Chapter 31 Dowerkass
It was evening in the house of Unknown King Pindar in the city of Dowerkass. After an exhausting all night trip on Kathoo’s back, Pindar, Clay, and Zendor had entered the city just before dawn and had slept most of the following day. Now they were up again, wide awake and enjoying each other’s company. For once Clay was at ease, for although Pindar had said that his house would be searched rather earlier than later (for Unknown Kings were always suspect), he felt that Clay might stay on in comfort and reasonable safety for one more night.
Present with them in the atrium was Pindar’s grown up son Shiloh, a dark haired and handsome prince of twenty-one years. Clay was seated across from him at a chess table, eagerly showing him the moves of his now famous game against the Royal Interpreter. Leaning over the board, Shiloh followed the explanations with interest, his dark eyes darting about when he talked and holding intently steady when he listened.
Already, Clay had related the story of his travels to Pindar and Shiloh. Now, intermixed with the chess conversation, they began to inform their guest of many things. He learned that most of the Fold’s Sarrs were intently concerned for him, but that they had so far been able to do little while he still traveled through the human occupied lands. He was surprised to discover, as well, that many of the Pergs wished him well, and that some of his success in evading the Prowtsian soldiers had been due to their unwillingness to catch him. Like Tiras Mozez, they were enamored of the idea of a mysterious foreigner of Lila’s lineage; they hoped that he would usher in a golden age for all the Tirasite lands. Thus, they had slowed the pursuit of him despite the great reward offered by Archon Aaron.
All this reminded Clay that his next route of travel had not been decided. He looked around for the knowledgeable Angfetu and found him missing.
“He’s away cleaning his fur and feathers,” Pindar explained as he watched the game from his couch. “Angfetu’s a messenger, you know, and he hints he has some sort of formal message for you. The poor fellow’s been everywhere looking for you. First, he visited Princess Bekah in Kulismos, then Queen Prizca in Quintusia, who gave him the right direction, then back to Kulismos—”
“How is Bekah?” Clay asked.
“Quite well. Her parents were ordered into exile by Kulismos’ High King. She and her sisters are going with them.”
“So her parents were freed from prison?”
“Oh, yes, and nothing unusual. Fold rulers hesitate to treat their Unknown Royalty very harshly. We tend to retaliate if they do.”
Clay smirked at the King. “Retaliate how? What can you do?”
“Very much,” Pindar replied evenly. “King Micah, Queen Leah, and the children will take ship on the long voyage to the Land of Unknown Kings and there report on the situation in Kulismos, including the treatment they’ve received. In the great meeting hall of the Unknown Kings a decision will be reached as to how to deal with Kulismos. That city will perhaps be visited with crop failure, an earthquake, or plague.”
“Get real!”
“Your Eminence, I’m telling the truth. Long ago we were given such power when we left our ancient homeland in Notoschor and sailed to the White Mountain in the Far East. We were anointed as the Unknown Rulers and sent to our present homeland on the Pons.”
“Well, if you really have power like that, why don’t you just take over? The Fold could use it.”
Pindar smoothed a fold of his purple robe. “You don’t believe. Actually, we do plan to take over, given time. Only one of us, however, has the authority to do so. He is our lost son, our absent leader.”
Clay made a few more moves at the board, explained them to Shiloh, and then turned again to Pindar. “So who’s the lost sheep or lost son or whatever?”
Zendor now stirred on a nearby couch. He got up and approached the board, searching Clay’s face with his glittering eyes.
“I’m sorry, Your Eminence, but I’ve been very proud, unwilling to admit your authority over me. I should have told you long ago that you’re one of us. You yourself are the Lost Son.”
Clay smiled. “Right, like I can cause plagues and earthquakes.” He made another move. “Sit down, Zendor, you’re making me nervous. Pindar, what’s he mean?”
