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

by priests who returned every night
to Viroc. A great statue of Imarko looked out towards a temple of Idaala built
on the Orazian side of the island, for the Men of the Five Kingdoms also
counted Vaish as a holy place.
    As the prisoners joined O-grak and his
bodyguard in one of the longboats, Kerish asked why that was.
    “It is the place where Zeldin the Betrayer
last spoke to our Lady,” answered the Khan curtly.
    The river between Vaish and Viroc was
treacherous with shifting sandbanks, and too shallow for the Khan's galleys.
The best channel was close enough to Viroc to be within range of the archers
and catapults stationed on its walls. Still, Jerenac had few ships to guard the
Jenze so O-grak thought it safe to transfer most of his household into longboats
for the short row to the Orazian camp. The galleys went on by a longer route,
sailing down the west coast of the island to a safe harbor below the temple of
Idaala. The supplies would be off-loaded there and dragged overland to the
camp.
    As the six longboats rowed down the Jenze,
they were constantly challenged by small Orazian craft, patrolling the river.
Each time, O-grak roared his approval of their vigilance and the men of the
patrols would beat their swords against their shields to welcome the Khan and honor
the shrouded Soul Boat that was towed by the last two longboats.
    One of the sea-fogs so common in the estuary
hid all but the glimmer of Viroc's great ramparts but O-grak smilingly reminded
his prisoners that if they should think of jumping overboard to swim for
Galkis, his men were excellent shots.
    Within three hours, they had reached the
camp. Raised on a promontory jutting towards Viroc, the sombre tents of Oraz
seemed like a pack of animals, waiting hungrily for the next attack. The
standard of the Prince of Oraz flew highest, but he had stayed in Zoanaxa,
entrusting the command to his uncle. O-grak pointed out with childlike
satisfaction other flags, already rimed with salt, belonging to contingents
from Mintaz and Gilaz. `Soon the shores will be darker still with the ships of
Chiraz and Fangmere', thought Forollkin, `and then what chance will Jerenac
have?'
    The boats were beached and the prisoners
splashed ashore with their guards. O-grak was met by his second-in-command and
there was a long pause while news was exchanged and orders were given.
    “So. we're standing on Galkian soil at
last,” murmured Gidjabolgo.
    Kerish's attention seemed fixed on the
sea-birds wheeling overhead but Gwerath saw Forollkin wince.
    “No,” O-grak was saying, “I will keep the
prisoners close to me. Prepare a tent and choose your best men to guard it.” He
turned to Kerish. “For the moment, Prince, you had better come with me. If the
little barbarian went straight to the women's quarters, it might save her some
distress, unless she's as much of a warrior as her clothes pretend.”
    “I will go with my cousins,” answered
Gwerath proudly. “Test my courage however you like.”
    The Khan laughed. “Not your courage, just
your stomach.”
    He turned back towards the camp and Gwerath
and Gidjabolgo soon had to trot to keep up with O-grak's great strides. Kerish
kept his eyes fixed on the Khan's broad back and ignored the stares and
muttered comments of warriors from Oraz, Gilaz and Mintaz who crowded the
camp's main thoroughfare. He was remembering their entry into another camp, as
his uncle's prisoner. Kerish almost smiled at the thought that he felt far more
akin to O-grak than he ever had to Tayeb.
    The Khan's tent was pitched on a hillock
overlooking the camp and behind it lay the charred ruins of the temple of
Imarko. The great statue remained but as the prisoners came closer, they saw
that the head had been struck off, and something was dangling from the
outstretched arms.
    Gidjabolgo wrinkled his nose. “A handsome
gibbet, but it makes the carrion smell no better.”
    From the tattered robes that clung to the
swaying corpses, Forollkin guessed they had