The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  SEVEN CITADELS

  PART THREE

  THE DEAD KINGDOM

  Seven Citadels novels by Geraldine Harris

  Prince of the Godborn

  The Children of the Wind

  The Seventh Gate

  SPEAKING VOLUMES, LLC

  NAPLES, FLORIDA

  2011

  SEVEN CITADELS

  THE DEAD KINGDOM

  Copyright © 1983 by GERALDINE HARRIS

  Copyright © 2011 by GERALDINE HARRIS

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  ISBN 978-1-61232-047-2

  SEVEN CITADELS

  PART THREE

  THE DEAD KINGDOM

  GERALDINE HARRIS

  THE STORY SO FAR

  The beginning of the story Seven Citadels is told in Prince of the Godborn. In the east of Zindar lies the great Galkian Empire ruled by the Godborn; the descendants of Zeldin, the Gentle God and his human consort, Imarko. Galkis is under attack from the barbarians along its borders and is weakened by intrigue and strife amongst the Godborn.

  An alliance between the barbarians of the Five Kingdoms and the Brigands of Fangmere brings a new crisis and the High Priest Izeldon sees an ancient prophecy of an imprisoned Saviour as the only hope for Galkis. He asks Prince Kerish-lo-Taan, a son of the Emperor by a slave-girl from Erandachu, to search for this promised Saviour. Izeldon reveals that the only way to free the Saviour is to win the seven keys to the gates of his prison, but each key is guarded by an immortal sorcerer. The Emperor insists that the impulsive Kerish shares his quest with his sensible half-brother, Lord Forollkin.

  The two young men survive a Brigand attack as they cross the Sea of Az to visit Elmandis of Ellerinonn, the first of the sorcerers. Elmandis proves to be a philosopher-king ruling a gentle people dedicated to bringing peace and beauty to Zindar. He sees Kerish's coming as a disaster, because a sorcerer who gives up his key loses immortality. Kerish has to face a grim ordeal and use all his powers of argument to persuade noble Elmandis to surrender the first key.

  The second sorcerer is Ellandellore, the estranged younger brother of Elmandis, whose domain is Cheransee, the Isle of Illusions. Ellandellore is a crazed child who cannot be persuaded by reason to give up the key that has trapped him in eternal childhood. Kerish plays a nightmare game with Ellandellore to trick him out of his key and barely escapes with his life. Elmandis can now help his brother to grow up at last. He tells Kerish to look for the third sorcerer far north in the Ultimate Mountains and sends them on their way with a mysterious travelling companion, the ugly and insolent Gidjabolgo

  In The Children of the Wind, Kerish, Forollkin and Gidjabolgo the Forgite buy a passage north through the marshes of Lan-Pin-Fria, on the ship of a Merchant-Hunter. After an eventful journey, during which Kerish acquires the marsh-cat, Lilahnee, the travellers reach the Forbidden Hill. In spite of warnings to go no further, they cross the hill and discover a strange ruined city, before being overwhelmed by a snowstorm

  The travellers wake in Tir-Zulmar, the mountain citadel of the third sorcerer, to find that the first two keys have been stolen. Kerish confronts the third sorcerer and discovers that she is a woman from the island of Gannoth. The sorceress Sendaaka tells Kerish how she quarrelled with her husband, Saroc, the fourth sorcerer, and about the tragic death of their only daughter. The two sorcerers can never be reunited unless one of them gives up their key. Kerish persuades Sendaaka to lend him her key and return the first two keys. He promises to convince Saroc to give up his key and ask Sendaaka's forgiveness, without revealing that she has already yielded her key. If he fails, Kerish will have to return Sendaaka's key and his quest will be over.

  To reach the citadel of Saroc, which lies in the Queendom of Seld, the companions will have to cross the plains of Erandachu. Sendaaka warns them that they are bound to meet the Erandachi, the Children of the Wind, who worship her as their `Mountain Goddess'. Half-way across the plains, the travellers are captured by the Sheyasa tribe, whose chieftain, Tayeb, proves to be Kerish's uncle. They are welcomed into the tribe by Tayeb's daughter, Gwerath, a priestess of the Mountain Goddess, who takes an immediate liking to Forollkin.

