Out of the archway came a golden palanquin, carried by sixteen scarlet-robed priests. In the palanquin, partially obscured by the golden curtains that flapped in the breeze, rode Radiant Leader, his head framed by a massive corona of artificial sunflowers fashioned from hammered gold.
Amroth Jahan had learned that morning that the priest-king of the city of Radiance was proposing to present himself in his full glory.
"He can come with the sun in a bucket for all I care," he said, "so long as he kneels to me."
Echo Kittle, riding now with the Jahan's entourage, saw the parade of the imperial axers and wondered very much how the king of such a magnificent army could bear to make a public submission. She herself, with no followers of any kind, still burned with shame each time she thought of how she had knelt and submitted. Then she remembered how the Jahan too had been made to kneel, when he faced the Nomana on the bridge, and how he had wept before her.
"If this priest-king refuses to kneel to you," she said to the Jahan, "will you really destroy his city and all the people in it?"
"I will."
"Out of pride?"
"What I have said I will do, I will do."
"Except with the Nomana."
His ugly face went still, his craggy features set in stone.
"The Nomana too will pay the price of defying me."
With this the Great Jahan dismounted from his horse and climbed into his waiting chariot. The music makers and the mirror bearers formed up on either side. His three sons took up their positions behind him. The companies of mounted Orlans formed orderly ranks that stretched back into the distance. Amroth Jahan meant to match glory with glory.
The golden palanquin advanced between the lines of axers. Rank by rank, the axers fell to the ground, abasing themselves in advance of their Radiant Leader. The leading priest of those bearing the palanquin then intoned, "Stand before our Radiant Leader!" The prostrate axers rose up, to stand tall and motionless as their priest-king went by.
This created a ripplelike effect, as the magnificent soldiers dipped and rose again. Amroth Jahan, advancing to meet the ruler of the city, noted the perfect formation of the axers, and the mounting potency of the ruler's approach on the waves of motion, and he nodded his head in professional appreciation.
"Prettily done," he murmured to himself. To have such a king kneel to him would be satisfying.
"Stand before our Radiant Leader!"
The Jahan could hear the cries of the priests clearly now. It didn't strike him as strange that the ranks of soldiers were required to stand to show respect. He himself was advancing, standing tall in his chariot, to the sound of drums and horns, and lit by the flashing of reflected light. The front rank of his immense mounted army was moving with him, spread out on either side like the rolling surf of a sea that must sweep all before it.
Now the palanquin had reached the front rank of the axers, and the leading line had fallen to the ground and risen again. The scarlet-robed priests came to a stop and stood like statues, bearing the full weight of the palanquin. Radiant Leader could be clearly seen within, magnificently draped in cloth of gold.
Amroth Jahan led his advancing line of Orlans to within ten paces of the unmoving axers and raised his hand. At once, with perfect discipline, the entire mounted army shuddered to a halt. The Jahan then spoke to his sons, without taking his gaze from the gold curtains that fluttered in the wind.
"Ride forward to this king. Tell him I wait for him to kneel before me, as a sign of his respect for me."
All three of his sons urged their Caspians forward and trotted across the space between the two armies. Echo, mounted on Kell beside the Great Jahan's chariot, saw Sasha Jahan lean forward from his mount and speak to the king behind the gold curtains and receive an answer. Then the three sons returned to their father.
"The king asks you to stand before him," said Sasha Jahan in some confusion, "as a sign of your respect for him."
"But I am standing," said the Jahan.
"Yes, Father. I told him so."
"Will he not kneel to me?"
"The king is already kneeling, Father."
"Already kneeling?"
The Jahan now felt confused. Who here was showing respect to whom?
He flicked the traces of the Caspians harnessed to his high chariot and drove forward across the empty space to the golden palanquin. There he saw that the king was indeed kneeling, in that he was comfortably positioned with his lower legs tucked beneath his upper legs and his bottom resting on his heels.
Radiant Leader inclined his head towards the Jahan.
"We are equals," he said. "The Great Jahan does not need to stand before me."
"But I'm not—that is, I don't—"
The Jahan was nonplussed. He wished to make it clear he intended no show of respect by remaining standing, but could not think what else to do.
"The empire and the people of Radiance welcome you," said Radiant Leader. "In your honor I have ordered three days of celebration."
"But first," said the Jahan, "you must kneel—that is, submit to me—for all to see."
"Three days of feasting and games," said Radiant Leader, seeming not to have heard him. "Let your finest warriors try their strength against ours. Let our loveliest ladies delight your eyes."
"Do you or do you not," said the Jahan doggedly, "submit to me?"
"Ah, yes. The oath of allegiance. You refer to the solemn oath of allegiance."
"Yes," said the Jahan, liking the sound of this. "Your solemn oath of allegiance to me."
"The solemn oath of allegiance," said Radiant Leader, "will be the conclusion of our celebrations. It will be the climax."
"The climax? You mean it will come at the end?"
"Of course. The climax can't come at the beginning."
"But three days!" said the Jahan. "Am I to be kept waiting three days?"
