The Man of Gold t-2 Page 26

  She expected the boy to recoil, as so many others had done. She found herself waiting, almost hoping, for him to shudder and turn away. Blue eyes, they said! Blue eyes! the sign of an impure child, the curse of Lady Avanthe! A witch, a loathsome and evil thing! The stylised villains of all of the rustic puppet shows had blue eyes! The legends abounded with monsters and sorcerers whose eyes were always blue!

  But the boy did not retreat. He stared. Then he touched her hand. Suddenly he was the physician and she the patient. Two tears found their way down her cheeks, but his fingers came up to catch them there and wipe them away.

  Slowly, as though she dreamed, Tlayesha let her veil fall away completely. She undid her tunic and helped the boy out of his clothing.

  Itk t’Sa arose in the night to find the slave boy curled next to the human girl upon her mat. Feeling carefully with her mind, the Pe Choi sensed the passion, the release, and the calm that now covered them both as a blanket enfolds a child. She squatted down again upon her own mat and slept.

  Still later, Itk t’Sa woke again at the whisper of the tent-flap being drawn aside. It might have been the force and power of her Pe Choi mind that made the copper-armoured soldier see only a Livyani slave and a small, pretty, high-breasted Chakan girl sprawled in sleep there together. In any case the man pursed his lips in admiration-and envy-and went off to report to his superiors that no youth of the desired description was to be found in Chnesuru’s caravan.

  Itk t’Sa began collecting her few possessions. Some she bound up in her leather travelling pack, others she placed in Tlayesha’s scuffed medical bag. It was as though there were an hourglass within her brain, and something told her that the last few grains of sand were running out.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sweat dripped from the fat Salarvyani like wax from a burning candle. Qutmu hiTsizena pushed his baton of office forward upon his knee so that the torchlight played full upon the golden medallion of the Imperium.-And, more usefully here, upon the gleaming copper worm of Lord Sarku that wound around the staff beneath it. Even a foreign slaver would know-and fear-a Kasi, a Captain, of a Cohort of Four Hundred in a Tsolyani Legion. This should be especially true when that Legion was the one called the Battalions of the Seal of the Worm.

  “I am a Chri- fly,” Qutmu remarked to no one in particular. “I buzz here, I buzz there. I light upon meat, and upon bread, and upon the cookpots, and upon the fruits, and upon the blossom of the Mash-tree. At length I come to the heart of that sweetest and stickiest of all flowers.”

  “Lord-”

  “The girl is indeed she whom I seek. Eyil hiVriyen, priestess of the Temple of Hrihayal. It seems I have alighted full in the midst of the honey. It is not tasty to mix sugar with fat-drippings, slaver, but it now behooves me to light upon you.”

  The officer’s gaze flickered up to the four skull-helmeted troopers behind the Salarvyani. One of these tapped the slavei upon his balding pate with the flat of his sword. The blow was not hard, but the effect was enlightening: Chnesuru fell as though struck with a mattock to lie grovelling upon his rich Khirgari carpet.

  “A victim of Zu’ur, poor girl! Ohe, you carry strange and illegal cargoes! I do not think your license to deal in slaves in our Empire covers such merchandise.”

  “Master, I did not know… I was given the girl for sale…” “Al l shall be clarified in time. If you are blameless, you shall not suff er. We Tsolyani are just, pleasant to guests, and noble in our actions.”

  “Lord, you and your men-I have money.” Chnesuru cast an anguished eye toward the bronze-bound black chest that stood beside the pile of sleeping mats upon which the officer sat. “I have a copper amulet of your Worm Lord, high master-magical and holy-a gift for you..

  “My writ is broad,” Qutmu broke in pleasantly, “and aside from this specific maiden and her male companion, it empowers me to correct such irregularities as may be discovered within our land. Shall we speak of unpaid taxes, customs dues still owed upon slaves-possibly small packets of items that go unnoticed and forgotten in your eagerness to cross our borders?’ ’

  The Salarvyani actually wriggled.

  Qutmu stood up and reached out a broad, scarred hand to lift the lid of the box. “Documents, bills of sale, ladings, accounts- all boring and correct, no doubt. Much money. Perhaps enough to buy a palace? A high officer’s post in the Legion? A farm in the Kraa Hills where I can raise Dlel — fruit and become as wealthy as Subadim the Sorcerer when he sold the shell of the Egg of the World to the demon Tkel?”