“It’s true, Your Eminence, you’re an Unknown King, though by a very distant line of descent. Your ancestor, the widowed King Peter I of Anatolia, was remarried to Chora, the Unknown Queen of his own lands. So their son Prince Kuley was heir both to the known and the unknown crowns of the East. When Kuley disappeared without leaving an heir, the two royal lines appeared to come to an end, but we Unknown Rulers knew better. We knew that they settled upon Kuley’s half-sister Lila, who was commonly believed dead but actually living in England. And though for five hundred years no descendant of hers came to claim the crowns, we never filled with someone else her empty throne in our great meeting hall.”
Zendor had remained standing near the table. “So you, Emperor Clay,” he said, bowing low, “are the Unknown King of the East.”
After an awkward pause, Prince Shiloh playfully punched Clay on the shoulder. “Looks like you just talked yourself into another job,” he said. “What did you say just now? That the Fold needs somebody to take over?”
“That’s not funny,” Clay said. “Why does everybody keep thinking up titles for me?” He slid his carved chair back and stood. “I can’t civilize this outdated continent. I abdicate!”
To his dismay, Pindar and Shiloh laughed.
“Don’t worry, nothing so great is expected of you for some time,” said Pindar. “It’s enough for now that you survive and continue your journey. And here is our Lusetta, looking lovely. Perch here, Angfetu, on the back of my couch, and deliver your message.”
Angfetu alighted and stood on one leg, while with the other talon he held out something that glittered gold in the light of Pindar’s lamps. To Pindar he said, “Please hand this to the Emperor.” As Pindar did so, Angfetu said solemnly, “From the Lady of Lucilla to the Unknown Emperor, her token.”
Clay found himself holding his sister Simone’s wristwatch. “How did you get this?” he asked, advancing eagerly on the Lusetta. “Bekah said you saw Simone. Is it true?”
Angfetu did not blink his midnight blue eyes. “Simone gave me the curious bracelet as her token to accompany a message. She wants you to know that she is well, and she asks news from you.”
“But how did you two meet?”
“We met, Your Eminence, in the garden of Master Arrez’s iron house in the state of Ursala in the Forest Obscure. Simone was on her way to the Palace of Reflections where, if all went well, she was to be declared Empress in your absence and sent eastward to Eschor, to Solomon’s capitol of Colonia.”
“Isn’t that where I’m going?”
“By Ulrumman’s grace, Your Eminence.”
Clay sat down and stared at the watch. “Well, I’d better get there then,” was all he could think of to say. Suddenly, he missed Simone keenly.
“I may be able to return your answer swiftly,” Angfetu said. “If all has gone well at the Council of the Forest, she’ll have come north on the high mountain track of the western slopes of the Titans, she and her escort. But she could scarcely have gained the Sidder-phar yet. All I need do is fly south watching for them, and it may not be many miles.”
Pindar frowned as he stroked his dark, pointed beard. “You may be needed here, Angfetu. Remember that we have no plan yet to get the Emperor safely out of Prowts. He’s watched for at all the gates of the Long Wall.”
“It’s an arduous journey, but he might go north around the mountains,” Angfetu reflected.
Pindar shook his head. “For the last five days that way has been blocked by the army of Farja, come looking for him. It’s their general Pyrus who has offered Archon Aaron such a great ransom for Clay. Of course, the witches are behind it. The Smoke Hag herself is said to be with Pyrus.”
&
nbsp; Clay was staggered. “But I left them so far behind! How could they have known to come here?”
“Spies in the Interpreter’s court, no doubt,” Pindar said. “The Farjans have their informers everywhere. They probably knew your proposed route before you did. As to how their army got here, it was by a quicker way than you came: up the Eleutheria by ship and then some three hundred miles overland, skirting Prowts.”
“They won’t attack the city?” asked Angfetu.
“No, they aren’t quite strong enough for that. But neither does Aaron feel adequate to meet them in the open field and drive them off. There they remain, completely controlling the road north.”
