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 edifices 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.
Prince Eselne would require much assistance to overcome his brothers and his sister in the Kolumejalim, the Rite of the Choosing of Emperors, Taluvaz thought. He might win over Hrugga himself in the trials of physical endurance and soldierly prowess, but he would have to choose his allotted three champions carefully from amongst the best of his followers to defeat Mridobu or Dhich’une-both shrewd and devious men-in the contests of cleverness, knowledge, statecraft, and sorcery that must follow. No, this man might be what the Tsolyani Imperium needed-a glorious soldier-emperor figurehead-but the priests who oversaw the Kolumejalim would be hard put to make him win it!
Taluvaz’ superiors in Tsamra wanted Prince Eselne to gain the Petal Throne. He was precisely what was needed for Livyanu’s broader goals.
Prince Eselne wore only a breechclout and a light shirt of Thesun-gdMze. A heap of Chlen-hide swords-and two that glittered with the silvery grey of rare iron-lay upon the carpet before the two Tsolyani, attesting to the topic of their conversation.
This was good; the audience would be informal, just what was needed. It would have been impossible to speak freely in some stilted court ceremonial. Taluvaz’ agents in Khirgar had given excellent counsel: this Prince was best approached as one soldier speaking to another. Taluvaz took only a moment to push his own more delicate tastes to the back of his mind and take on the outward attitudes of a tough man of affairs. This was another reason why the High Council in Tsamra had chosen him for this mission.
“Most gracious Prince-” Taluvaz bowed and launched into the required roster of honorifics. Even this was too much; he was cut short.
“Ohe, Lord Taluvaz! I see you have ascended to our eyrie once again.” Prince Eselne omitted the “you of wide journeying,” appropriate to a high-ranking foreigner, and used the simple “noble you” instead. His voice was light and smooth, a trifle too gentle for the gruff soldierly picture he wanted to project.
“Most mighty Prince, accept the gifts of Tsamra!” That ought to be short enough! Taluvaz’ slaves obediently began opening chests and parcels wrapped in brocaded Giidru- cloth.
Eselne waved them aside. “Accepted, with thanks. Give them to Shiretla-the chamberlain who brought you.”
This Prince moved faster than common etiquette allowed! Taluvaz struggled to keep in character. A glance sent the slaves scurrying from the room, packages and all.
“Know you my Senior General, Lord Kettukal hiMraktine?”
The fame of this man-and the intrigues that had for a time cost him his generalship of the First Legion-were indeed part of Taluvaz’ briefing. It had taken the war with Yan Kor to persuade the Imperium to bring General Kettukal out of semi-exile in Chene Ho and put him back in command of his troops! Taluvaz kept this from his face and made polite responses.
“Get the money for the steel weapons from Shiretla,” the Prince gestured to the General. “The Chlen — hide swords are too poor to be worth buying. I’d have the smith-tanners impaled were they not clan-cousins of the dung-smeared pederast who passes for a governor here. Send them back and demand better.”
General Kettukal grinned, reminding Taluvaz of the stone. Sro-dragon on the cornice of Lord Qame’el’s temple in Tsamra. If his information was correct, this stocky, leather-faced soldier was the best tactician the Tsolyani had. He would be useful in today’s discussion, though possibly dangerous. The General snapped his fingers, and a servant appeared from a concealed doorway to gather up the offending weapons and carry them away.
“Now. Sing your song, noble Taluvaz. Two days back you offered us a pretty melody or two. I want my Lord Kettukal to hear it.”
So the Prince needed advice from his backers in the Military Party? The General’s presence today was certainly no casual accident. Taluvaz swung smoothly into his argument, omitting the usual preamble of eulogies.
“Mighty Prince, as I humbly urged two days back, we in Livyanu have for centuries endured the wicked attacks of the pirates of the Tsolei Archipelago. Each year, when the sea winds are right, they come forth to raid our provinces of Kakarsh and Nufersh. As you and noble General Kettukal are no doubt aware-’ ’
“Yes, yes,” the Prince interrupted, “your High Council of the Priesthoods now proposes to take several legions away from your northern frontier with Mu’ugalavya and sail off westward to gobble up Tsolei.”
General Kettukal’s grimace became wider.
