the oars in it. He dropped the water bottle and the bags of food and grain down into the bow, and followed them carefully. The little vessel rocked under his weight, and the slap of wood on water sounded fearfully loud in the night stillness.
No going back now. He lifted the basket of pigeons into the boat, placing it with great care in the stem. Then, with trembling hands, he unknotted the rope and pushed off.
As he had expected, once out into the stream it was easy. The current took his humble vessel into its graceful grasp, and swept it downstream with surprising speed. He glanced back. The walls and towers of Zithirian lay dense and black against the stars. There were no yells of rage from the bank. He had done it: he was free.
Too exhilarated to feel tired, Herris took up an oar and sat in the stern, letting the river do the work, steering the single blade when necessary. Zithirian was rapidly receding behind him. By morning, he would be far enough away from it to be quite safe, even from marauding bands of Ska’i.
Eyes bright and a huge joyful excitement filling his heart, Herris stared eagerly into the gloom ahead, where Minassa lay, three hundred miles to the south.
*
‘I say she stays there — for ever, if need be!’
‘And I say let her out. Now.’
The King of Zithirian glared at his High Priestess. D’thliss, unmoved, glared back. ‘If you leave her there out of sheer spite, that thick lip will cost you the throne.’
‘She insulted me — she hit me, for Tayo’s sake, in front of all my Council! I can’t let that go unpunished, I’d be a laughing stock — and I’d have no authority left at all.’
‘Have you any now?’ asked D’thliss nastily. ‘Listen to me, your High Mightiness, and listen well. Your rule is crumbling. When Ansaryon’s army arrives, you’ll be in real danger of defeat. And I have no intention of letting you go down, and dragging me with you. I have delivered Kefiri into your hands. Now make use of her.’
‘How?’ Tsenit cried in exasperation.
‘Ayak give me strength!’ The witch beat the table between them with her fist. ‘You marry her, of course, you fool!’
Tsenit’s mouth dropped. ‘Marry her? But I’ve asked for the Emperor’s daughter —’
‘He won’t give her to you — not until you’ve defeated Ansaryon, anyway. But marrying your cousin Kefiri will be much more advantageous, at present.’
‘How? She’s turned into a proper little shrew, and I don’t want her. She isn’t even pretty any more.’
‘Pretty? K’djelk isn’t pretty either, I can assure you. You blockhead, haven’t you the mind you were born with? After Ansaryon, Kefiri is your only, your only heir. Kill him, and she is left to carry on resistance — which by the look of her, she’ll be only too willing to do.’
‘So I kill her.’
‘And make yourself even more unpopular? It won’t be long before word gets out of who she is. If the people discover you’ve slain Tayma’s seventeen-year-old daughter in cold blood, your name will be reviled for ever more, and you’ll never win back that popularity you crave so desperately. Like as not, you’ll be assassinated sooner or later, and the First Line of the Children of Tayo will end with you. Is that what you want, your High Mightiness?’
Tsenit flushed at her sneering contempt. He muttered resentfully, ‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Didn’t think it was,’ D’thliss said. ‘But if you marry her … all Zithiriani love a good wedding.’ The derision in her voice deepened. ‘Give ’em a nice romantic tale of true love against all the odds, a bit of spectacle to lighten their days, and they’ll be eating out of your hand. Marry her, and get a child on her as soon as possible to make your dynasty certain. Then, if you like, you can kill her — easy enough to make it look as if she died in childbirth, or of a summer fever. And if K’djelk still appeals to you, you can make her your second wife. Or have one of Belerith’s daughters, or Temiltan’s. They’re all descended from Tayo, you can pick and choose at your leisure. But I’m telling you to marry Kefiri now. After all, the Emperor has already promised K’djelk to Ansaryon. He’s given him five thousand soldiers, so why not his daughter as well?’
‘And you really think that marrying that little bitch of a cousin will help me?’
‘Her blow really rankles, doesn’t it?’ D’thliss observed spitefully. ‘Well, it’s in your hands, boy. I’ve set out the advantages and disadvantages clearly enough. And think about it in another way. If you don’t want to marry her, you can be pretty sure she doesn’t want to marry you. You’ll get the chance for some sweet revenge on the wedding night, don’t you think? And she’ll be as much your prisoner, as much at your mercy, as she is now in that stinking hole under the rocks.’
Reluctantly, Tsenit did think about it. He had to admit that the prospect of Kefiri, defiant, angry, dragged into a marriage utterly repugnant to her, was an enticing one. He liked the idea of forcing a woman who screamed and struggled but still had to submit to his superior strength and power. And with a wife who hated him, who had plotted against him and who could be expected to betray him at the first opportunity, he would be perfectly justified in venting on her helpless body and mind all the pent-up anger, frustration and bitterness that had built up inside him ever since his rule had begun to turn sour. He needed his Councillors, he needed the citizens, he needed D’thliss — the good will and support of all of them were essential if he wanted to keep the throne and defeat Ansaryon. But a wife whom he disliked, a wife thrust on him by circumstance and expediency, was quite a different matter.
Yes, he would enjoy making Kefiri’s life a misery.
