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

through the bars to caress the angry
snake. “I am as renowned for the lavishness of my bounty as for my courage. The
poor and the oppressed flock to my halls.”
    “And with such a reputation comes power?”
    “It does indeed.”
    Kerish sat back on his heels and studied
the Khan, lingering over the black mane kept long in defiance of custom, the
careless splendor of his jeweled weapons, the strength of his ugly hands, the
large, disquieting eyes . . .
    “I see now,” began Kerish, “that in Galkis
you behaved to match our false ideas of what a barbarian chieftain would be
like.”
    “True enough. The thought seems to upset
you.”
    “No.” Kerish's good hand had strayed to the
uncomfortable collar at his neck. “But I was thinking that only condemned men
are spoken to with such frankness.”
    O-grak withdrew his hand from the cage and
gave the Prince his full attention.
    “Only your own stubbornness, or if you
like, your scruples, could condemn you. If you are to be Emperor, we will need
to know each other very well.”
    “It seems unlikely that the rulers of the
Five Kingdoms will agree to your plans for me.”
    “They will listen to the conqueror of Viroc,”
said O-grak calmly. “Do you think I have worked all my life to build this
precious unity in vain? My nephew will do as I suggest and Oraz will pour out
its share of the plunder until the other Princes are convinced.”
    “Cil-Rahgen did not appear to take to your
plans very eagerly.”
    “He snaps at what he is too stupid to
swallow,” growled the Khan, “but he has gone to fetch an army from Chiraz.”
    “O-grak, there is one flaw in all your
reasoning. You don't understand how small grievances can swell to fill a whole
man and turn him against you. You take no offence at what I say. No doubt you
would think it a waste of effort, but other men would be angry. Khan, I think
you will fail because men are too small to fit the world you want to make for them.”
    If O-grak was shaken by the intensity of
Kerish's words he showed it only in the seriousness of his reply. “What you say
might be true in other lands. Here, our constant wars have prevented even the
small in spirit from ignoring the long shadows. Death has always stood too
close, and that has shaped my people in ways the Galkians cannot understand.”
    “But you want to take them out of the
shadows?”
    “I mean to make my people the balance
between darkness and light. Prince, will you help me?”
    “When you ask me for the third time,” said
Kerish, “I will tell you.”
    As the Khan withdrew, Gidjabolgo stirred
amongst the cushions and opened one eye.
    “Forollkin believes now that you never for
a moment considered the Khan's offer.”
    “But you know me better . . .” Kerish
smiled bitterly. “If you were in my place, would you accept?”
    “Of course,” said Gidjabolgo promptly, “but
my motives would not be of the purest.”
    Kerish got up from the cage and stood for a
moment looking down at the Forgite. “Will you play for me, Gidjabolgo?”
    When Gwerath and Forollkin came below, they
saw Kerish huddled like a sick child among the cushions. Gidjabolgo sat beside
him, singing of a young merchant who had never returned from the icy voyage to
Dorak. The guards were listening and even the snake had ceased her struggles
and lay in limp coils as if she had finally accepted the reality of her cage.
     
    *****
     
    The island of Vaish rose uncertainly from
the muddy waters of the estuary that constantly eroded and replaced its shores.
In that desolate and shifting place, only one thing had seemed permanent, the
boundary of the Galkian Empire running across the island.
    After the first great Battle of Viroc, the
Empire had kept its lands west of the Jenze, but one concession had been made
to Oraz - that Vaish should never be inhabited. Its only town had been
abandoned to the encroaching dunes, but the temple of Imarko, that stood on the
boundary itself, had always been maintained