  Tayeb wants Kerish and Forollkin to help him against his enemies within the tribe and forbids them to leave. Forollkin's skill and courage win him an honoured place as a warrior, but Kerish is made a priest of the Mountain Goddess and Gidjabolgo a slave. Kerish is eager to attract Gwerath's attention and jealous of Forollkin's status as a warrior. The tension between the two brothers erupts when Kerish wins the right to be a warrior by fighting Forollkin. He nearly kills his brother, but Forollkin forgives him and their resolve to escape from the Sheyasa is strengthened. Escape only proves possible with Gwerath's help and they are forced to take her with them.

  Arriving in Seld, the four travellers encounter its ruler, Queen Pellameera and are invited to her court. There they are told about the horrors of Saroc's citadel and Kerish learns that his father, the Emperor, is dead. The quest is now more urgent than ever and Kerish and his companions set out to win the key of the fourth sorcerer. The story continues in The Dead Kingdom.

  Chapter 1

  The Book of the Emperors: Sorrows

  But the Emperor said, "Ah, to fight evil would have seemed an easy task, but all my life I have been condemned to struggle against misguided good. With each blow I struck I drove the knife of sorrow deeper into my own heart."

  Three tents were pitched on the lowest slope of the White Hills of Lamoth. One was for the Queen's favourite, Lord Djezaney; the second was for the strangers he was escorting through Seld - the Prince of Galkis, his half-brother, Lord Forollkin, and the Forgite who followed them like a dog begging for scraps between snarls. The third tent lodged the Galkians' cousin, the silver-haired Erandachi princess, who scandalized her Seldian escort by carrying weapons and dressing like a boy

  At the close of a long, light evening, Djezaney's servants were about to serve the meal which they had prepared over the camp fire. A page drew a ewer of water from a nearby spring, picked and crushed some flowers to scent it, and knelt before the Princess offering to wash her hands. As usual, she refused, but Prince Kerish-lo-Taan submitted gracefully. Lord Djezaney let the boy wash and dry his good hand, swearing when the napkin caught in one of his rings. The page looked round for the Prince's brother but Lord Forollkin was kneeling at the bottom of the slope where the lush grass ended and the Red Waste began.

  The young Galkian ran a few grains of sand through his fingers. They were as hot as new ashes. In the distance gloomed the citadel of Saroc. On their peaceful journey through the quiet Seldian countryside, Djezaney had maliciously related all the tales that he could remember or invent about the horrors of Tir-Tonar. At least they provided a good excuse for forbidding Gwerath to come with them into the Red Waste. The Princess had sworn that she would never forgive Forollkin if he didn't change his mind. Secure in the belief that he was acting for her own good, Forollkin had taken this calmly. He smiled at the memory of her anger but, as he watched the red sand trickling through his fingers, his thoughts turned to a red-haired woman. He listed the reasons why he should find the Queen of Seld contemptible, but her image danced through his thoughts. Every detail of her grace seemed t
o have hooked itself to him and could not be torn away without pain.

  The timid voice of the page, asking if he wished to eat, roused Forollkin. Smiling at the boy, the tall Galkian got up and walked towards the tents. Cushions had been heaped on the grass and an embroidered cloth spread for the silver dishes and goblets. On the first evening of their journey, the sight of a lady eating in public had so distressed the Seldians that Gwerath had reluctantly agreed to retire to her tent during meals. Tonight, she did so with little grace and scowled at Forollkin to make sure that he knew he was being ignored. Kerish-lo-Taan was leaning against one of the white boulders that gave the hills their name. Looking down at his brother's calm face and startling eyes, Forollkin wished he could imagine what Kerish was thinking and feeling; wished for a moment that he could understand what it was like to be anyone else, to be Gwerath, or Gidjabolgo, or the Queen of Seld . . .

  "Your dinner's getting sour," said Gidjabolgo.

  The Forgite lounged on a pile of cushions next to Kerish, with the green shape of the marsh cat stretched out between them. Djezaney's hand was already dripping with honey as he nibbled a sticky cake. Forollkin sat down beside him and took the cover off one of the silver dishes. Inside, delicate slivers of meat were swamped by a rich, sweet sauce.