Prince Eselne raised a fingertip to his cheek to express a clever discovery. “A neat and timely move! A handful of miserable white counters captured with a very few black ones. But nice because you then control the Sea of Aishul and the Gulf of Teriyal and block the Red-Hats of Mu’ugalavya from expansion farther west. Nice, if done smoothly.”
“Also an end to Shenyu’s hegemony over the southern ocean there, and a bridge to the unexplored and uninhabited lands of the southern continent, eh?” General Kettukal remarked in a rumbling bass voice. The slavegirl proferred brass cups of Chumetl to the three men. Kettukal drank his off at one gulp. “I assume there’s a turd in the stew somewhere?”
Eselne smiled broadly. “La, my Lord, no turd at all-only a lack of meat! Our noble Livyani friends have not the troops to hold their enclave north of the Tlashte Heights against the Mu’ugalavyani and swat the pirates of Tsolei both at once! Hence our distinguished Lord Taluvaz, come all this way to push us to push my father to push the Mu’ugalavyani, who can then not afford to push down into Livyanu and seize Neihai or Khemektu.” He made little brushing motions with his fingers, as an apothecary sweeps powders into a prescription-paper.
General Kettukal had the look of a stone idol receiving sacrifice. “Ohe, but what would Tsolyanu gain from joining in this feast?
A chance, perhaps, to go to war with the Red-Hats of Ssa’atis? As though we have not enough to do with the Yan Koryani invasion! Three months, and we have yet to regain the Atkolel Heights-and the Baron’s armies threaten both Chene Ho and Khirgar here!”
Taluvaz made no reply. These devotees of the war-gods had a disconcerting habit of dumping all their couners out openly upon the board. It was like talking to an Ahoggya-or, worse, to a literal-minded Tinaliya! He sipped at the Chumetl the girl had brought him-and nearly spat it out upon the delicate wine-coloured carpet; the wench had laced it with too much hot Hling- seed! The Prince and the General seemed oblivious to his distress.
Prince Eselne rubbed his cleft chin. “If only that idiotic worm-kissing officer had not started the war with Yan Kor before we were ready to strike!” He made an obscene gesture. “All over a fine sense of noble dignity! If the fellow had been in one of my Legions instead of Dhich’une’s Battalions of the Seal of the Worm, his heart would have been steaming upon Lord Karakan’s altars long ago!”
No reply seemed to be expected. All three were silent for a time. The Prince mused. General Kettukal peered into his cup.
Eselne spoke again. “The Baron sits upon the Atkolel Heights. His troops occupy Pijena. His ‘Weapon Without Answer’ pushes south towards Khirgar-or possibly southwest to Chene Ho, whichever he sees the weaker. The Salarvyani on our eastern frontiers nibble at Chaigari and Kerunan. My God-Emperor father grows old, and my brothers oppose me-Mridobu and Dhich’une-Rereshqala is too busy with his scholars and his concubines to compete for the Gold. My sister Ma’in Kruthai might well marry me, as is our custom, and exchange Imperial rule for a quiet life in the Golden Tower. But she might also draw enough support from the temples of the two Goddesses and their Cohorts to stand by herself in the Kolumejalim…”
He took a turn about the room, strong splayed toes digging into the fragile arabesques of the carpet. “Now too, of all times, the priesthood of Thumis chooses to bring forth one of my father’s brood of secret heirs, the whimpering little temple clerk Surundano. Damn their High Adept Gamulu and his old toady, Lord Durugen hiNashomai! Half of my support amongst the temples of the Lords of Stability either disappears or wavers like smoke in the wind!”
Taluvaz had heard about these manoeuvrings of Imperial politics. They complicated the lives of diplomats, he thought, but that was the nature of the task.
The Prince rounded to face Taluvaz. “It might be well for us to aid you Livyani in your little excursion. If we cannot keep the Mu’ugalavyani off our western flank-and out of an alliance with the Baron-the Empire will be as luckless as a Chlen — beast beset from all sides by Zrnel"
As though hearing its name mentioned, the Chlen outside bellowed, shaking the marble window-lattices. Taluvaz and the three slavegirls were the only ones who appeared to notice.