  Chnesuru peered up through clenched fingers, a glint of hope in his eyes. “Yes, yes, Lord. Take what you will…”

  “The Imperium must not be cheated, of course. And there are other matters, other pots of sugar for this poor Chri — fly to dine upon. My Lord Vridekka?”

  The weazened oldster who had followed the officer into Chnesuru’s tent gathered his robes and cleared his throat. “He has what we seek, good Kasi. His mind tells me that the young priest is also within our grasp: in the sick-cart, or in the tent of the harlot this Shqa — beetle uses as a physician. He knows nothing more, though we must speak privately later of a certain tanner- from Yan Kor.”

  Qutmu raised a thick eyebrow and turned to one of the soldiers. “Chonumel, send men! I had thought that this damned caffle had been searched from end to end!”

  “Those who were inattentive might find it beneficial to do duty in the labyrinth below the Lair of the Undying in the City of Sarku,” Vridekka muttered.

  They waited.

  A soldier thrust the tent-flap aside, saluted, and sketched the writhing worm of Lord Sarku in the air. “Sire, the girl’s quarters are empty. There are no such persons in the encampment.” Qutmu stared. His heavy features worked, but words did not come. Then he was on his feet, leather creaking. A booted foot caught Chnesuru’s shoulder and spun the slaver over to lie gaping up at the lurching torches.

  “The Salarvyani knows nothing of this,” Vridekka said. “Leave him, Kasi. We may still take the priest. Did anyone see him?” “The slaves say that the youth, a girl, and a white Pe Choi were seen descending the ramp toward the city, Sire. The gates have opened for the day, and they must have entered by now. We have sent troops after them.”

  Qutmu was already out of the tent, men, torchbearers, overseers, slaves, and onlookers scattering before him. “Take the priestess Eyil hiVriyen to our barracks within the city and hold her upon this writ.” He threw the document back at one of the subalterns. “She will be returned to her temple as soon as the Imperium is done with her.-Oh, and confiscate this wretched caravan in the name of the Emperor! We can get a decree from the Imperial courts later-the judges here in Purdimal are friends of ours. Sell the slaves, dismiss the overseers, convert the goods into money, and send whatever is fitting to the Governor of the city. Keep a tithe of the wealth for our temple, of course-and none will look too closely if you retain a few Kaitars for us, eh?”

  “The Salarvyani, Sire?”

  Qutmu looked back for a final glance. “Why, summon the priests of Lady Hrihayal. They will reward him well for what he has done to their little priestess-perhaps peel all that hairy hide off of him and serve him up to their Demon Prince Rii’ulanesh! He will make a pretty centrepiece at one of their feastings!”

  He did not stop to hear Chnesuru’s last despairing cries.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Hot in the summertime, windy in the spring and the autumn, blustery and sometimes chill in the winter, that was Khirgar.

  Upon its steep hill, the old town hoarded its memories to itself. The lowest concentric ring of walls was of red sandstone and black basalt, and their gates bore the sigil of Emperor Metlunel II “the Builder,” who had ruled Tsolyanu eleven hundred years ago. Within these ramparts, the second ring skirted the lower slopes of the hill; this was made of Engsvanyali grey granite brought from the mountains to the east where Thenu Thendraya lowered upon the horizon. The third and highest battlements, those surrounding the edifi
ces of the dim age of the Bednalljans, the First Imperium, were of marble and black diorite, stones that were not found in these parts and came from no one knew whence-perhaps from beyond the Plain of the Risen Sea, where the cities of southern Yan Kor stood today? Bands of sand-scoured glyphs marched around these innermost and highest towers, proclaiming the majesty of Queen Nayari of the Silken Thighs, she who had founded the First Imperium by efficiently mixing just two ingredients, the histories said: sex and poison. Other, slenderer spires were crowded within this innermost enclosure, and their inscriptions spoke of the Priestkings of Engsvan hla Ganga, the Golden Age of the Priest Pavar. The truncated pyramids and monumental walls of the present Second Imperium jostled for room amongst these older, more graceful structures. A hundred years, a millennium, were as days in the life of Khirgar, the Heartbeat of the North.

