Majipoor Chronicles

When the period of mourning was over and she had an opportunity to make arrangements for such matters, Inyanna called for one of her stewards and ordered rich gifts of money to be delivered to the Grand Bazaar, for the thief Agourmole and all members of his family. It was Inyanna's way of saying that she had not forgotten them. 'Tell me their exact words when you hand the purses to them,' she ordered the steward, hoping they would send back some warm remembrances of the old times together, but the man reported that none of them had said anything of interest, that they had simply expressed surprise and gratitude toward the Lady Inyanna, except for the man named Sidoun, who had refused his gift and could not be urged to accept it. Inyanna smiled sadly and had Sidoun's twenty royals distributed to children in the streets, and after that she had no further contact with the thieves of the Grand Bazaar, nor did she ever go near the place.

Some years later, while visiting the shops of the Gossamer Galleria, the Lady Inyanna observed two suspicious-looking men in the shop of the dragon-bone carvings. From their movements and the way they exchanged glances, it seemed quite clear to her that they were thieves, maneuvering to create a diversion that would allow them to plunder the shop. Then she looked at them more closely and realized that she had encountered them before, for one was a short thick-framed man, and the other tall and knobby-faced and pale. She gestured to her escorts, who moved quietly into position about the two.

Inyanna said, 'One of you is Steyg, and one is called Vezan Ormus, but I have forgotten which of you is which. On the other hand, I remember the other details of our meeting quite well.'

The thieves looked at one another in alarm. The taller one said, 'Milady, you are mistaken. My name is Elakon-Mirj, and my friend is called Thanooz.'

'These days, perhaps. But when you visited Velathys long ago you went by other names. I see that you've graduated from swindling to thievery, eh? Tell me this: how many heirs to Nissimorn Prospect did you discover, before the game grew dull?'

Now there was panic in their eyes. They seemed to be calculating the chances of making a break past Inyanna's men toward the door; but that would have been rash. The guards of the Gossamer Galleria had been notified and were gathered just outside.

The shorter thief, trembling, said, 'We are honest merchants, milady, and nothing else.'

'You are incorrigible scoundrels,' said Inyanna, 'and nothing else. Deny it again and I'll have you shipped to Suvrael for penal servitude!'

'Milady—'

'Speak the truth,' Inyanna said.

Through chattering teeth the taller one replied, 'We admit the charge. But it was long ago. If we have injured you, we will make full restitution.'

'Injured me? Injured me?' Inyanna laughed. 'Rather, you did me the greatest service anyone could have done. I feel only gratitude toward you; for know that I was Inyanna Forlana the shopkeeper of Velathys, whom you cheated out of twenty royals, and now I am the Lady Inyanna of Ni-moya, mistress of Nissimorn Prospect. And so the Divine protects the weak and brings good out of evil.' She beckoned to the guards. 'Convey these two to the imperial proctors, and say that I will give testimony against them later, but that I ask mercy for them, perhaps a sentence of three months of road-mending, or something similar. And afterward I think I'll take the two of you into my service. You are worthless rogues, but clever ones, and it's better to keep you close at hand, where you can be watched, than to let you go loose to prey on the unwary.' She waved her hand. They were led away.

Inyanna turned to the keeper of the shop. 'I regret the interruption,' she said. 'Now, these carvings of the emblems of the city, that you think are worth a dozen royals apiece — what would you say to thirty royals for the lot, and maybe a little carving of the bilantoon thrown in to round things off—'

TEN Voriax and Valentine

Of all the vicarious lives Hissune has experienced In the Register of Souls, that of Inyanna Forlana seems perhaps the closest to his heart. In part it is because she is a woman of modern times and so the world in which she dwelled seems less alien to him than those of the soul-painter or the sea-captain or Thesme of Narabal. But the main reason Hissune feels kinship with the one-time shopkeeper of Velathys is that she began with practically nothing, and lost even that, and nevertheless came to achieve power and grandeur and, Hissune suspects, a measure of contentment. He understands that the Divine helps those who helped themselves, and Inyanna seems much like him in that respect. Of course, luck was with her — she caught the attention of the right people at the right moment, and they saw her nicely along her journey; but does one not also shape one's own luck? Hissune, who had been in the right place when Lord Valentine in his wanderings came to the Labyrinth years ago, believes that. He wonders what surprises and delights fortune has in store for him, and how he can better shape his own destinies to achieve something higher than the clerkship in the Labyrinth that has been his lot so long. He is eighteen, now, and that seems very old for commencing his rise to greatness. But he reminds himself that Inyanna, at his age, was peddling clay pots and bolts of cloth on the wrong side of Velathys, and she came to inherit Nissimorn Prospect. No telling what waits for him. Why, at any moment Lord Valentine might send for him — Lord Valentine, who arrived at the Labyrinth the week before, and is lodged now in those luxurious chambers reserved for the Coronal when he is in residence at the capital of the Pontificate — Lord Valentine might summon him and say, 'Hissune, you've served long enough in this grubby place. From now on you live beside me on Castle Mount!' At any moment, yes. But Hissune has heard nothing from the Coronal and expects to hear nothing. It is a pretty fantasy, but he will not torment himself with false hopes. He goes about his dreary work and mulls all that he has learned in the Register of Souls, and a day or two after sharing the life of the thief of Ni-moya he returns to the Register and with the greatest boldness he has ever displayed he inquires of the archival index whether there is on file a recording of the soul of Lord Valentine. It is impudence, he knows, and dangerous tempting of fate; Hissune will not be surprised if lights flash and bells rings and armed guards come to seize the prying young upstart who without the slightest shred of authority is attempting to penetrate the mind and spirit of the Coronal himself. What does surprise him is the actual event: the vast machine simply informs him that a single record of Lord Valentine is available, made long ago, in his earliest manhood. Hissune, shameless, does not hesitate. Quickly he punches the activator keys.

