The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) by Geraldine Harris Page B

that frail privacy.
    Kerish, who wanted more than anything to
hold and comfort her, got up very fast, and walked to the other side of the
tent. After a moment Gidjabolgo followed him. Something had to be said to cover
Forollkin's voice giving Gwerath her freedom to die.
    “And is the wise Prince of the Godborn
really helpless before the barbarians?”
    Kerish smiled coldly. “O-grak believes that
I am resigned to death and will not try to escape.”
    “He still sets guards.”
    “Only two: one stationed outside the flap,
one marching round.”
    Gidjabolgo scowled. “There are a dozen
others within call.”
    “But after dusk, not within sight.”
    “And can the fabled power of the Godborn
not smite two guards?”
    Kerish shook his head dreamily. “I was
never taught to wield the powers of the Godborn, but at least I understand them
now. The gift of Zeldin was simply that we should understand men. From that
gift flow many different kinds of power. When I know a person I can touch their
mind more closely than they realize and even make my wishes theirs, though
Zeldin knows, that is an abuse of his gift.”
    “And since you do not know our guards, I
repeat my question,” said Gidjabolgo. “Are you helpless?”
    “Not quite,” murmured Kerish, still not
looking towards Gwerath and his brother. “There is Neeris.”
    “She may eye you like a hungry Dik bird,
but she has no claws to snatch you up.”
    “She has wings,” answered Kerish, “although
they're folded.”
    Gidjabolgo snorted. “However much she may favor
you, even the Khan's wife can't get us off this island. You can't swim any more
than I can, and every boat must be guarded . . .”
    “Not every boat,” said Kerish. “I noticed
on the way back from the parley. Every boat except one.”
    “Why should . . . Oh!” Gidjabolgo's eyes
widened in admiration:.” Oh, wicked Prince . . . O-grak will be well punished
for the arrogance of thinking that he understands you.”
    Forollkin held Gwerath in his arms and
stroked her hair until she stopped sobbing.
    “In Galkis,” he said quietly, “we believe that
those who love each other will meet again beyond the Gate of Death.”
    “My people thought the same,” whispered
Gwerath. “I believed it too, when I believed in the Mountain Goddess. Now, I
don't know, but being with you till the end of life is enough.”
     
    *****
     
    All the next day, the prisoners were left
to sit idle in their tent while O-grak was in council with his captains. The
noises of the camp - the rasp of boots on sand, the honing of blades, arrows
striking wood in target practice, the crackle of driftwood cooking-fires, the
fierce, guttural accents of Oraz and Mintaz - became maddeningly tedious as
they were repeated again and again. All attempts at conversation lapsed into
quarrels or self-pity.
    At dusk, when the whine of insects
dominated the other noises, a serf brought a basket of coarse bread and slabs
of salt meat. He was accompanied by two warriors of O-grak's own household, who
ordered the Prince to his feet.
    “The Khan's wife would speak to you,” said
one of the men, eyeing him curiously.
    “The Khan orders it,” put in the other, “though
if she were my wife. I would not allow it.”
    “Your Khan has no respect for any custom
that doesn't suit him,” murmured Gidjabolgo.
    The Orazian chose not to hear and told the
Prince to walk in front of him.
    When they were outside, Kerish said kindly,
“What the Khan orders is the fulfillment of a condemned man's wish. What could
be more honorable?”
    The warrior's face cleared. “I will tell
the Men of the Household. They will be comforted and no doubt the snake will
recover.”
    “Shageesa is ill?”
    Conscious of having said too much already,
the warrior simply ordered him to walk faster.
    Kerish was content to let the conversation
drop so that he could devote himself to noting each detail of the route through
the camp. The women's quarters were as far as possible