  Taluvaz Arrio climbed up to High God Hill for the third time in this six-day. Once more, he thought, and the dry desert air would bum holes in his lungs and he would be too weak to tramp the many hundreds of Tsan back to Livyanu. The warmth of his beautiful city of Tsamra, the moist sea breezes, the graceful colonnades set like crystal playthings amidst the feathered Ja'atheb- trees, the sipping of essences in the slumbrous afternoons when the sun made amber and russet tableaux of the halls of his temple of mighty Qame’el, the Lord of the Livyani Shadow-Gods… How he longed for them! — And how had he wandered so far from home, to this dusty relic of a city?

  The streets of Lower Town were full of striding soldiers, babbling Tsolyani merchants, Milumanayani tribesmen in their dun-hued desert cloaks, Yan Koryani traders here in spite of the war (no one harmed merchants, unless it was proved that they were spies-not like Livyanu, where all foreigners were suspected, watched, and delicately shunted off to harmless pursuits), stem and hatchet-faced Mu’ugalavyani, sly Pijenani and cloaked Ghatoni, nonhuman Pe Choi from the Chakas and shaggy-furred Pygmy Folk from somewhere off to the northeast, a few Shen and Ahoggya and Swamp Folk and Pachi Lei, and a hundred others he could barely recognise. Khirgar was usually crowded, but the war with Yan Kor had made everything worse; and what with an Imperial Prince in residence, it was well-nigh impossible to find accommodations that left a man any shred of dignity. The place was crammed with all sorts of odd persons who would never have been let out of their temple districts at home!

  Taluvaz checked his purse, saw that the bodyguards loaned him by the Livyani Legate in Khirgar and his own personal guard, a N’liiss warrior-woman who stood a head taller than most Tsolyani-or Livyani, for that matter-were all within reach. It would be unthinkably degrading to be touched by one of these rustics. He also swept a glance back at the slaves who bore the gifts he had selected for Prince Eselne. This time, he thought morosely, he would finish his business and be off home!

  The guards at the gates of Upper Town admitted his entourage with no objections (but no proper deference to speak of). Here it was quieter, the narrow, wind-worn, many-storeyed clanhouses leaning against one another like old ladies exhausted from a day’s excursion. A matron in yellow and black appeared from one of the winding alleyways that passed for streets, and Taluvaz moved aside to let her and her following of clansmen by; throughout northern Tsolyanu-indeed, all of Yan Kor and Saa Allaqi- the women ruled the clans, made the marriages, and dictated policies to their menfolk. It would not do to offend such a matriarch. The north seemed to breed extremes: the Yan Koryani were dominated by women, while the wretched Ghatoni kept their girls penned up like Hmelu- beasts and allowed no female of any species to walk the streets!

  “Each Tetel- blossom upon its own stem,” Taluvaz thought tiredly. He had been selected for his willingness to endure the irrationalities of other nations. At home it was one’s clan status and one’s rank within one’s temple that started a person out upon the road to power; these things showed upon one’s face-the Aomuz tattooes-and what one became afterward depended upon one’s ability to play at the subtle games of priestly politics and doctrinal rivalries that balanced one another so prettily. A man, a woman-what did gender matter? Or species either? Even the nonhuman Shen and the little Tinaliya, some of whom dwelt within Livyanu’s borders, were welcome to join in the dance-as long as they were obedient to the dictates of the Shadow Gods.

  Another steep climb to the Gates of the Blue Fish, named, the guides had told Taluvaz, for some hoary local deity. The archway still bore a crumbling marble mosaic depicting the creature, scales, tail, pop-eyes and all. Some wag had climbed all the way up to paint a huge red phallus on the fish’s underbelly.

  The edifices on High God Hill had once been arranged in a neat square around a central plaza: the armoury and barracks of whatever Legion was in residence to the left of the gatehouse at the southeast comer; the colonnades of the administrative offices opposite in the southwest; the temples of the Tsolyani gods crowded together along the crest of the hill in the northwest; and the Citadel of the Victories of the Emperor on the summit to the northeast, facing the windy deserts beyond which lay Milumanaya and Yan Kor. The fortress probably dated from the First Imperium, Taluvaz supposed, rebuilt by the Engsvanyali, occupied by some local dynasty of warlords during the Time of No Kings, and refurbished a dozen times more by the Tlakotani Emperors since the Second Imperium had come to power 2,358 years ago-if the chronology were in any way accurate. Taluvaz prided himself on being somewhat of a scholar; he enjoyed picking out the architectural and artistic details that identified each epoch.