They were two black-haired black-bearded men, tall and strong, with dark flashing eyes and wide shoulders and an easy look of authority about them, and anyone could see at a single glance that they must be brothers. But there were differences. One was a man and one was still to some degree a boy, and that was evident not only from the sparseness of the younger one's beard and the smoothness of his face, but from a certain warmth and playfulness and gaiety in his eyes. The older one was more stern, more austere of expression, more imperious, as though he bore terrible responsibilities that had left their mark on him. In a way that was true; for he was Voriax of Halanx, elder son of the High Counsellor Damiandane, and it had been commonly said of him on Castle Mount since his childhood that he was sure to be Coronal one day.

Of course there were those who said the same thing about his younger brother Valentine — that he was a fine boy of great promise, that he had the making of a king about him. But Valentine had no illusions about such compliments. Voriax was the older by eight years, and, beyond any doubt, if either of them went to dwell in the Castle it would be Voriax. Not that Voriax had any guarantees of the succession, despite what everyone said. Their father Damiandane had been one of Lord Tyeveras' closest advisers, and he too had universally been expected to be the next Coronal. But when Lord Tyeveras became Pontifex, he had reached all the way down the Mount to the city of Bombifale to choose Malibor as his successor. No one had anticipated that, for Malibor was only a provincial governor, a coarse man more interested in hunting and games than in the burdens of administration. Valentine had not yet been born then, but Voriax had told him that their father had never uttered a word of disappointment or dismay at being passed over for the throne, which perhaps was the best indication that he had been qualified to be chosen.

Valentine wondered whether Voriax would behave so nobly if the starburst crown were denied him after all, and went instead to some other high prince of the Mount — Elidath of Morvole, say, or Tunigorn, or Stasilaine, or to Valentine himself. How odd that would be! Sometimes Valentine covertly said the names to hear their sound: Lord Stasilaine, Lord Elidath, Lord Tunigorn. Lord Valentine, even! But such fantasies were idle folly. Valentine had no wish to displace his brother, nor was it likely to happen. Barring some unimaginable prank of the Divine or some bizarre whim of Lord Malibor, it was Voriax who would reign when it became Lord Malibor's time to be Pontifex, and the knowledge of that destiny had imprinted itself on Voriax' spirit and showed in his conduct and bearing.

The complexities of the court were far from Valentine's mind now. He and his brother were on holiday in the lower ranges of Castle Mount — a trip long postponed, for Valentine had suffered a terrible fracture of the leg the year before last while riding with his friend Elidath in the pygmy forest below Amblemorn, and only lately had he been sufficiently recovered for another such strenuous journey. Down the vast mountain he and Voriax had gone, making a grand and wonderful tour, possibly the last long holiday Valentine was apt to have before he entered the world of adult obligations. He was seventeen, now, and because he belonged to that select group of princelings from whom Coronals were chosen, there was much he must learn of the techniques of government, so that he would be ready for whatever might be asked of him.

And so he had gone with Voriax — who was escaping his own duties, and glad of it, for the sake of helping his brother celebrate his return to health — from the family estate in Halanx to the nearby pleasure-city of High Morpin, to ride the juggernauts and careen through the power-tunnels. Valentine insisted on doing the mirror-slides, too, by way of testing the strength of his shattered leg, and just the merest look of uncertainty crossed Voriax' face, as if he doubted that Valentine could handle such sports but was too tactful to say it. When they stepped out on the slides Voriax hovered close by Valentine's elbow, irritatingly protective, and when Valentine moved away a few steps Voriax moved with him, until Valentine turned and said, 'Do you think I will fall, brother?'

'There is little chance of that.'

'Then why stand so close? Is it you that fears falling?' Valentine laughed. 'Be reassured, then. I'll reach you soon enough to catch you.'

'You are ever thoughtful, brother,' said Voriax. And then the slides began to turn and the mirrors glowed brightly, and there was no time for more banter. Indeed Valentine felt a moment's uneasiness, for the mirror-slide was not for invalids and his injury had left him with a slight but infuriating limp that disturbed his coordination; but quickly he caught the rhythm of it and he stayed upright easily, sustaining his balance even in the wildest gyrations, and when he went whirling past Voriax he saw the anxiety gone from his brother's face. Yet the essence of the episode gave Valentine much to think about, as he and Voriax traveled on down the Mount to Tentag for the tree-dancing festival, and then to Ertsud Grand and Minimool, and onward past Gimkandale to Furible to witness the mating flight of the stone birds. While they had been waiting for the mirror-slides to start moving Voriax had been a concerned and loving guardian, and yet at the same time a bit condescending, a bit smothering: his fraternal care for Valentine's safety seemed to Valentine yet another way for Voriax to be maintaining authority over him, and Valentine, at the threshold of full manhood, did not at all like that. But he understood that brotherhood was part love and part warfare, and he kept his annoyance to himself.

From Furible they passed through Bimbak East and Bimbak West, pausing in each city to stand before one of the twin mile-high towers that made even the haughtiest swaggerer feel like an ant, and beyond Bimbak East they took the path that led to Amblemorn, where a dozen wild streams came together to become the potent River Glayge. On the downslope side of Amblemorn was a place some miles across where the soil was hard-packed and chalky-white, and trees that elsewhere