  "Do you never cook anything in Seld without pouring honey all over it?" asked Forollkin.

  Djezaney licked the crumbs from his lips. "Women's food is different. Men like their food over-sweet. Custom tells us so."

  "Must you always follow custom?"

  "The Queen is a great upholder of custom," answered Djezaney, "and I am the Queen's Favourite."

  "One of them," said Gidjabolgo unkindly, "and what Queen would not uphold customs that tie the men of Seld to her skirts?"

  To keep the peace, Kerish asked hastily, "How long has Seld been a Queendom?"

  Djezaney shrugged. "Do you expect a man to know? Ask one of the scholars of Trykis."

  "I expect you to know." Kerish picked a slice of meat off his plate to feed to the marsh cat. "The Queen did mention that you could read."

  "A rare privilege." Djezaney's smile was not a pleasant one. "Well then . . . there have been Queens on the throne of Seld for six hundred years. Once, the land was divided into a Northern and a Southern realm, each ruled by a King. Six hundred years ago the Kings were pious men. The King of the North thought himself the incarnation of Melkiniak, the northern god, and the King of the South claimed to be the son of Kilmenior, the southern god. Each asserted that his god was supreme and it came to a long and bloody war between them. Seld was devastated. The King of the North had married Bekeena, the sister of the King of the South. She tried to make a peace between them and, during a truce, brought them together to talk. When she saw that they could not agree and that the war would begin again, Bekeena poisoned them both and took the crown. She decreed that only women could rule Seld and that if any Queen gave birth to a son, he would be strangled at birth. She also banished gods from Seld and razed their temples, all except Trykis, the prison of the Queens' sisters."

  Forollkin took a mouthful of tart wine. "So, now there are Queens and Seld prospers. "

  Djezaney nodded. "We are all as plump and peaceful as caged birds, fed by the Queen's favour."

  Forollkin drained his goblet. "It's not a life I'd take to."

  "Then, from what I hear," answered Djezaney, "you'd better not return to Galkis, now that a woman rules your Empire. "

  "The Empress Rimoka merely advises her son," said Kerish stiffly. "She does not rule."

  "I bow to your Highness' superior knowledge. Now if you will forgive me. "

  Djezaney retired to his tent to re-curl his long black hair with the tongs that had been heating in the ashes of the camp fire.

  "If I were Queen Pellameera, " murmured Gidjabolgo, "I wouldn't trust my favourite further than I could sniff his scent."

  "I don't think she does," said Kerish, as the marsh cat licked some sauce from his hands. "Perhaps she enjoys a whiff of danger."

  "Gidjabolgo, are you sure you want to come with us tomorrow?" asked Forollkin suddenly. "If only a tenth of Djezaney's tales are true . . . "

  "I'll take my chance with the sorcerer," said Gidjabolgo. "Unlike the Princess, at least I'm given a choice."

  "You know as well as we do why she mustn't come," answered Kerish.

  "I know why you think so," agreed Gidjabolgo, "and I also know why I think that she should come."

  *****

  At dawn, Kerish, Forollkin and Gidjabolgo set out on foot across the hot sand. Gwerath did not emerge from her tent to watch them go but Djezaney stood at the edge of the grass, still wrapped in his velvet bed-gown, with his face unpainted and his hands bare of rings.

  "I will wait for you for three days. May the Queen's favour go with you."

  It sounded more like a curse than a good wish. Gidjabolgo mockingly urged the Seldian to come with them to face the sorcerer. Djezaney ignored him and went back to bed.

  Almost as soon as the travellers entered the Red Waste, Lilahnee began hopping from leg to leg. She licked her paws and mewed in distress but when Kerish took her back to the camp she refused to stay there without him.

  "Ignore her," ordered Forollkin. "Her paws are tough enough; she's only trying to catch attention."

  As they walked southwards, with Lilahnee limping behind, the cool dawn of the hills was replaced by a fierce heat.

  "Look at the sky," whispered Kerish. "It's changed."

  Above them the cloudless arch of the sky had darkened from warm blue to a heavy red.

