Beyond the Burning Lands Read online

  I heard footsteps. The door was pushed open and Edmund came in. He said:

  “You are here before me, Luke.”

  We looked at each other for a moment before I put out my hand and he took it in a firm grip. I remembered that he had offered to go with me into exile, and that when I escaped instead with Ezzard I had sent him no word. But the constraint between us came from my side, not his. I had looked forward so much to seeing him but did not know what to say. I said awkwardly:

  “You do not come here now?”

  “Not since you left.” He looked round the room. “Nor Martin, either, it would seem.”

  “You have not been seeing Martin?”

  He shrugged. “Now and then, by chance. He is busy with his studies and I have had my own concerns.”

  We talked, but the awkwardness remained. I think we were both glad to hear Martin approaching. He came to me and shook hands also. Edmund began to shake with laughter. I asked him:

  “What is it? A good joke?”

  It took him a moment to control himself sufficiently to speak. He said, gasping:

  “It was the sight of the pair of you—those two shaved heads . . .”

  Martin stared at him owlishly: he had taken to wearing spectacles since I last saw him and the effect, together with the long black robe of an Acolyte, was slightly comic. I realized I must look nearly as odd, if not odder, in warrior’s leather but with a naked skull, and laughed as well. Martin joined in. We stood there, the small chamber echoing with our laughter, and the feeling of strangeness and uncertainty dissolved in it.

  “Thank the Great yours is only temporary,” Edmund said to me, still laughing. “I would have felt truly forsaken had you both turned Acolyte. And one could not rule out the possibility, Luke, since you were living in the Sanctuary with the High Seers. They might well have talked you into it!”

  “It would need a great deal of talking,” I said. “And there is such a thing as aptitude. I do not think the High Seers ever fancied me as a recruit to the Order.”

  “They cropped your head.”

  “There was a reason for that.”

  I was on the point of saying that they had cropped their own as well before I remembered to guard my tongue. Edmund, flinging himself onto one of the chairs and sitting backward astride it, said:

  “But what is it like there? Is it true that you get to the Sanctuary by climbing up a rainbow? And that you eat clouds and drink butterfly milk? What have you been doing all the time you have been away?”

  Martin said quickly: “He cannot tell us about it. It is forbidden for him to tell or for us to listen.”

  In this same place Edmund had asked Martin, newly made an Acolyte, about the secrets he had learned and I, on his behalf, had said much the same as he was saying now. I had not guessed what secrets there might be, nor how soon I would be made privy to them. I wondered how much Martin himself knew; even with him I dared not speak freely of what I had seen.

  I said: “It is all dull stuff, anyway. Tell me what has been happening here in Winchester since I’ve been gone.”

  They told me the news: how such a one had broken a leg in a fall out hunting, how another had perpetrated an elaborate jest against Blaine’s son Henry and got into trouble when Blaine himself was tricked by it, how one of the Dwarf Coiners of the Prince’s Mint had been found to have debased the gold but had fled before he could be punished. Who had been promoted, who fallen from favor. Who won the toboggan race which was held yearly in the High Street after the first snow. I listened with an interest whetted by the months of confinement to the duller conversation of the High Seers. Martin said:

  “But the really interesting thing happened only two days ago, when the peddler came.”

  “The peddler?” I asked.

  Edmund said: “He has goods to sell, but you could as well call him liar as peddler. He says he has come across the Burning Lands, from some city far to the north.”

  I nodded. “I have heard tell of him. You think he lies?”

  “What else? No man can cross the Burning Lands. Peddlers always have tall tales. They are for the women, to catch their interest so that afterward they can sell them trinkets at fancy prices. It is just that this one has a taller tale than most.”

  “He wears strange clothes,” Martin said.

  “Which he claims is the garb of his native land. I could devise something of the sort myself. With a pouch just above the waist, perhaps, for keeping rain off my head when I was carrying it under my arm!”

  The men with their heads beneath their arms who would come from beyond the Burning Lands was one of the fantasies with which polymuf maids sometimes frightened naughty children. Edmund and I laughed, but Martin said:

  “It is not only his clothes that are different. The things he sells are, also. I looked at a necklace which my cousin bought. The workmanship was not like any I have seen.”

  “There are always new fashions in necklaces,” Edmund said. “It means nothing.”

  “But if the fires of the Burning Lands are dying down, and one could cross them . . .”

  “One would find savages and polybeasts. What else?”

  “Perhaps another city, as he says.”

  “In any case, who cares?” Edmund said. “There is enough to concern us in this city.” He turned to me, dismissing the other topic. “Luke, I am glad to see you again. But are you safe?”

  “I think so. And the High Seers would not have sent me here unless they thought the same.”

  “The Spirits named you, not Peter, Prince in Waiting. And promised you glory. This is something that will be remembered, and for some the memory of it will be a stink in their nostrils.”

  “I trust my brother. And his honor is pledged.”

  And his will, I thought, under the bidding of his Lady’s conscience; but I did not say that. Edmund said:

  “Do you know the story of Donald the Red?”

  “No.”