"Sir," said Radiant Leader, dropping his voice to a whisper, "you and I are not common men. We are exalted above the herd. We are the principal actors on the stage of this world. Let the scene be set and the expectations of our audience prepared. Let there be a prelude, a time of mounting expectation. Then let the climax strike like thunder and lightning. Let you and I appear before the awed spectators as gods. You seek a triumph. Let this be the triumph of triumphs."
The Jahan considered this with his habitual suspicion. He was enough of a showman to appreciate the plan; and his men, he knew, would be grateful for the pleasures of the promised feast. If possible, he preferred to enter a conquered city unopposed. It left more of the service systems intact: the food suppliers, the woodcutters, the water carriers. Burning and slaughtering, though invaluable for establishing authority, left an unpleasant mess. Also, he reflected, he could always destroy the city after the feast.
"Very well," he said. "The Great Jahan is merciful."
"Excellent," said Radiant Leader. "It remains only to decide the order in which you and I will enter the city. The choice is yours, of course."
"I shall lead," declared the Jahan proudly.
"But you wouldn't want it to look as if I and my axers were driving you before us, like sheep before a dog."
"Certainly not! You shall go before me."
"And look as if I lead, and you follow?"
"Great horns of hell! What am I to do?"
"I would suggest that we enter the city side by side. But the choice, noble sir, is yours."
So it was done. The palanquin of Radiant Leader turned about, and the chariot of the Great Jahan rolled slowly by its side, and the two leaders entered the city of Radiance together.
Echo Kittle rode into the city behind the Jahan's entourage, her mind full of the coming celebration and her own dilemma. She memorized the route as they went, in case she needed to escape in a hurry. The city gates were clearly never closed. The streets were broad and lined with imposing houses. Ahead lay the still waters of the lake. And towering above all was the dark mass of the temple rock, with the temple
climbing its sides.
Between the temple and the lake, in the wide square bounded by arcades, a series of large linked pavilions had been erected. Radiant Leader climbed out of his conveyance, and Amroth Jahan stepped out of his chariot, and together they entered the great tent. The Jahan's sons and Echo dismounted and followed behind.
The Jahan was impressed. Long tables laden with food were interspersed with cascades of bright flowers, even now in midwinter. Lamps glowed on every pole of the forest of supporting masts. Everywhere shone the glitter of gold. Gold was the signature color of Radiance, and here, in this palace of pleasure, the chairs were gold and the tablecloths were gold and the elegantly bunched drapes that formed the scalloped ceiling were all cloth of gold.
The Jahan felt himself mellowing. Radiant Leader, he noted with satisfaction, was even shorter than he was himself. But he was clever. On the whole, the Jahan was forming a favorable opinion of the fellow. He was amused by the way all who approached him averted their eyes from his face, and murmured some low prayer. It was absurd, of course, but it did have the effect of surrounding the priest-king with a certain mystery. He found himself wondering how Radiant Leader retained his hold on his people. He took the trouble to listen for the words of the prayer, the soft mumble that issued from the lips of everyone who came close.
"Choose me," they were saying. "Choose me."
"What is it they want?" he asked curiously. "They ask you to choose them. For what?"
"Ah, that." Radiant Leader now sounded grave. "The chosen ones go to eternal life."
Then the Jahan remembered the procession in the forest.
"They go dressed in white, and singing?"
"Just so."
"But it's all nonsense, of course."
"Is it?" said Radiant Leader. "Perhaps you know more of the matter than I do."
"I only know death comes for us all."
"Even for the Great Jahan? I can't believe that. You are the conqueror of all the peoples of the world. Surely you can conquer death?"
"Show me the way and I'll do it."
"Ah, noble sir. To conquer death you must submit to a power greater than yourself. I think submission is not in your nature."
"What power greater than myself? A god? I've never met a god yet. There may be gods around, but they take good care to keep out of my way."
He laughed a proud, booming laugh. Echo, who had heard this exchange, presumed to speak.
"You met the Nomana."
The Jahan stopped laughing abruptly and scowled at her.
"Next time you speak out of turn I'll have you tied to a barrel and lashed."
"And stain my bridal dress with blood?"
"What do I care if you bleed so long as you do as I say," growled the Jahan. Then not wanting to prolong his confrontation with this unmanageable girl, he said to his host, "I plan to hold a wedding ceremony here. One of my sons is to marry this impertinent tree sprite."
"A wedding!" said Radiant Leader. "When is it to be?"
"The sooner the better. Tonight. Do you have any objection?"
"None whatsoever. The city and people of Radiance will be honored to host the happy event. Which of your sons, may I ask, is the joyful bridegroom?"
The Jahan glowered at his three sons. They stood in a row, eyes cast down, shuffling their feet.
"That has yet to be decided," he said grimly.