‘Very well,’ he said at last, his tone of grudging and reluctant consent belying the eager anticipation in his eyes. ‘I’ll marry her. It seems there’s little to lose, and much to gain.’
‘Excellent,’ D’thliss said with satisfaction. ‘I knew you’d see sense.’ She smiled mockingly. ‘I congratulate you on your impending nuptials, your High Mightiness. When are the celebrations to take place? Soon, I trust.’
‘There will be a great many things to organize,’ Tsenit said, thinking of the pageantry, the spectacle and above all the expense of a royal wedding in the expectedly lavish style. And a great deal of money to be spent, he added to himself. Money which he did not have: gold which was still sitting in Sar D’yenyi and in the mountain mines, and the missing proceeds from the trade with Minassa and Toktel’yi which had dried up once the depredations of the Ska’i became notorious.
But of course, he remembered, Kefiri was the Lady of Sar D’yenyi — and once he married her, all that gold would legally become his by right.
Until then, though, he would have to improvise, somehow. If this marriage was to achieve its principal aim, and win over the hearts of the citizens, it must not be some mean, hole-in-the-corner affair undertaken only grudgingly. He must play his part, the part of a happy and loving bridegroom. And Kefiri must be persuaded into at least the semblance of consent.
‘Don’t worry,’ D’thliss said, with one of her most unpleasant cackles. ‘There are drugs that will ensure she complies in public — and they’ll wear off before nightfall, so you’ll have that to look forward to.’
Tsenit regarded her with a mixture of awe and horror. The ease with which she seemed to peer inside the murkier depths of his soul had never ceased to terrify him. He might make a pretence of defying her, but he was her tool, her creature, and at the dark base of his heart he knew it. There was, however, some consolation in store for him. He would be able to inflict on Kefiri some of the feelings of powerlessness and humiliation that D’thliss aroused in him.
‘How about the full moon after next?’ he suggested tentatively. ‘Too late,’ D’thliss said. ‘Don’t you listen? Ansaryon’s army is coming. In less than half a month they’ll be here. It has to be before this full moon — six or seven days, your High Mightiness, to plan a sumptuous celebration that will remain in the happy memories of your citizens for the rest of their lives. Well, you’d better hurry up. I suggest you tell the lucky bride of her destiny, and her good fortune. I shall see you again soon. Goodbye.’
With the complete lack of ceremony that had always annoyed him so much, she turned and strode across his private chamber to the door. It opened at a peremptory tap of her bone and silver staff, and she disappeared through it.
As always, once out of her presence Tsenit felt bigger, taller, stronger. He took several deep breaths, and then called for his Chamberlain.
After a slight but irritating interval, Sathen appeared. He was a wealthy merchant who had long nursed ambitions of power, and lacked the aristocratic breeding to obtain it. Tsenit’s seizure of the throne had given him his opportunity, and he had grasped it eagerly. He made his obeisance. ‘Your High Mightiness commands?’
‘The Lady Kefiri — I have new plans for her.’ Tsenit licked his lips, thinking of those plans. Already, his resentment was evaporating, and he was looking forward to forcing himself on his cousin. ‘I want her taken out of the cell now. Have her cleaned up and made presentable — there must be a gown somewhere that she can wear. Then have her brought to me in the Council Chamber.’
The Chamberlain had been present at the Council meeting earlier, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. However, he clasped his hands to his breast and bowed. ‘As your High Mightiness wishes it, so it shall be done.’
*
Kefiri was roused from her exhausted, uncomfortable sleep by the tramp of feet and the rattling of metal. She sat up too suddenly, and banged her head on a lump of rock above her. As she gasped, her eyes watering in pain, a lantern dazzled her, and a voice said brusquely, ‘Come on, out.’
She crawled, because the cell was too low to stand, and was hauled roughly upright as she emerged. ‘What’s happening?’ she demanded. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘You’ll see soon enough,’ said the guard, in a voice not intended to encourage further questions.
Dazed, her head ringing from the encounter with the rock, she stumbled back up the steep, uneven, slippery steps that led back to sanity, and the light. Behind her, she could hear the wails and protests of the other prisoners.
When Ansaryon becomes King, I’ll tell him to fill that hole with rubble and rocks so that no one ever rots down there again, she thought furiously. She tripped over the last step, and the guards wrenched her upright with a curse. They pulled her through an arched doorway at the top, and into the civilized part of the Palace.
At last, when she thought that her arms would soon be pulled from their sockets, they arrived in front of a plain door. She had no idea where she was: it could have been anywhere on the ground floor of the Palace, but from the absence of elaborate decoration, it was probably in the servants’ quarters. All the royal apartments, apart from the central tower, had been devastated by the Ska’i.
This room had not. This room, though small, had a bed, and a chair, and best and most astonishing of all, a round wooden bathtub full of steaming aromatic water.
Kefiri could not think what this meant: she could not think at all. Completely bewildered, she stood and stared at the comfort and warmth laid out for her benefit, and felt dangerously close to tears.
A girl in servant’s blue stepped forward, smiling kindly. The guards left, with much tramping of feet and jingling of armour, but she knew they would be standing outside to prevent any escape.
And there was no escape. Where could she go, in this confusing labyrinth? Where could she hide? And who, here in Tsenit’s lair, would help her?