  “I had it from a polymuf maid, an old woman who had been in the palace in my grandfather’s day.” At a time, I did not need reminding, when my grandfather was a humble carpenter with a strong son eager to exchange the adz for the sword. “He was a Captain who fought well in the campaigns and was popular with the other Captains. For two years, while our army did badly he himself scored great successes. There was talk of a plot to make him Prince, and other talk of accusing him of treason before the plot could succeed. My grandfather would have none of that, despite the urgings of his friends. But in the next campaign Red Donald was killed and it was said his wound was in the back. It was not my grandfather’s doing, but the man died. Your brother might have friends of a similar mind.”

  This was true, and true that Ann’s Christian conscience could not hold her husband guilty of a murder planned by others, a deed of which he knew nothing. I was, of course, under the special protection of the Seers; but so had my father been and it had not saved him. I said, smiling:

  “Thank you for the warning! But I do not think I am in any danger.”

  “All the same,” Edmund said, “if I were you I should keep my back well guarded.”

  • • •

  The banquet was held in the Great Hall. I sat at the right hand of the Prince and as guest of honor drank with him from the great gold pot which had been our father’s, and Prince Stephen’s and Prince Egbert’s before that. No women were present, of course. The Captains sat above the first salt, other dignitaries between the first and second, and lesser guests below. I saw my old friend, Rudi the Armorer Dwarf, and catching my eye from that distance he raised his pot to me in greeting.

  After the last of the meats were cleared and before the sweets were brought it fell to me to give the Prince’s toast. I stood and the company with me. I lifted the golden pot and gave the health of the Prince of Winchester. The cry echoed down the table, and we drank.

  My brother rose as I took my seat. He said:

  “I would have you drink again. This time to Luke, my brot
her.”

  Afterward he remained standing. He said:

  “And I have news for you and him. Tonight I make him Captain.” His raised hand quelled the murmur of surprise and applause. “He is young for the rank but already capable, and promises better. And there is something else that I would say.”

  I looked at him standing by me. Although I was still growing I knew I would never match his height, which was two inches over six feet. He had my father’s fair hair and breadth of face and chest. The brooding expression which once had marred his features had gone, replaced by an easy smiling confidence. He was a true Prince. I wished I could feel more glad of that.

  “You do not need reminding,” he went on, “of certain things that have been between us, and I do not wish to dwell on them. But one is better spoken of than left hidden. There was a Seance, after my father’s acclamation as Prince, in which this brother of mine was named Prince in Waiting and promised a great and glorious future. Yet I am Prince of Winchester, though named by no Spirit, and he is not.”

  He paused and they were silent, waiting on his words. My brother looked down at Ezzard, who sat next to him on the other side.

  “As the Seer himself will tell you, the prophecies of the Spirits are not always what they seem. Luke may still have a destiny of triumph, in another city, perhaps even another land. In this city I rule, and will do so. But I say this to you: after my Lady, my brother is the most precious to me of all. I pledge myself, by my honor as Prince, by the Great Spirit, and by any other god that may be, to protect and care for him. I say this also: if harm should come to him I will hunt down the man who does it and kill him with my own hands.”

  There was a moment’s silence before they started cheering and banging their pots. He stood there smiling. When at last the noise died down, he said:

  “There will be no dissension between us brothers. By his return Luke declares this also, and renounces the claims that others made for him. So I ask him now to seal the contract as I have done. I ask him, by the Great Spirit, to pledge allegiance to me and to my heirs.”

  I fought to control my face against the feelings that pressed in on me. Apart from anything else I was astounded: I would not have thought he had such guile. Had the Christian priest, perhaps, counseled him? Or Ann? I could not believe it of her. I wondered what Ezzard was thinking; whatever it was he would show nothing. I forced a smile to my lips and kept it there as I rose to face the two long lines of faces. In the strongest voice I could muster, I said:

  “In the name of the Great Spirit, I pledge my allegiance to Peter, Prince of Winchester, and to his heirs.”

  They cheered at that, though I thought the face of Blaine, who sat a little way down the table, showed puzzlement: his eyes in their folds of fat were narrowed. Harding, sitting opposite, was impassive as always.

  My brother put his hand on my shoulder. I felt its weight as strong, oppressive, and would have liked to shake it off. He said:

  “There will be no more talk of dispute between us. Luke stands at my right hand and will always do so. The city is well guarded. If I should die in next summer’s battles, or any summer after that, Luke will see to things until a son of mine is old enough to wear a sword.”

  There was something strange; not in his words but in the manner of speaking them. It was proper for a warrior to face death with a light heart, but the exultation in his voice meant more than that. Others, too, had sensed it. I saw Blaine lean forward, watching, hand tugging at his beard.

  My brother said: “So one more thing: one more toast to drink! And for this we will all stand because we toast one who is not here—not in this room and not yet in this world.”

  He lifted the golden pot that stood between us.

  “My Lady is with child. Drink to my son to be—your future Prince!”

