Harmesh was stretched out on the couch in Korkungal’s chamber and he raised his head in greeting when the warrior climbed into the room. He mimed sleeping to ask if Korkungal had slept well.
‘I did,’ Korkungal muttered, forgetting in his distraction that Harmesh could not understand him. ‘But now I am hungry.’
He threw his cloak off and hurriedly slipped his tunic on. He was cold after standing for so long at the pond. Harmesh watched him, giggling, and spoke in his own tongue. Korkungal mimed eating, doing it with ill-grace. The instant he understood, Harmesh slid off the couch and went and called up the stairway. There came a gruff reply, and in a moment Klimbah appeared, obviously having difficulty in negotiating the cramped stairs. Harmesh tipped Korkungal’s arm and indicated that he was to follow him down. Klimbah came last, huffing and puffing, arms outstretched to balance himself.
They walked to the eating house at the edge of the garden, passing in the shadow of the Temple. Harmesh chattered to Klimbah and had to trot to keep pace with the shambling giant. Korkungal did not hurry. He let them go on ahead, though making sure to keep them in sight.
The meal they were served was similar to that of the previous evening: bread, milk and fruit. Korkungal ate ravenously. The warriors of the Ka ate sparingly, Harmesh punctuating a ceaseless stream of words with hastily bitten pieces of fruit and Klimbah chewing steadily on tiny morsels as he nodded and grunted monosyllables by way of reply.
Afterwards, they went and sat under the trees in the garden and dozed in the rising heat of the early day. The hubbub of the Ka seemed far away. Towards noon, a young priest came and spoke to Harmesh, who rose up, complaining loudly to Klimbah, and sulkily followed the priest out of the garden. He returned not long after and shook Korkungal petulantly and signalled him to follow him. They left Klimbah dozing in the buzzing warmth.
Harmesh led him to the two-storied mud brick building behind the garden square and mockingly bowed him into a large room on the ground floor. There was a wide flight of stairs at one end and a tall glowing brazier at the other. The room was otherwise bare of furniture or decoration. An old priest stood before the brazier, draped in a black cloak, his hands held out to the heat.
‘You are Korkungal, Warrior of the Briga, escort of the priest, Kandrigi,’ the old priest stated with assurance.
Korkungal hesitated before nodding. Here was another stranger of the Ka who spoke his tongue without difficulty.
‘I am Lamla, High Priest of the Ka.’
‘Where is Kandrigi?’ Korkungal asked importunately. The room was cold and he was beginning to shiver in his thin tunic. The cold made him uneasy.
‘He is resting, Korkungal.... And you? Are you content with your quarters in the watch-tower?’
‘I do not complain, High Priest.’
Lamla nodded abruptly in acknowledgement. ‘Is your company to your satisfaction? There are few in the Ka who speak your tongue. This you must expect, as we are not of your race. However, there is one of your people in my service, a navigator. He is the Captain of our ships, a valuable and useful man. I will inform him of your arrival and invite him to join you as companion and guide for the duration of your stay in the Ka. Would that be to your liking?’
Korkungal nodded uncertainly. A guest was not usually treated like this in the forts of the Briga. A warrior would find his company among warriors, priests among priests. What would a sailor have in common with he, Korkungal, except to chatter on about his trade?
Lamla waited until Korkungal’s face cleared of the strain of thought before speaking again.
‘Very well. I will send for him and he will come to you tomorrow.’ He paused again and stared into the brazier. ‘Tell me, Korkungal, did you have a hard journey here?’
Korkungal started: ‘Is Kandrigi ill?’
Lamla smiled a very thin smile. ‘It is not that, Korkungal. I am merely curious. It is impressive to hear that two men should undertake such a long journey alone. Was there no danger?’
‘Little danger, High Priest, to men of good experience,’ Korkungal said shortly. He was shivering now.
‘You have great self-possession, Korkungal. You are truly the great warrior Kandrigi holds you to be.’
‘We knew the lie of the country and prepared ourselves for it..’
‘The Savages?’ Lamla hinted.
Korkungal looked at him sharply. ‘Kandrigi has spoken to you of our journey, High Priest?’ he asked harshly.
‘Yes, yes.’ Lamla had to struggle to hide his anger. ‘But warriors and priests view things differently. I am curious to hear your opinion of them.’
‘They are poor and weak. There is no honour in fighting them.’
‘Why do the Briga not conquer them? Your people are renowned for their might and valour.’
‘Their country is large and they are thinly scattered. We have no fear of the Savages and we have no use for their land.’
‘But what of your enemies? Do they not try to make treaty with the Savages and persuade them to attack you?’
‘The Savages will not gather as an army. Besides, the Bir Karsh are a sea people and raiders rather than conquerors.’
Lamla’s eyes gleamed for an instant.
‘You have sound knowledge of your enemies’ Korkungal.’
‘It is to be expected, High Priest. I am in the councils of kings.’
Lamla raised his smooth black eyebrows.
‘And what of the Dark Lands?’