“Clay must go back south again and try for—”
“No, no, too many soldiers at every crossroads. They’d be sure to catch him in open country.”
“I’ve got to go to Colonia,” Clay said.
Prince Shiloh had been waiting for an opening. “Take him up Mount Shelah, to the Ulrigs. They’ll get him through to Trans-Titan.”
“It’s just possible.” Pindar looked thoughtful. “This city is at the foot of Shelah,” he explained to Clay. “No one can climb the mountain without being captured by the Ulrigs who live in caves within. It’s a dangerous choice, but it offers some hope when all other roads offer none.”
“Let’s do it then,” Clay said. “I’ve met Ulrigs before. They’re not so bad.”
“Some can be trusted, some can’t,” Pindar said. “But any plan is better than none at all, so suppose it settled. Thank you, Shi’. To return, then, to Angfetu’s role—old friend, you simply must accompany us up the mountain so as to watch for Ulrigs and warn them that it’s the Emperor coming. Otherwise, they might ambush and kill us before they even know who we are.”
“I’d gladly do that,” said Angfetu, “but who will answer Simone?”
“I will,” said Shiloh cheerfully. “Tonight, I’ll go through the north gate to Muroz in Trans-Titan. I’ll find Unknown King Minoz, and he can handle it from there. He’ll know best how to intercept the Princess as she comes up from the south.”
Shiloh stood, and Clay saw for the first time that one of his boot soles was much thicker than the other. The Prince limped a bit as he fetched his long cloak. Clay gave him Simone’s bracelet; but when Shiloh asked for the return message, Clay found that he had little to communicate.
“Have Minoz tell her to meet me at Colonia, and that I’m doing fine—and that I miss her. Give her this.” He took from his travelling bag and passed to Shiloh his most treasured possession, his flashlight. “She may need it. Oh, and to make sure she knows the message is really from me, tell her she’s a giraffe.”
Shiloh did not know the word, so Clay had to pronounce it several times. He did not try to explain the friendly and often used insult.
“She’ll know what it means. I just want her to be sure it’s really me. I’ve read a lot of military history, and the smart ones used verifying messages like that, things that couldn’t be faked.”
“That raises the question,” said Angfetu, “of how King Minoz is to know Simone. Perhaps I should write down names and descriptions of her probable traveling companions.”
Pindar called for paper and pen and, when the Lusetta had finished, Shiloh wrapped the watch in the paper and stuffed it in his belt purse.
After the Prince went out, Clay invited Pindar to see the rest of the chess game, but the Unknown King scarcely seemed to hear. He sat staring ahead glumly.
“Pindar?”
“I’m sorry, Your Eminence. I’m afraid I must beg your forgiveness for allowing my son to carry the message. I simply thought it best to get him away on some lesser errand. He could not—must not—go with us.” He smiled apologetically, painfully. “You see, Shiloh’s been an unreliable boy. Too many Pergish friends and too many late nights drinking with them...gambling...other vices. He may not get the message through, certainly not the token you gave him if it’s of any value. He’ll sell it for liquor and gambling. What was the green tube? I’ll pay you for it.”
Clay was at a loss. He silently shook his head.
“Some of your message will get through, perhaps,” Pindar said. “Likely my son will entrust it to one of his drinking companions who is in need of a few coppers in return for running an errand. I know Shiloh’s ways. He always means well, but.... Anyway, as for Minoz, he’s thoroughly reliable.” He gestured to a servant to take away an empty goblet. “Shiloh won’t be back before we leave in the morning, we can be sure of that. He’ll be spending whatever he can get for your token. I’m sorry, Your Eminence. I know I haven’t raised him right, but his mother died when he was a boy, and then I may have spoiled him because of his deformity—to try to make up for it.”
Clay boiled inside. Because Pindar was a weak father, some Perg pawnbroker was to have the irreplaceable flashlight. But more than he felt the loss, Clay hated confrontation, hated argument. He tried to bury his feelings.