“I cannot send troops on my own authority, you know, nor do I dare do anything to bring the Mu’ugalavyani in openly on the Baron’s side. Arms, a few mercenaries, and some ships to you people. A little rumbling along the Chakan frontier and a medley of negotiations and threats to worry the Red-Hats: these are the only strings I can fit to my bow for now.”
“This will not discourage the Baron, Lord.” The General actually laid a hand upon the Prince’s brawny wrist. These Tsolyani had so little sense of Imperial dignity! “Yan Kor does not need Mu’ugalavya. To Baron Aid the Mu’ugalavyani are Qasu — birds awaiting their chance to scavenge. They yearn to snatch the Chakas if we lose the north, but they won’t risk a fight by themselves-another defeat like the War of 2,020 would ruin them-and the Baron abhors them and gives them no encouragement. Beg your father for permission to attack around the northeastern flank, through the Pass of Skulls! Take Milumanaya-Lord Firaz Zhavendu there is a strutting popinjay- he cannot resist us-and on into Saa Allaqi or up to Tleku Miriya to knock upon the Baron’s back gate!”
“I have already been on my knees before my glorious father at Avanthar a dozen times. I’d kiss the backside of a Ssu to do as you suggest, my Lord, but brother Mridobu only smiles and counsels sweet patience.”
“Foolish,” Kettukal growled, “if I were the Baron-or the High Prince of the Red-Hats-I would do my best to hammer out an alliance and invade Tsolyanu from two sides at once. Aid must be mad to refuse the opportunity! Mu’ugalavya is strong now, and the Baron has unified Yan Kor into a real nation-not the gaggle of miserable city-states it was before he took power. If the Baron and the Red-Hats were to combine, we’d have a war that would make that of 2,020 look like a skirmish! My Lord Prince, it is best that we strike first, now, before either the blockheaded Mu’ugalavyani or the Baron decides to make common cause and serve us defeat for our supper.”
“Lord Taluvaz asks little enough. I need no permission from my glorious father to send a few ships and light a few fires along the borders.”
“Forget not the colonies on the southern continent, mighty Prince,” Taluvaz injected gracefully. “If we take Tsolei, we counter the power of the reptiles of Shenyu in the-southern seas. Even now they dicker with Mu’ugalavya for concessions and alliances there. Accompany us, and Tsolyanu plays a role in settling the unknown lands beyond.”
“And how had you Livyani planned to deal with Shenyu? The reptiles’ ships and warriors may be fewer than yours and they cannot match you in sorcery, but any Shen can slay two humans with a blow!” The Prince refilled his cup and offered more Chumetl to the others with his own hands. Taluvaz thought it prudent to accept. A burning bowel movement in the morning was a very good price to pay for success this afternoon.
“The Shen are divided into egg-groups, mighty Prince, as you know. Each is hostile to the others. We have made alliance with the Shen of Mmatugual and the other little states of their species to our south. They hate Shenyu more than any human can imagine: insensate, instinctive… They will fight for-with-us.”
General Kettukal spat out a Hling- seed and fixed a jaundiced eye upon the girl who had ground the spices for his Chumetl. “Aside from a few ships, a handful of troops, and whatever else we can manage, how can we really help you? Tsolei is too distant, and we can send too little.”
“Busy the Red-Hats and it is sufficient. They then cannot seize our northern provinces. But there is more.” Taluvaz made himself draw a careful breath. “We know that our armies are not, ah, well seasoned and strong, mighty Prince. We depend overmuch upon sorcery: magically, Livyanu is a ‘fertile’ area, where the many skins of reality are thin and easily pierced. The Red-Hats and the Shen do not invade Livyanu for fear of our sorceries. On the other hand, the islands of Tsolei are a ‘barren’ region; it is impossible to draw power from beyond this Plane in such a place. Spells and those devices of the ancients that depend upon such forces do not work there. We must thus rely upon our military prowess, which is, ah, not so great as to make our landing a speedy success. We can therefore make good use of a few Tsolyani officers, some troops from whatever Legion you can spare, some ships from your coastal fleets-unneeded in any war here in the north or the west-and permission to raise mercenaries in your Empire. Military expertise, mighty Prince, and experience-these things we require. The rest we can do ourselves.”
“So, we firm up your Chlen — hide with our iron,” the General said.