  "It's closer," muttered Gidjabolgo.

  The travellers felt trapped between the red sand and the red sky and there seemed no space to move or breathe.

  "This is Saroc's realm," said Kerish. "He shapes it to his will."

  For an hour they walked in silence, pausing every so often to drink from the leathern water-flask that Gidjabolgo carried slung across his shoulder. The flat sands were broken by an occasional dune and sometimes the travellers stumbled over slabs that might once have been part of a road and the stumps of long dead trees.

  "What's that?" asked Gidjabolgo suddenly, and then they all noticed a green object sticking up above the sand. Lilahnee bounded forward to sniff at it while the others approached more cautiously. The stone was cracked and chipped but they could still make out the shape of a wide-mouthed, leaping fish.

  "Perhaps it was part of a fountain," suggested Kerish, "when the Red Waste was a garden."

  Something had caught the Forgite's eye and he scrabbled in the sand that had drifted against the stone.

  "Gold!" He held up a bracelet of gold and crystal, set with a single, long red hair.

  "Stop it, Gidjabolgo!" cried Kerish but as he spoke the sand slithered away to reveal the owner of the bracelet crouched beside the choked fountain.

  The dry air and hot sand had preserved the body well and scraps of gaudy clothing and a few blonde curls still clung to the desiccated skin. Gidjabolgo scraped his hands against his thighs.

  "This must be the foolish Lord they spoke of back in Lamoth. The father of the Queen's daughters."

  "His name was Theligarn," murmured Forollkin.

  "Cover him again," ordered Kerish, "but perhaps we should take this bracelet back to Pellameera."

  "Give it to me," said Forollkin, and he slipped it on his own wrist.

  "How do you think he died?" asked Gidjabolgo, stooping down to peer into what was left of the face.

  "His right arm has been torn off . . . " began Forollkin, "and the chest . . . " Abruptly he knelt and heaped the red sand over the withered body. "Come on. Keep walking. By Zeldin, I wish it wasn't so hot!"

  Kerish delved into his tunic and drew out the jewel of Zeldin. Its pellucid light seemed unaffected by the red glare of the oppressive sky and it was cool to the touch. He held it against his forehead for a moment and then passed it to Forollkin and Gidjabolgo. It seemed to help all of them shake off the worst effects o
f the heat.

  For several hours they walked steadily on towards the Citadel of Saroc. Tir-Tonar was enclosed by walls of smooth crimson stone, twelve times the height of a man. The travellers could see no entrance but, as they came closer, they noticed dark patches against the crimson. These might have been windows but they were irregular in shape and Kerish could have sworn that they sometimes moved. Forollkin dismissed it as a trick of the shimmering heat.

  Gidjabolgo's keen ears first heard the noise, or perhaps it was Lilahnee. She began to growl and the fur stood up in spikes along her back. Kerish put his arm around her neck but she refused to be soothed.

  "Do you hear it?" demanded the Forgite. "A kind of crying, very thin and shrill."

  They walked forward slowly and the noise increased until they could all hear it. They entered the gigantic shadow of Tir-Tonar. Free of the glare of the red sun, Kerish looked up at the walls. "Zeldin and Imarko!"

  As if it had heard the Prince's appalled whisper, one of the patches of darkness broke from the wall and plunged towards them. In that second, the travellers realized that they were hearing the voices of the guardians of Tir-Tonar.

  Forollkin tore off his cloak and wrapped it round his left arm as a shield. He drew his sword and ordered the others to get behind him, but Kerish stayed at his side, dagger in hand. Lilahnee crouched at their feet, spitting bravely. Black and crimson wings beat at the air. The creature shrieked and the sound was almost too high for them to hear, but it made their heads ring. Kerish had a brief impression of a scaled snout, a long row of teeth and horribly human arms that ended in clawed hands.

  Forollkin slashed at the creature but it flew towards Kerish and knocked him to his knees with a blow of its wing. The Prince ducked to avoid the raking claws and lunged blindly with his dagger. He missed but Forollkin brought his sword crashing down on the creature's head. Its black scales turned the blade and the arms stretched out again for Kerish.