  THREE

  THE PRINCE’S LADY

  NEXT MORNING I SAT WITH Ezzard in his parlor. Not many people were received there but it was still furnished with the trappings of a Seer. Chairs, stools and table, sideboard and bookcase were of dark fumed oak, and the long curtains at the windows were black velvet. From facing walls a stuffed owl, wings lifted, stared with small glass eyes of frozen fury at a stuffed eagle. There were three skulls on the sideboard and a Book of the Spirits thickly bound in white calf. In the center of the table stood the sphere of milky crystal on an ebony base which Ezzard was thought to use in receiving messages from the Spirits, and from the High Seers in the Sanctuary.

  The radio transmitter and receiver, through which the messages in fact were passed, was in a small room above this. Ezzard showed me the panel in the wall which, pressed at a certain point, opened a way to the stairs that led to it. I asked him:

  “And such things are in all the Seers’ Houses? But how can you trust the workmen not to talk?”

  “When a Seer’s House is built,” Ezzard said, “some things are done by the dwarfs, but not all. That which is sacred to the Spirits is left to the Seer and his Acolytes, and the dwarfs accept this. To serve this Order, Luke, requires more than an ability to read books and wear a solemn face and seem to pray: much more. Even the solemnity and the praying are probably less easy than you think, but there are also skills to learn and hard labor in applying them.”

  I nodded. “I see that.”

  He smiled. “You would never have made an Acolyte, but that is not your part in our business.”

  “Do I still have a part? After last night surely your plans for me are finished.”

  “Because a woman is with child? It will not even be born till summer.”

  “Already it makes the future.”

  “And may be a girl.”

  “The odds are against it. My father’s family ran to sons, and my brother’s wife was a girl with four brothers, with uncles but no aunts. And even if this one should be a girl there will be others. They will have sons, and I am pledged to aid and serve them.”

  “A forced oath,” Ezzard said, “is not binding. It happened once before in this city, in very ancient days, that a Prince was crowned in breach of such an oath, sworn on holy relics.”

  I shook my head. “I want no precedents for treachery. I swore the oath and will keep it. My honor requires that. There would be no joy in living if I broke it.”

  Ezzard stared at me a moment in silence, blue eyes cold in the craggy white face. He said:

  “What joy do you think there is in my life, Luke? Do you think I delight in this blackness that surrounds me? Not just the blackness of furnishings and clothes. My whole life is a cheat, and must be. Every day must be given up to deception, to further lies. What if my honor were to make demands? The cause we serve is greater than small things like one man’s honor.”

  I said stubbornly: “I am sorry, sir, but it is something I cannot accept. My mind is different from yours, perhaps. I will serve your ends as far as I can, but my honor comes first.”

  “Yes.” He paused. “Yes. And you serve us best by being what you are. I know you, Luke, and know what may be asked of you. It is a great deal. But I also know what may not be asked, and will not ask it. As to present circumstances, we will not worry too much yet.”

  He drew breath deeply: a sigh, if one could imagine such a thing from so austere a man.

  “We must all be patient. And you and I, Luke, must not see too much of each other. It is known that the Seers protected you, but as was said last night the time for that is past. Men respect the Seers, as is necessary, but are also wary of them. The smell of this black cloth must not cling to you, now that you are back in the palace and a Captain of the Prince’s army. So do not come here again unless I summon you.”

  “I shall still see Martin. He is my friend.”

  “Yes. That is reasonable. But of him too you will see less. As I have said, an Acolyte has other things to do than study and pray. He will not have much time to spare for idling in that cell beneath the Ruins.”

  “He told you of it?”

  “No,” Ezzard said. “H
e did not need to. We have kept close watch on you, Luke. And must do so. You are the piece on which our hopes are pinned. Nothing has changed there.”

  • • •

  The peddler was a man in his early thirties, of medium build and height. Physically there was nothing unusual to him: he had black hair and beard, keen eyes, the stance of someone who spends much time trudging poor roads. But his clothes were not such as peddlers commonly wore. They were gayer in color and unfamiliar in fashion. Beneath a red cloak, unusually short but having a part, secured with pearly buttons, that could be let down, he wore baggy trousers of a brighter green than I could recall seeing in a cloth, and leather gaiters above his boots. These last were shiny black with silver buckles at the front.

  He presented himself to Peter at an assembly of the Captains. He bowed deeply, putting one hand behind him into the small of his back, a gesture so comic that many smiled, and introduced himself in a barbarous accent. His name, he said, was Yews, and he came from the city of Klan Gothlen, in the land of the Wilsh. He offered the Prince a gift for his Lady.

  It was a contraption in the shape of a small broken hoop, covered with bright stones. It was to be worn across the top of the head, he explained, and demonstrated this by opening it out and ludicrously pressing it in place for a moment over his own black thatch.

  My brother thanked him gravely. He asked him how he had made his way so far, through such hazards. And how had he managed to cross the Burning Lands?

  There had been a party of them, the peddler explained. For a long time his people had traded into the countries of the savages. There were risks—he shrugged expressively—but there were also profits. And for years it had been known that the Burning Lands were cooling: there were fewer mountains that spurted fire and the fires themselves, with their flows of molten rock, were smaller. There was a pass and others before had ventured part way in but had been forced to turn back—as his companions this time had also done. He had pushed on, gambling that he would get through before the heat from the ground overcame him. It had been a near thing but he had succeeded.