Majipoor - The Mountains Of Majipoor Part 11

"I repeat: I am not a clown. I am not an actor. Nor am I a savage, prince. To stand out there and howl and shriek idiotically, and above all to put myself through changes like that, in front of everyone, not just them but your own men, and the king of the Othinor as well, would shame me forever."

"Go, Korinaam. Time is wasting."

"Prince, I ask you - I beg you -"

"The altar, Korinaam. Remember the altar. Go on. Quickly, now. There's no shame in doing one's duty. Your role will be essential today. Perform for us. Give us the best show that's in you. You said that these people were like beasts. Well, give them some of the same stuff, only more so. Behave like a wild man. Out-beast them ten for one. Perform as though your life depends on it. It does, you know."

Korinaam offered no answer; but he shot Harpirias such a look of unalloyed abhorrence as could have thawed a glacier. Harpirias responded with a sweet smile and nudged the Shape-shifter gently toward the front of the outcropping.

The jutting shelf of stone on which Korinaam stood was almost like a little stage. The Eililylal across the way seemed to stir in curiosity as the glowering Metamorph took up his position on it.

He was silent for a time, breathing deeply, staring at the ground. Then he raised his head and extended his arms to their full spread. He flicked his fingers outward two or three times, and made a small humming sound that could barely be heard even on this side of the canyon.

"Louder, Korinaam," Harpirias said. "Wilder. Start putting yourself through some changes."

"Prince, this is ridiculous!"

"The altar, Korinaam. The altar."

The Shapeshifter nodded. He stretched out his arms again. Abruptly the boundaries of his shape wavered and his arms became long ropy tentacles that seemed to writhe of their own accord in agonized serpentine patterns. The Eililylal stirred and exchanged glances with one another.

"Very good," Harpirias said. "Now chant a spell."

"Yes. Give me a moment, will you?"

Korinaam's body continued to change. His shoulders expanded and violently contracted; his skin grew puckered and spiny; his legs turned to hairy wheels; his arms, rigid again, became clubs, spears, long hooked rods.

"Dekkeret!" he cried suddenly. "Tyeveras Kinniken Malibor Thraym!"

Harpirias smiled. So the Shapeshifter knew some history after all! Those were the names of Coronals and Pontifexes of long ago, and Korinaam was making an incantation out of them!

"Good," Harpirias murmured. "Keep it up. Faster! Wilder!"

But there was little need for such encouragement. Korinaam seemed to have put all inhibition aside and was getting fully into things now. His form was going through such grotesque alterations as Harpirias could scarcely believe - drawing out to enormous length, then pulling sharply inward like a snapping piece of elastic until he was no more than a huddled cube, and then shooting out a hundred bright pink extensions at once that jerked and quivered with lunatic intensity. Bright blue eyes gleamed at the tip of each rubbery shaft of flesh. Whorls and loops of extruded plasm emerged from him. And all the while he continued to call off the names of ancient monarchs, now crooning them, now droning, now singing in an eerie high-pitched tone that slid between the conventional intervals of the scale with sinuous liberties that would drive any musician to immediate tears: "Voriax! Valentine! Segilot! Guadeloom, Strain, Arioc! Grivvis! Husifoin! Prankipin, Hunzimar, Spurifon, Seoul!" Then, hissing the name in a truly terrifying way: "Stiamot. Stiamot. Stiamot." He accompanied the name of the conqueror of his race with a series of explosive body-shifts that jerked him about the outcropping in such a hectic manner that Harpirias feared for a moment that he would go over the side.

Evidently Korinaam had exhausted his memory of the names of Coronals now. He began to chant cities and places instead, while dancing back and forth in high frenzy: "Bimbak, Dundilmir, Furible, Chi! Dulorn! Ni-moya! Falkyn-kip! Divone! Ilirivoyne, Kiridane, Mazadone, Nussimorn! Numinor! Pidruid! Piliplok! Gren!"