“It’s all right,” he lied. “Don’t worry about it.”
“As soon as Angfetu is through helping us on Mount Shelah,” Pindar reassured, “he can fly across the valley and find Simone. You’ll make sure she gets the message, won’t you, Angfetu?”
Angfetu readily agreed and then tactfully changed the subject. “Your Eminence, I’ve meant to ask you how you came by your knowledge concerning Imalda Lusu’s death. The finest Fijat historians haven’t been able to discover what you told me on the Maze wall.” Clay looked at the Lusetta blankly. “I mean, Emperor, how you told me that Imalda hid herself all alone in a cave before her death, so the news would not discourage the Sarrs from fighting Zeel.”
“This is all new to me,” Clay said. “I never said anything like that. What do I know about Imalda?” He thought for a moment. “I was passing out when you found me. I could have babbled anything, like I was half out of my mind.”
“Perhaps the explanation lies in your lineage,” Angfetu said. “It’s written that the true Emperor is a prophet.”
“Well, whatever I said can’t ever be checked,” Clay said irritatedly, “since we don’t have Imalda’s ghost to confirm. So why bother talking about it?”
For another hour they made their plans. They would not ride Kathoo in the morning because she would draw too much attention, mega-sloths being rare in the city. Instead they would strike out on foot, while Angfetu would fly ahead and wait for them outside the city walls. They would mix with the morning crowds at the city’s heart and pass through anonymously.
They got as far as the marketplace. As they tried to pass under an arch from one court to the next, a Prowtsian guard challenged the three men, and they could not shake his attention from Clay’s blond hair. When three more guards came running toward the scene of dispute, Pindar desperately gave the word that they should split up and run.
Clay had not been Jules’ protégé for nothing. Bent double, he zig-zagged into the thickest of the crowd and soon approached a passing ox cart. He dived under it and, just as Jules had taught, attached himself closely to the bottom, his lower legs resting on its single axle. While the cart slowly left the marketplace, he hung there fearing discovery. But when it had creaked on a good way farther, he began to relax. Finally he dropped off and lost himself in the busy streets. He smiled grimly. Jules would be proud of him, yes. But Zendor had almost certainly been taken, and probably Pindar too.
Still, he felt surprisingly calm. Perhaps this sort of thing had happened often enough that he was growing used to it. He had become a veteran of disasters. Shivering in the early October morning, he settled his small bag over his shoulder and contemplated a journey toward Mount Shelah through the remainder of the city. He must go at once. Angfetu would be waiting for him outside the walls.
He looked around. Slum buildings too tall for their bases lined both sides of the narrow street, their walls crumbling, cracked, and propped with slats.
The street was filthy, and its many ragged loungers were eyeing him. Luckily, Pindar had dressed him in poor, plain clothing so as to attract less attention. He hoped not to be mugged.
His main problem, however, was that he had lost his direction. Segments of horizon glimpsed between the buildings showed him no mountain. Perhaps Shelah was befogged on this cloudy day. He went onward anyway, shaking off beggars and street hawkers as he went. He passed by several screaming matches, a fist fight, and a fire. Then as he walked near a building, he started at the yowl of some large cat above, and a moment later a man fell from an upper story, just missing him. At first the man lay still on the muddied pavement. Then he began to move. Clay tore his gaze away and hurried on.
Turning the corner of the building, he saw something bounding down the front steps and away from him. Though partly dressed, it could not be mistaken for a human being. It was a great, hairy thing, tall as an Ulrig but of a lighter color.
In a moment Clay decided to follow, since it must be a Sarr and he had been told that Sarrs were on his side. He ran after it. At first he kept it in sight, even saw it looking back at him as he shouted to it. But it soon outsped him, and he was left panting and red faced and just as lost as before. Disappointed, he walked slowly on.