Soren Similin had good reason to be pleased with his day's work; but as he knew all too well, this was only the beginning. As soon as he could get free from his alarming new friends, he hurried into the temple and climbed the stairs to his private quarters on the third floor. Here his servants removed his corona, which gave him neck ache, and his gold cape, which made him sweat even in winter, and left him alone. He hastened through his private bedchamber to the courtyard garden beyond, a favorite retreat of his from the burdens and pressures of his elevated position. Now, however, the bay tree and the vines were gone. The courtyard was walled with tall racks of glass tubes. The central space was a scene of feverish activity as metalworkers assembled pipes and rods, and glassworkers attached yet more glass tubes.
In the middle of it all, the little scientist Evor Ortus ran back and forth measuring, checking, and admonishing.
"The angle must be exact! Not a single degree out. We have so little direct sunlight here."
Similin had to tap the scientist on the shoulder to attract his attention.
"How's it coming along, Professor?"
"Well enough. Well enough."
"When will you be ready?"
"Soon, soon. Within the week."
"Within the week? You promised me three days."
"It was you who said three days, not me. But we'll do our best."
He turned his attention to a side table, on which stood a small wire cage.
Similin became agitated.
"Listen to me, Professor. You must deliver me some of your charged water by the end of the day after tomorrow."
He didn't tell Ortus that this was when he was due to swear an oath of allegiance to the Great Jahan. He understood all too well that the crazy scientist would have little sympathy for his dilemma.
"I don't need much. Just enough to give everyone a glimpse of the power at my disposal. At our disposal, that is."
Professor Ortus seemed not to have noticed his slip. He was studying a little creature that was confined in the cage.
"And the ramp?" he said. "You've given orders for it to be built?"
"Of course," said Similin, though he had done nothing of the kind. He regarded Ortus's giant ramp as sheer folly. Much as he would like to destroy Anacrea, some more subtle means must be found in due course. For the present, his concern was the Jahan and his vast army.
The scientist was now feeding the creature in the cage.
"What have you got in there, Professor?"
"A mouse," said Ortus.
"What do you want a mouse for?"
"For tests. The details need not concern you."
He turned round and, for the first time, addressed Similin directly, in a manner that was not at all respectful.
"Work on the ramp must begin at once. As for the charged water, I have calculated that I need twenty liters."
"Twenty? Last time it was only four."
"Last time a carrier was to take the weapon to the heart of the Nom. This time we send our bomb flying through the air. We can't be sure where it will land. Twenty liters of charged water will certainly destroy the island, wherever it lands."
"But so much! How long will it take?"
"It will take as long as it takes."
"Then please, when production begins, set aside the first spoonful for me. Without that, I can't protect you."
Ortus frowned with displeasure.
"You mean to use the explosive power of my charged water against this invader?"
"For the purposes of persuasion only."
"What is he to be persuaded to do?"
The little scientist clearly felt suspicious of any scheme that was not part of his own design. Similin had had no more in mind than a demonstration of power. But at that moment an entirely new idea formed in his head, which neatly linked all the objectives currently before him. The idea, which he saw in its entirety in a single flash of brilliant insight, pleased him so much that he beamed at the prickly scientist and clasped him by the hand.
"We must persuade him to turn his army on Anacrea," he said. "That way we can distract the Nomana from the true assault. Which will, of course, come from your magnificent ramp."
On returning to his guests, Similin found that a curious ritual was under way. The pale and elegant girl they had brought with them was seated on a raised chair, while the Great Jahan and all his entourage were gathered round like spectators at a show. Seeing his host enter the pavilion, Amroth Jahan hailed him and invited him too to watch.
"My sons are about to make their love speeches," he said. "The girl then chooses the one she likes best."
"Do they all love her?" said Similin, drawing up a chair.
"They do as I tell them," said the Jahan.
"And what if the young lady chooses none of them?"
"She'll do as I tell her," said the Jahan.
"Then surely, noble sir," said Similin, "it would be simpler all round if you were to make the match yourself?"
"Make the match myself? You mean marry the girl myself?"
"No, no. I mean pick one of your sons to marry her, and it's done."
"Ah, that. I thought you were suggesting I marry her myself. But I have two wives already. And she's too young for me. Don't you think so?"
"Far too young."
"So one of my boys'll have her. Not that they'll appreciate her. She's a rare one. Beauty combined with spirit. Dropped out of a tree. That was a surprise."
He pointed to his eldest son, Sasha.
"Get on with it, oaf."
Sasha Jahan took a few steps forward and stood before Echo's raised chair. He licked his lips and began to speak, clearly reciting from memory.
"I am my father's first son. When he dies, I will become the Great Jahan and will rule the empire he has won. Out of respect for my father, and to carry on his line as he has indicated he wishes, it is your duty to become my wife and give me sons who will grow strong and proud and bring honor to the Orlan tribes. This is not a matter in which either you or I should consider our own wishes. The family of Jahan knows its duty. I will do mine. I ask that you do yours."
His father listened to this speech, nodding with approval.
"Not so bad, my boy. I can see you've given the matter some thought. However"—he raised his silver-handled whip—"I will make the final choice of successor, when my time comes. I may choose you. I may choose Alva or Sabin. I may choose someone else altogether."
Sasha, dismayed, started to protest, but his father silenced him.