It was a brilliant performance. Even Harpirias was unsettled a little by the terrible intensity of Korinaam's percussive outcries and seemingly endless metamorphoses. He could almost believe that these were genuine spells that were being cast here, that the Shapeshifter was working authentic Piurivar magic in the chill mountain air of this place.

As for the Eililylal across the -way, they were mesmerized by it. Perhaps they thought that Korinaam had taken leave of his senses, or perhaps they were taking his spellcasting seriously-who could say? They sat rigidly, watching, watching, watching.

But Harpirias knew that the show could not go on much longer. Surely the metamorphic capacities of any Piurivar's body were unable to keep up such a pace of changes; nor could Korinaam, however durable his slender body might be, continue to prance and cavort and shriek the way he was doing without totally expending his strength.

This was the time for the next phase. Harpirias signaled to his troops to prepare to open fire. They hefted their weapons and waited for the next command.

To Korinaam, then, he said, "All right. Bring it to a climax. Everything you have. Everything, Korinaam!"

"Danipiur!" Korinaam roared. "Pontifex! Coronal! Toikella! Majipoor!"

He rippled and flowed and pa.s.sed through the entire spectrum of colors, and went through a whole new tumultuous series of bodily changes, now taking on animal forms, now imitating rocks or trees, now presenting himself as pure geometry, now becoming an incomprehensible cl.u.s.ter of tentacles and clacking claws, and then emerging ultimately from the whole blinding welter of astonishing metamorphoses wearing the semblance of King Toikella himself. But it was a Toikella far larger than life, a t.i.tanic Toikella, a mountainous Toikella a dozen feet high, identical down to the last degree with the genuine article, except in its size. It was a startling sight. The real Toikella, who had been standing to one side watching throughout the entire performance, now whirled, stared, grunted in amazement. Harpirias saw actual fear blossom in the king's eyes just then.

"Fire!" Harpirias cried.

Three loud cracking reports echoed through the thin, cold mountain air, and then three more, and another, and another. Bolts of purple energy lanced across the canyon, striking high up in the ice-tipped crags far above the ledge where the little band of Eililylal stood watching. Chunks of tawny stone the size of sea-dragons broke loose overhead and tumbled down with ear-shattering impact. They split apart spectacularly as they hit and sent huge showers of fist-sized particles cascading into the depths of the canyon. A low moan of terror went up from the Eililylal.

"Again," Harpirias said. "Aim a little lower."

A second volley of energy bolts crossed the canyon. The purple shafts of force smashed into the rocky walls just below the scars of the first round and carved great sheets of stone from them. Another deafening rain of slabs and boulders descended. Harpirias felt the vibration through the soles of his feet: it was like an earthquake. The entire mountain range seemed to quiver. He thought the world might break asunder.

"All right," he said. "Hold it."

Gradually the sound of the second rockfall died away. A few last pebbles clattered into the chasm, faintly resounding as they fell, and then all was still. Supreme silence followed: the terrible silence of the morning of the world's creation. Through the clear crisp air drifted little sun-gilded puffs of rock dust. Across the way, the Eililylal stood stunned, petrified, frozen by terror into statues.

In that awful moment of utter quiet Harpirias turned to Korinaam and said, "What I want you to do now is tell the king that he needs to - "

But then he saw that finishing the sentence was useless.

Exhausted by his immense effort, emptied entirely of strength, the Shapeshifter-once again in his proper form-had collapsed into a huddled heap, his arms drawn tight against his sunken chest, his entire body shaking in what seemed to be the final extremity of fatigue. Harpirias knew that there was no more service to be had from him just now.

He looked toward the king himself. But once again he was unable to find the Othinor phrases he needed. "Your warriors," he said, urgently pantomiming a band of men with spears. "Send them now. Against the Eililylal. Now! Now!" He acted out the motions of an attack and a ma.s.sacre.