  The pattern of the place was spoiled now, alas, by accretions of buildings thrown up helter-skelter during the past millennium. The plaza existed only as an irregular patch of rutted stone around the stump of an Engsvanyali obelisk, and the clanhouses of the newly rich jostled each other for a place in its shadow. The army had built more barracks here, the priests an annex to this temple or that over there, the Imperium another hall of scribes and records in this comer-the place was an architectural Mnor’s nest: a jumble of glittering trash mixed in with real treasure! Such a hodgepodge would never be permitted at home in Tsamra.

  The soldiers at the bronze-banded gates of the citadel were smart troops indeed: members of the Tsolyani First Legion of Ever-Present Glory. Here was something Taluvaz could secretly envy. The armies of Livyanu were far less imposing for all their rich armour and pretty Kheshchal plumes. This related to the matters Taluvaz had come to negotiate.

  A soft-eyed, sandal-shod chamberlain took them on through halls of decaying and dusty Engsvanyali grandeur, past fountains that no longer played, into a vestibule of rose-tinted porphyry, and on to the Governor’s suite, now vacated for Prince Eselne, the Emperor’s second son. (And how did the Governor like that arrangement? Taluvaz wondered. The quarters the Governor now occupied were probably once a scriptorium or a library: vast, empty, and full of desert dust. The prerogatives of power…)

  The outer audience hall was filled with people. Children ran amongst the carven columns and shrieked. Three soldiers had occupied the only available daises, documents scattered upon the floor between them, held down by a wine-ewer of scarlet Mu’ugalavyani glass and a brass tray filled with empty goblets. Five or six women sat crosslegged upon a figured Khirgari carpet in one comer, pausing in their chatter only to bawl unheeded commands at this child or that. These were probably the wives or concubines of the officers of the Prince’s court-or even of mighty Eselne himself.

  A ghastly, squealing roar from the latticed windows along the side of the chamber made Taluvaz jump. Somebody must be peeling the hide from a Chlen — beast down there! This operation had to be performed every six months or so to keep the animals’ skin from growing ragged. The tanners then took the plates of raw hide, applied their smelly liquids and their secret skills, and produced the light, flexible, and immensely strong sheets from which armour, weapons, and a thousand other things were made.

  The bellowing was followed by the heady scent of Chlen- dung: fright often caused the beasts to void their bowels. Taluvaz surreptitiously extracted his pomander of Kilueb
-esscnce from his robe and pressed it to his nose. In the name of the Lords of Shadow, why so close to an Imperial residence? Prince Eselne was indeed supposed to be an informal, blunt, military sort of man, but this was carrying that image too far!

  The chamberlain beckoned them on. The ornate doors at the far end of the hall gave upon a pleasant, polygonal room- probably in one of the comer towers-that overlooked the grey-brown deserts beyond. Graceful Engsvanyali pillars held up the painted vaulting of the ceiling, and marble lattices opened out onto a narrow balcony, its tiled floor shimmering with hot sunlight.

  Within the chamber, two slavegirls pulled on the cords of the dusty sweep-fan that hung from the ceiling. A third ground spices in a mortar for Chumetl, the ghastly buttermilk concoction the Tsolyani favoured. Taluvaz wished fervently for a cup of wine, a tiny goblet of scented Tsuhoridu-hquem, or even a draught of cold water. He knew that he would be unlikely to get any of these; the Prince had his “common-soldier” military facade to maintain, after all.

  There were two others in the room: a short, middle-aged military officer, and the Prince himself, now rising from his dais to greet his guest.

  Prince Eselne hiTlakotani was impressive, a soldier from head to foot. He towered over his companion, brawny, bronzed by the sun, and as thick through the shoulders as any Chlen- beast. His sharply hooked nose and broad forehead bespoke the heritage of the most ancient and aristocratic clan of Tsolyanu, and his fierce, proud gaze was of the sort that would someday look most noble indeed upon a golden Kaitar. The women of the court, Taluvaz knew, called him “the Hrugga of the Age.”

  Yet there was something lacking in this man; when one summed him all up, he seemed a bit bland and not quite fulfilled. The eyes were too far apart, the brow too unlined, the craggy jaw not as strong and determined as first impressions indicated. There were other names for Eselne in Avanthar: “the Chlen- beast in Azure Robes” and “the Two-legged Ahoggya” were two that Taluvaz had heard. This Prince would be as soft as warm wax in the hands of his advisors, the generals of his Military Party, and the Omnipotent Azure Legion. Once within the Golden Tower, he would make a splendid and heroic-appearing Emperor. But it would be others who would rule.