Chapter Nine
Four sat together in a room that was not a room, in a place that was not a place, and in a time that was timeless. Sparks of colourless light swam lazily to and fro, fish in a pool that had never known water.
The first was a man attired in the silver-chaised, engraved armour of the city of Dharu, the Forge of Yan Kor. He was in his early middle years, massive as the plinth of a fortress, heavy through the shoulders and upper arms, and almost without a neck, his shaven head seeming to sit directly upon his torso. His breastplate, pauldrons, and gorget of fine steel exaggerated this massiveness. His was an imposing figure of physical power, although if one looked closely, certain softnesses of cheek and jowl revealed concessions made to age. Two creases ran down from his broad-winged nose past shaven lips to a square-cut black beard shot with silver, as ravines run down from a headland to the foam-tipped waves of the sea. Yet his most arresting feature, perhaps, were his eyes: green- glinting black, level, stem beneath the jutting eaves of his brows-and possibly a trifle mad.
The second was also a man, but cast by a different potter upon another wheel. Earth-hued robes hid his body, and he might thus have been slender or stout, old or young. Somehow, even so, he had the air of one who is young but who has never experienced youth. This man sat motionless as an idol of clay, corpse-hued hands folded before him upon his knees, the nails like chips of ochre flint. His features were concealed by a sombre cowl, but the light from above-which had no source and cast no shadow- touched a jaw painted bone-white, the colour of a skull.
The third who sat in that group might have been a man-and might have been something quite other. He was reed-thin, of no age determinable, sallow-saffron of skin, with a cap of dead black hair held by a curiously wrought fillet of silver and obsidian. He wore a slashed tunic of purple and ebon and russet which was cut loose and might thereby hide any number of anomalies of form. No pupils were visible in his eyes, and these glinted now black, now red, like marbles of translucent glass.
The fourth was most definitely not a man. Rich coppery-brown skin and sepia-hued fur rippled in the pallid light. A fanged animal snout, up-tilted ears, and a heavy-ridged brow made the creature a demon out of legends old before man had walked upon Tekumel. Save for a harness of studs and links and bosses, the being was nude. Scarlet eyes, like rich rubies, stared down at a luminous blue-glowing orb cupped between six-fingered paw-like hands.
The first man spoke in a grating, foreign voice. “You sought this council. Why?”
The second replied in a higher, mellower tone, a voice without emphasis or intonation, like the base-note of some sad threnody. “They near the goal. If more is not done, what was concealed will be opened.”
“You are resourceful. Why call upon us?”
“Several players play this game. My pieces can be identified. Should this occur, more than one will be the loser. ’ ’
The first man swore casually in a harsh, crackling tongue. “What would you of us?”
“You have pawns still unplayed, even in Bey Sii. If one or two are dashed from the board, it will be no more and no less than others expect. On the other hand, if even one of my pieces is clearly seen, both our games are speedily done.”
“What difficulty do you apprehend?” The armoured man shifted his weight, leather and metal harness creaking. “So the priest-boy has reached Bey Sii; there is little chance he will come upon the prize!”
The second man paused, then went on. “You know that the ‘Book of Changing into Dust’ is in my possession. It contains the records of the necropolises of the Bednalljan Dynasty from the reign of Queen Nayari up through the age of the Great Decline. Amongst the entries for Urmish there is one for the tomb of a certain Ha’akosun, who was governor of that city, a scholar, and an antiquarian of some skill. The list of contents for his tomb is… quite interesting, if true. There is power-real power-in some of the objects interred there. Perhaps even the power to halt certain mighty forces…”
The third man now spoke for the first time, his voice a sibilant hiss as though made with organs other than a human tongue and lips. “We know of that power. There is little chance that the priest-boy-or others who seek it-will find the key of it.” “True. It may require an historian to know what it is and where it is, a scholar to unlock it, and a sorcerer to use it. But there are those who would aid the priest-boy. What is lacking may be supplied.”
“Unlikely,” the first man snapped. “Your temples squabble over the relics; the relics themselves may be false or inoperative- after so many millennia the latter is probable. Should they be real-and useful-the priest-boy must still reach the treasure to which they point. And leam its use! A series of tasks as incredible as the legend of Subadim the Sorcerer! ’ ’
“Has the priest-boy yet discovered the place of the power?” The third man broke in. “There is the map symbol.”
“Yes, and well you know whither it points. Still, certain of my sources hint at subterfuge.” The bone-white lips opened in a soundless smile. “The ancients were as devious as they are now dead! It would be like them to lead the would-be tomb robber a long dance half across the world.”
“If so, then we have even less cause for concern! Why risk our agents to halt such an unlikely project? As well wear a helmet to protect one’s head from falling lightning bolts!” The first man turned his entire upper body to face the third. “What think you, Lord Fu Shi’i? Counsel me.”
“My Lord, we should not act, and well our colleague here knows it. There are watches and wards upon all connected with this affair, and our hand would be as plain as milk in wine. Let him move his own pieces. They are better placed and better hidden than ours.”
The third man was silent. The first shifted again, impatiently, and the second sat as though carved from dull clay. The fourth being said not a word but continued to gaze into the lustrous blue orb.
At length the second spoke again, upon a higher, tenser note. “If I act and others come to know, it will be as though a summer flood has swept across all our lands! My brothers-and my sister-would delight to see me stumble.”
“Stumbling is always possible for those who would ascend to dizzy heights.” The third man made a convoluted gesture in the air. “Your minions are many, and your nets are spread wide. ‘The Shqa — beetle makes tunnels within tunnels.’ ”
“My success is your success. If I fail, then I go onto the impaler’s stake for the ‘high ride.’ And all of your long-laid plans go with me.”
“You will not fail.” The third spoke again. “If any has the talent and the ambition to win to mighty goals, it is you.
Remember the sum wagered upon this throw, my Lord: an empire-”
“Enough.” The first man waved a blunt hand. “Our compact is firm. We will aid you, but now is not the time. Make use of the others: the factions within the temples, the nobles you control, the dark ones whom you alone can summon. But you are the one who can-and should-act. It is premature for us to move. Call our help only if you see defeat before you as a Zrne sees the hunters’ pit.”
The second man did not move, but his smooth, creaseless fingers were knotted upon his knees before him. “What if instead I were to aid the priest-boy in his lessons? What if I were the hero who brought about your fall? There would be lamentation in many places beyond Tsolyanu.”
The first man made an abrupt movement to rise. “We own more than one jug for our wine. Prince. You may break this one, but there are others fired in the kiln. No, I do not think you would betray our bargain, for it gives us each more than either can achieve alone. At the proper time we shall see that you do indeed have certain royal siblings to mourn. And the Petal Throne to sit upon. We-”
“You, Baron, stand to gain lands and cities which were part of the Imperium since the first Tlakotani Emperor sat upon the Petal Throne over two thousand years ago!” The colourless voice dropped to a whisper. “Once you were great within Tsolyanu, Baron Aid. You served as general of one of my father’s armies, and you could have risen yet higher, even to stand at the right hand of the God-Emperor himself! Now you would snatch from us what is anciently ours! You know that I join you in this only because-”
One. thick fist smashed down into the palm of the other hand. “-Only because you cannot alone win the Petal Throne for yourself, Prince Dhich’une! When your father dies, you will face the Kolumejalim, ‘the Rite of Choosing of Emperors,’ as is the custom in your land. You would certainly best your eldest brother, Rereshqala, in those trials, for he dallies in pleasant lethargy in his villa in Jakalla with his whores and cronies, drunk or drugged, perhaps even by your doing! Your second brother, Eselne, could cleave you in twain with no more than a table-knife. And even