Prince Eselne frowned. “I know that the Temple of Thumis has already sent some sort of secret mission to your colonies in the southern continent. My dear Taluvaz, you play not only with me but with the grey-robes-and their new Prince Surundano.”
This was all too true, but it seemed more politic not to own up to it-not unless it became an issue here.
The new Prince might indeed become a problem. He did seem to worry Prince Eselne; unduly, Taluvaz thought. The Temples of the war-gods ought not to be alarmed by this new counter on the board. Some support would vanish, of course, and some new alignments might result, but Eselne’s backers and those of the Flame-Lord, Vimuhla, should still be able to come to an understanding. Prince Surundano might be an unexpected impediment, but he was too weak, both personally and in his backing, to be more than a minor annoyance.
What an insane system of government this land had! The Seal Emperors of Tsolyanu proclaimed only some of their offspring to be Princes and Princesses as soon as they ascended the Petal Throne; others were given as infants into the keeping of the great temples, the clans, and the highest noble houses to be brought up in secrecy and declared later-like white counters suddenly turning black upon a Den-den board! The Tsolyani said that this guaranteed the throne to the cleverest, strongest, and most resourceful contender. It was better to keep all of the heirs awake and prepared, the theory ran, rather than let the succession pass to a child already spoiled by a surfeit of luxury and power. The Gods alone knew whether the idea had merit or not. Taluvaz doubted it; had not Livyanu existed far longer than the Tsolyani Imperium, and was it not more efficacious to select one’s rulers through the recondite deliberations of the High Council of the Priesthoods of the omniscient Shadow-Gods?
Carefully, Taluvaz said nothing.
“No, Lord Taluvaz, you must know that Tsolei is the smallest thorn upon my Tsural — blossom,” the Prince said. “Even if we aid you, I fear it is too late to halt the Baron’s ‘W'eapon.’ By the time you take Tsolei-or Thumis’ all-too-blatant secret mission reaches its destination-our Skeins will have been unravelled for us by the Yan Koryani. We stand; we fight; we live or we die here at Khirgar or at Chene Ho, as Lord Karakan decrees. What more can we say?”
A noble but perfectly CWen-brained attitude! Failure-or less than wondrous success-loomed as a distinct possibility. Tsamra would not be pleased.
General Kettukal sat down crosslegged upon the figured carpet. “The Baron’s turd-shooting weapon! We had hoped to find-” He stopped.
Prince Eselne grunted and tossed his cup to the slavegirl to be refilled. “Oh, finish it,” he said irritably. “The Livyani have their Vru’uneb everywhere, just as we have the Omnipotent Azure Legion. If Lord Taluvaz does not know the tale, he is as useless to his masters as a clay sword to great Hrugga! He uses us, and we may be able to use him. ‘One Aqpu- beetle dies alone, but six build a nest… ’ ”
“When I was at Paya Gupa, my Lord,” the General continued reluctantly in his deep, hard voice, “I had heard that there might be a counter to the Baron’s toy…”
“Cha, everyone in the Five Empires has heard the story! At Avanthar or Bey Sii secrets are like water in a cracked jug! There was supposed to be some priest of Ketengku-or was it Thumis? — who knew of a device that would halt the Baron’s ‘Weapon Without Answer. ’ It was a great bone of contention between the priesthoods half a year back-do you recall? — before the war with Yan Kor. Then the fellow disappeared. Magically! a veritable Subadim the Sorcerer! Your people knew all this of course, Taluvaz.”
Taken aback, Taluvaz started to shake his head in negation. He changed his mind and nodded instead.
“-Out of the Temple of Eternal Knowing in Bey Sii, as neatly as a virgin spits out a Dlel-ivuit pit!” This from the General. The Tsolyani idiom was unknown to Taluvaz, but the sense of it was clear.
There was no reason now to pretend ignorance. Taluvaz said, “My, ah, friends here told me… Was there not something about the city of Purdimal?”