A few moments later, as he passed a very narrow space between two buildings, a great yellow paw shot out and yanked him in. In a second he found himself on his back, and the Sarr he had been chasing was seated on his chest. It brought near him the great, malevolent face of a cat.
“Lan dal be?” it growled.
Clay tried to place a finger to his lips, but both his arms were pinned. “Shh! I’m the Emperor, the Lila-me. I need your help.”
Bafrel the Mangar leaped six feet in the air and landed atop the stone wall with perfect balance. His friend Ripel looked up from below.
“Do you see Nashpa?”
“No—yes! He’s coming out of the city with a human. You don’t suppose that’s the landlord he’s had trouble with?”
Ripel leaned down in front of his korfy and began to twist a curved stake out of the ground. A thin chain led upward from the stake and passed through a hole drilled through the huge land bird’s bill. Eight of the korfies stood fully laden in this stone enclosure on the plain just north of Dowerkass: mounts for eight Mangars. The birds’ heads on their long necks rose high above the level of the wall.
“I don’t know if it’s the landlord,” Ripel answered, “but I know it’s past time for the tabra to be gone. If we wait for the Farjans to get any closer to the city, we’ll have no chance at all to get away. I tell you, Bafrel, my nose is twitching. If we ever see the Rull Semu again, you can bet a Littzur’s tail I’m not coming back here.”
Bafrel jumped down. “But Ripel, the market here is so good! Our zur pelts would not have traded for half so many goods in Antiochia. We’re rich!”
Ripel hissed sharply as he led his korfy to the enclosure gate. “I’d give away every oil jug and iron chain I’m taking back if I could be sure of getting through alive. Why don’t we just stay here until the Farjans and the Dowerkassians have it out between themselves?”
“Would you really want to do that? Be in the middle of a war?”
“No—not if there is a war.”
“Well, we’re not staying still to find out. Ka-ess-ss-ss-ss-ss!” Bafrel signaled to the others, and those not mounted leaped high onto their korfies’ backs.
Led by Ripel, they thundered out across the grasses and swung onto the road to the city. Soon, at a point that was empty except for themselves, they met Nashpa and the human.
“Come on, leader, complete our tabra so we can go,” Ripel said. “Why are you hesitating on the ground with that human?”
“This is no common human,” Nashpa said loudly. “You’ve all heard that the Lila-me came to Prowts from the Interpreter’s court and that he escaped from Aaron’s army. Well, this is the man! I had just settled my bill with my greedy, cheating landlord and was on my way here. I noticed someone following me and—introduced myself. He has on his person a letter of introduction to Archon Aaron from Tiras Mozez himself, and sealed with the Royal Interpreter’s signet ring. Furthermore, he knows our wandering friend Razabera and has told me of how she died. This is the Emperor.”
“Put him back!” howled Ripel. “Haven’t we enough troubles?” A cold silence followed. “Oh, very well,” he said bleakly. “I know our duty. Do the—do the humans know he came this way?”
“No,” roared Nashpa, “and if we go quickly, they need never know. Miseld, I want you to stay behind to do something very important. Go around the wall eastward until you find, or are found by, a Lusetta. Send the Lusetta to us—you know our route. Then go into the city and find the Unknown Kings Pindar and Zendor. They may be in prison. Tell them what has become of Emperor Clay. No, leave your mount for the Emperor.”
The Mangar leaped off and led his korfy to Clay. “You’ve ridden before?” he asked.
“I—I fell off.”
Miseld looked to Nashpa, who waved away the difficulty. “He’ll do fine. Boost him up on Velprew and go on about your business. When you’re finished you’ll find a safe haven at Pindar’s house on Straight Street until we return.”
Miseld departed. Shortly, the eight-korfy tabra thundered off northward, spread out in diamond formation, their korfies roaring by turn at the points of the compass, the Mangars singing. Nashpa led Velprew by her bill-chain as he rode, so Clay did not need to try to steer her. Trembling and sick to his stomach, he hunched over her back and hung on desperately to the harness.