‘They are of no interest. They are too far away. We have never seen the inhabitants. There are stories among the Savages, incredible stories, but they are not significant.’
Lamla nodded and resumed staring into the brazier. Korkungal watched him, feeling little heat though he was close to the fire.
‘Tell me of your country, High Priest. Your yellow skin intrigues me.’ Korkungal did not feel intimidated by Lamla or by his authority in the Ka. Had not the High Priest said that warrior and priest see the world through different eyes?
Lamla smiled and nodded towards the brazier as he would if asked a precocious question by a child.
‘I have never seen the land of my origin, though it is part of the Empire of the Sun. It lies far to the south. There are many races in the Empire, many-hued and many-tongued.’
‘Which race rules this Empire, High Priest?’
Lamla laughed, though Korkungal thought it was a snigger.
‘The question of a warrior, Korkungal. For sixty six generations it has been ruled by the red skinned Merura, which means the Dwellers on the High Plain. They came from the west many ages ago and conquered the Empire through victory in one great battle. Before them, the brown-skinned races ruled. It is said that they established the Empire in the young days of mankind, when the earth was on fire.’
‘You are yellow-skinned, yet you rule,’ Korkungal said pragmatically.
‘This is a small Ka, It is a mere outpost of the Empire, established no more than five generations ago.’
Korkungal could not stop himself from looking about the room. Lamla of course saw this.
‘The Ka impresses you, Korkungal,’ he said, the thin smile on his lips again.
Korkungal bluffed: ‘It is strongly fortified, but defended by slaves.’
Lamla turned his head to him.
‘Slaves?’ he feigned, ‘Do not say that to Harmesh,’
Korkungal bristled: ‘Harmesh is a child.’
Lamla smiled broadly and his face wrinkled.
‘Harmesh is a child,’ he echoed. He shook his head, ‘A child indeed, but a noble child. Capricious but influential. I would be grateful if you were to be generous to him.’
‘I have no reason for being otherwise.’
Lamla inclined his head, ‘You are a complacent man, Korkungal. However, Harmesh has come to look upon you as a friend. He wishes to prove this friendship to you and has spoken to me concerning the proper thing to do. He is shy, as you can well understand. He is also uncertain. He does not wish to show disrespect for the
greater age and experience of you. I have therefore undertaken on his behalf to make you a small gift and express his ardent wish that you accept it as a token of his affection for you.’ He clapped his hands and a group of priests appeared at the head of the stairs, each carrying a wrapped bundle.
Korkungal turned to face them and as he did he moved closer to the brazier. Now one side of him at least was warm.
Lamla gave instructions to the priests. They placed their bundles on the floor and opened them, First, they brought forward a breastplate of thick oxhide reinforced with a lattice of bright metal and strapped it about the torso of the unresisting Korkungal. Next, a scabbard made of thinly beaten sheet and a brightly decorated belt of leather, which they fastened about his waist, Then a cloak of bright red was ceremoniously laid on his shoulders. It hung, many-folded, to his ankles. Finally, Lamla himself pressed a finely finished helmet of shaped hide down on his thick red hair.
‘There now, Korkungal,’ he said, bowing. ‘You are dressed as befits the guest of the Empire of the Sun.’
Korkungal was quick to recover from his surprise at the suddenly conferred gifts. He looked down at himself, grinning self-consciously, delighting in his new appearance. He wished he had his throwing stick gripped in his battle-hand.
‘You do me great honour, High Priest.’
‘It is not I alone, Korkungal,’ Lamla replied evenly. ‘You must remember ‘
Korkungal looked up, his eyes hard with cunning: ‘I do, High Priest.’
He swung about and watched his new red cloak swirl out around him. The priests stepped back. The scabbard struck his leg, just behind his knee.
Lamla was impassive.
‘I will go and speak to him now, High Priest,’ Korkungal said. His delight remained in him, but the trust it sprang from began to seem misplaced. He remembered that the gifts declared no true friendship.
He wished he was armed.
Lamla’s precise voice stopped him: ‘Before you go, Korkungal, there is a favour I would ask of you.’
Korkungal turned to face him,
‘You are a warrior of wide experience. This I have said before, but there is no harm in repeating it. I would deem it a great favour if you would impart some small piece of this experience to our warriors.’
‘I am willing, High Priest.’
‘Good. You are a generous man, Korkungal. To help you, I propose to confer on you the rank of Captain of Military Advice to the Defenders of the Ka upon you. It will not be by any means an onerous post, but it will command the respect of the inhabitants of the Ka who are ignorant of the greatness of the Briga and their chief.’ He produced a medallion and chain from the folds of his cloak. ‘Wear this around your neck at all times. It is the emblem of your rank.
Korkungal slipped the chain over his helmet and settled it on his breast.
‘You may go now, Korkungal. I give you my blessing.’
Lamla raised his hands and muttered in his native tongue. Then he bowed to Korkungal and went with his priests towards the stairs at the far end of the room.
Chapter Ten