“As if your people did not join the dance!” Eselne snorted. “Yes, we followed certain of my beloved brother Dhich’une’s ugly henchmen for a time, but the priest vanished into the stews of Purdimal! The Temple of Sarku dangled a pretty little captive priestess over the water, but the fish never rose to the bait. We finally rescued her with an Imperial writ from Avanthar-brother Dhich’une is not the only one with access to my godlike father!” Taluvaz had heard of this also. There had been pressure upon Prince Eselne from the Temple of Hrihayal to free the girl. He imagined he knew what form this pressure had taken. Eselne’s dalliance with Misenla, the High Priestess of Hrihayal in the Empire, was common table-gossip.
“My agents fought Dhich’une’s men-or what he uses for men-and Mridobu’s, and those of at least three temples, and even my father’s people. Did you know that the Yan Koryani were there was well? Half of the Five Empires chasing each other like Hrihayal’s greasy priests plucking at little boys, and not a hair of the thrice-damned catamite ever seen again!” Taluvaz debated how much to say, but the Prince was still speaking:
“And while this was happening, the Temple of Thumis found it opportune to pull poor Surundano out of their temple at Hauma and declare him a Prince! One day a clerk in a copying-hall, the next a Prince of the Empire!”
General Kettukal guffawed, an unseemly and ignoble sound. “And then-of all the stupid times to act-the Temple of Vimuhla began to worry-as fearful as an old lady goosed by an Ahoggya! Two weeks ago they trotted forth a Princeling of their own! somebody named Mirusiya, raised in secret by the arrogant Vimuhla-loving Vriddi clan of Fasiltum! Did you hear of this, Lord Taluvaz? The fellow was trained as a warrior, an officer in a good Legion-that of the Lord of Red Devastation, as devoted to the Flame-God as a babe to its mother’s teat-and all too appealing to the army and the temples of our war-gods.”
Taluvaz had NOT heard. It overturned the entire Den-den board!
He struggled to look knowledgeable, thinking furiously all the while. What the Prince had left unspoken was that such an heir would be almost an exact copy-on the side of the Lords of Change-of Eselne himself! Dangerous! The war-gods’ temples, Lord Karakan of Stability and Lord Vimuhla of Change, had been close to a rapprochement of sorts; now there would be no reason for it, and the intrigue for alliances and power must begin all over again. The Temple of Vimuhla deserved to rot in Sarku’s wormy hells for causing this turn of events!
This new Prince-and the shattering of what had until now been a secure power base-cut right under the foundations of Prince Eselne and his Military Party! Dismay ran through Taluvaz’ limbs like a fever: everything was changed. All the effort spent cultivating Eselne and his brash, loutish generals would be for nothing! There was no time to start afresh with this wretched flame-worshipping newcomer-though Tsamra would certainly send someone as soon as the Livyani Legate in Bey Sii heard of it. An immediate stroke was needed. Prince Eselne must have a victory: some resounding deed that would echo through the palaces and temple of Tsolyanu like a Tunkul- gong. The defeat of the Baron’s armies here in the west suddenly became urgent and imperative, whatever the cost.
“-Frightened that Prince Eselne would make too much capital out of the war with Yan Kor,” General Kettukal was saying, “or perhaps that Ma’in Kriithai would betroth herself to Eselne and thus bring about an unbreakable alliance between her Goddesses and our Military Party! At any rate-”
“Yes, at any rate there are times when I wish I could candle my ever-victorious father’s head! We not only have a major war upon our borders, we also have a well-fueled fire in the heart of our Empire! How many puling brats has my father spawned anyway-and hidden here and there about the country as a Shqa — beetle hides its eggs in a ball of dung? Now Karakan knows how many more little Princes and Princesses lurk behind the altars of this temple or that! How many noble clans have little boys and girls with the Omnipotent Azure Legion’s golden seal upon their plump arses? One more such revelation and I renounce the Gold and retire to Salarvya to breed virgins for Lady Dilinala!”
The three girls in the comer giggled.
Taluvaz strove to think the matter through. He felt like a swimmer in a rushing mountain river. An idea surfaced, and he snatched at it. He almost pushed it away: it was too perilous, a jag-edged Ssu sword that would cut many ways! Secrets would have to be disclosed-he ought to check with Tsamra and his colleagues in the Vru’uneb first. The Tsolyani might gain too much. Yet it was almost certainly the key to more Tsolyani cooperation than Tsamra could have hoped! There was no time. What should he do? Taluvaz again wished the Temple of Vimuhla and its flame-loving Prince into Lord Qame’el’s darkest and coldest hells.
