carved like a shell, and a damaged
statuette of the Gentle God that must once have stood in some Jenozan temple.
As the guards withdrew, Shageesa surged
towards Kerish and coiled about him lovingly.
“She has been told of your words, as she is
told everything. Shageesa dotes on courage,” said the Khan, “and by our Lady of
Blood, so do I. Prince, I do not often lose my temper, you should be honored,
but words spoken in anger must still be kept. Do you understand that?”
The Prince disentangled himself from
Shageesa's embrace and walked towards the Khan.
“Your word will stand, and so will mine;
however much sorrow, it brings on our heads.”
“Sit and drink with me then,” said O-grak, “before
I offer you life and power for the third time.”
The Khan poured out a stream of red wine
into a single horn cup and Kerish drew up a stool.
“Viroc will fall to me,” began O-grak.
“It seems likely,” answered Kerish calmly.
Shageesa's head was on his knee and his
fingers explored the texture of her cool, glittering skin.
“Will you watch it burn unmoved?”
“No.” Kerish was leaning over the snake and
the Khan could not see his expression. “You will see a Prince of the Godborn
curse his own words.”
“Then why did you speak them?”
“Because my quest has failed,” said Kerish
slowly.
“And has Galkis no hope but you?” O-grak
took a gulp of wine. “Even I cannot match such pride!”
“Galkis has no hope but the Promised
Saviour, because what you want to take from us is our country's soul. To burn
the Golden City and scorch the last drop of Godborn blood from Zindar would be
small things beside robbing us of our Foremother. What does it matter now if I
speak her name? Imarko suffered and died for us, to prove that men should not
fear death. We must cling to her truth. It is the best we have. In your peace
we should live like ghosts who have forgotten who they are.”
“Brave words again, Prince.” O-grak handed
him the horn cup. “But have you the right to speak them for anyone but
yourself?”
“I don't know. You won't need to show me
those who die because of me. Their sufferings torture me already; but I will
keep to my words.”
O-grak watched the Prince drink and said, “I
will mourn you, Prince, but you are too dangerous to live.”
Kerish smiled wearily. “Spare your grief. I
shall be more than ready.”
“It will be quick, I promise you.” O-grak
stared at the Prince's throat. “I could snap that neck with a single hand. But
it must wait until the Golden City falls. I have sworn it. I will send you back
to Orze with the next supply convoy and imprison you there till Viroc has
fallen and we are ready to march north.”
Kerish handed back the cup. “What will you
do now when the throne falls? Let your allies fight over Galkis?”
“Perhaps Jerenac was right, I should plot
with Zyrindella and put your mad cousin on the throne. Your people will not
follow him as they would have followed you, but it might persuade my allies to
hold the Empire together. The mad are sacred to Idaala and my own followers
might accept him . . . Ah Prince, when I have killed you, I shall miss having
someone to speak my true thoughts to.”
Kerish stared at the statuette of Zeldin
whose broken hands reached towards the light of the lamp.
“Did you speak to your daughter in the same
way, before she was taken?”
“To her, and to her mother while she lived.”
“And can't you speak to Neeris now?”
There was an angry pause before O-grak answered.
“Prince, I would not endure such questions from anyone else. No, I cannot talk
to Neeris. Her mind is nothing like my daughter's, however much the face
resembles hers.”
“All the better.” Kerish looked at the
Khan again. “What is the use of talking to someone who thinks like you? To
disagree with the great Khan of Orze may not always be a sign of stupidity.”
O-grak smiled reluctantly. “You may be
right but I cannot loosen her
statuette of the Gentle God that must once have stood in some Jenozan temple.
As the guards withdrew, Shageesa surged
towards Kerish and coiled about him lovingly.
“She has been told of your words, as she is
told everything. Shageesa dotes on courage,” said the Khan, “and by our Lady of
Blood, so do I. Prince, I do not often lose my temper, you should be honored,
but words spoken in anger must still be kept. Do you understand that?”
The Prince disentangled himself from
Shageesa's embrace and walked towards the Khan.
“Your word will stand, and so will mine;
however much sorrow, it brings on our heads.”
“Sit and drink with me then,” said O-grak, “before
I offer you life and power for the third time.”
The Khan poured out a stream of red wine
into a single horn cup and Kerish drew up a stool.
“Viroc will fall to me,” began O-grak.
“It seems likely,” answered Kerish calmly.
Shageesa's head was on his knee and his
fingers explored the texture of her cool, glittering skin.
“Will you watch it burn unmoved?”
“No.” Kerish was leaning over the snake and
the Khan could not see his expression. “You will see a Prince of the Godborn
curse his own words.”
“Then why did you speak them?”
“Because my quest has failed,” said Kerish
slowly.
“And has Galkis no hope but you?” O-grak
took a gulp of wine. “Even I cannot match such pride!”
“Galkis has no hope but the Promised
Saviour, because what you want to take from us is our country's soul. To burn
the Golden City and scorch the last drop of Godborn blood from Zindar would be
small things beside robbing us of our Foremother. What does it matter now if I
speak her name? Imarko suffered and died for us, to prove that men should not
fear death. We must cling to her truth. It is the best we have. In your peace
we should live like ghosts who have forgotten who they are.”
“Brave words again, Prince.” O-grak handed
him the horn cup. “But have you the right to speak them for anyone but
yourself?”
“I don't know. You won't need to show me
those who die because of me. Their sufferings torture me already; but I will
keep to my words.”
O-grak watched the Prince drink and said, “I
will mourn you, Prince, but you are too dangerous to live.”
Kerish smiled wearily. “Spare your grief. I
shall be more than ready.”
“It will be quick, I promise you.” O-grak
stared at the Prince's throat. “I could snap that neck with a single hand. But
it must wait until the Golden City falls. I have sworn it. I will send you back
to Orze with the next supply convoy and imprison you there till Viroc has
fallen and we are ready to march north.”
Kerish handed back the cup. “What will you
do now when the throne falls? Let your allies fight over Galkis?”
“Perhaps Jerenac was right, I should plot
with Zyrindella and put your mad cousin on the throne. Your people will not
follow him as they would have followed you, but it might persuade my allies to
hold the Empire together. The mad are sacred to Idaala and my own followers
might accept him . . . Ah Prince, when I have killed you, I shall miss having
someone to speak my true thoughts to.”
Kerish stared at the statuette of Zeldin
whose broken hands reached towards the light of the lamp.
“Did you speak to your daughter in the same
way, before she was taken?”
“To her, and to her mother while she lived.”
“And can't you speak to Neeris now?”
There was an angry pause before O-grak answered.
“Prince, I would not endure such questions from anyone else. No, I cannot talk
to Neeris. Her mind is nothing like my daughter's, however much the face
resembles hers.”
“All the better.” Kerish looked at the
Khan again. “What is the use of talking to someone who thinks like you? To
disagree with the great Khan of Orze may not always be a sign of stupidity.”
O-grak smiled reluctantly. “You may be
right but I cannot loosen her
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