Still, the more Taluvaz thought about it, the better his key seemed. But to use it could mean his death. The secrets of the Shadow Gods and the Vru’uneb and the High Council were not for one man to babble freely. Yet…
Prince Eselne and the stem-faced General were looking at him.
Slowly, carefully now. Taluvaz fumbled for his cup of Chumetl, something to delay with, to hold back his words until he had had time to weigh each one. The stuff burned his throat like Vimuhla’s raging flames. He could not help making a face. He gasped and spoke:
“Mighty Prince, I have made our needs plain to you, plainer than I would have spoken them to my own brother-priests.” The language was coming easier, the musical Tsolyani — syllables following one upon the other of their own accord. “I am honoured by your, ah, confidence.” He paused. Now he must plunge into the maelstrom. “Know that we-were indeed aware of the Man of Gold, the weapon to defeat the horrible device brought forth by the Baron Aid.”
General Kettukal made an impatient sound in his throat, but the Prince gestured him to silence.
“My Lord, we were indeed aware of the priest of Thumis, and of something of what he might have discovered. But it was not-useful-that he be found-by any of you-ah, at that time.” Taluvaz spread his hands palms downward in a gesture of apology. “Too much power-either to Tsolyanu or to Yan Kor- you must understand…”
Prince Eselne gave no sign. Politics were politics. Thus far Taluvaz had said nothing that Tsamra would find objectionable. If his guess were wrong, what he was about to add now would seal his death warrant at the hands of the ever-efficient Vru’uneb.
“We did not seek very diligently, nor did we use all of our resources, mighty Prince. Had we done so, we would have found the priest as assuredly as the journeying of the sun through the sky. For-for we can command the aid of-” he filled his lungs with the dry air, “-the Heheganu, the Old Ones of Purdimal.” “What-?” The Prince looked puzzled; then his gaze hardened. “We are old, my Lord, older than Engsvanyalu, older then the First Imperium of the Bednalljans, or any of the empires that have come and gone upon Tekumel. We do not say it, but our Shadow-Gods are not distorted forms of the Gods of the Priest Pavar, as those outside of our sanctuaries are led to think. Within, we carry on the traditions of Llyan, of the First Kingdom after the Latter Times-of Llyan of Tsamra, my Lord. We have wisdom lost since the days of man’s first creation, from the ages before the Time of Darkness, before the lights in the sky were extinguished, and the lamps of the Old Gods went out, and the earth shook, and the waters walked, and the fires rose from the hells below…”
“What has all this mythology-?” General Kettukal began. “Hear me. There are peoples and things-from the First Times-allegiances and liaisons made then, before the world was as it is. One of these, ah, relationships is with the Heheganu, the Old Ones of Purdimal, who are now debased, a race so circumscribed and so poor and so disillusioned-and so disinherited-that they dwell in the places below and no longer walk abroad in the light of day. They know where your priest is, mighty Prince. They have given him refuge. They want no resurgence of the great conflict that he-the Man of Gold- would revive from the dust of the ancient past, no battle between that thing and the ‘Weapon Without Answer’ that the Baron drags down toward your frontiers.
“Yet we-who are allied by certain bonds to them-can cause them to bring forth the priest and aid in finding his device. We can winkle him out for you. If the Man of Gold is as it is supposed to be, if it still operates after all these millennia, if-” “In return for which, we aid you with Tsolei and Mu’ugalavya- and the southern continent,” Prince Eselne drew a long breath.
“Yes, those-and perhaps certain other mutual favours to be discussed-I must speak with my superiors in the High Temple of Qame’el at Tsamra. But I have opened the kernel of it for you. Yes, we will help you stop the Baron of Yan Kor. And you shall give us what I have asked today.”
Prince Eselne stood up. He clapped his hands twice. A panel opened in the wall, revealing darkness within. “You are there, Chiyurga? Take these three girls and apply your magic to their minds; let them recall nothing of what was said here. Harm them not.”
The slavegirls squealed, terrified in spite of the Prince’s soothing and the fat purse of gold he tossed to them.
The three men remained talking until late in the night. Taluvaz eventually received not only an ewer of excellent, cool wine but a fine dinner as well.