Toikella merely stared at him. The king, of course, had no -way of understanding the Majipoori words that Harpirias had spoken; but that was not the problem. Toikella appeared to be as paralyzed by astonishment and fear as his enemies across the canyon. He looked as though he had been clubbed. His jaw hung slack, his eyes were gla.s.sy. There could be no question that Korinaam's bizarre performance had had a deep effect on him, especially at its climax; but plainly it was the destruction that Harpirias's squadron of energy-throwers had meted out that had stupefied him. Nothing in Toikella's experience had prepared himself for the sight of modern Majipoor weaponry in action.

Mankhelm was in no better shape. He was on his knees, looking dazed, fumbling with the holy bones and amulets that dangled on a leather cord around his neck.

Nor in any case was there an Othinor army on the far side of the canyon to mop up the Eililylal, Harpirias realized. The warriors whom Toikella had sent over there to await the order to attack now were coming slinking back in twos and threes, white-faced, shaken. Harpirias threw up his hands in exasperation. "No!" he shouted. "Go across again! Across! Across! Over there! By the Lady, go after the Eililylal now, while you have the chance!"

Mute, bewildered, understanding nothing, they simply gaped at him.

Then Harpirias looked across the way, and with one glance he knew that no attack would be necessary. The Eililylal were gone. They had broken from their terrified stasis and fled pell-mell over the rocky mountain trails, leaving behind their packs, their tents, their weapons and tools, everything they had brought with them from their home encampment somewhere in the farthest north. The two tethered hajbaraks still lay where they had been, unharmed.

It would be an extremely long time, Harpirias suspected, before the wild Metamorphs of the mountains returned to trouble King Toikella's people again.

He walked over to Korinaam and rested his hand lightly on the Shapeshifter's thin shoulder.

"You did very well," Harpirias said quietly. "You were magnificent. Perfect. If the mountain-guide business ever falls off, you could set up shop as a sorcerer and make a fortune."

Korinaam only shrugged.

"Are you very tired?" Harpirias asked.

"What do you think?" His voice carried a freight of anger and embarra.s.sment and, above all else, a deadly, numbing weariness.

"Rest, then. Rest as long as you like. But first tell the king that I've done what I promised. That his enemies have run away, that the war is over. It's safe for him to send his men across the canyon to set free those hajbaraks."

When the details of the treaty had been worked out at last, one of Harpinas's Ghayrog soldiers, who fancied himself something of a calligrapher, inscribed its text in duplicate on broad scrolls of bleached leather that Ivla Yevikenik had provided. It was very fine leather, almost of the quality of parchment. Although the treaty was in fact extremely concise, a mere six clauses, the job of lettering it out took three full' "days, much to Harpirias's annoyance. That seemed an inordinate time to waste on such a frill. But the Ghayrog was quite particular about his craft.

"And what good will all this pretty lettering do, anyway?" Harpirias demanded of Korinaam when the finished copies were at last brought to him. "The king can't read a single word of Majipoori. What's written here isn't going to seem any more important to him than bird-scratchings in the snow. Shouldn't we at least have drawn up a copy of it in Othinor also?"

He.

"There is no written Othinor language," Kormaam observed, a trifle smugly.

"None at all?"

"Have you seen many books in your -wanderings through the village, prince?"

Harpirias flushed. "Even so - a treaty that can't be read by one of the signatories-doesn't that seem awfully unilateral to you, Kormaam?"

The Shapeshifter gave Harpirias what might have been a malicious look. He had recovered much of his aplomb in the time that had pa.s.sed since his performance in the high country; but some residue of resentment for what Harpirias had forced him to do unmistakably remained.

"Ah, prince, have no fear! The king will admire and respect the copy that we give him! He'll hang it on his throne-room wall and stroke it fondly from time to time, and why should it matter whether he can read it or not? All that really concerns you-is it not so?-is getting the hostages back; and that much has been agreed upon. Once you have them and have left this place behind you, what further value does the treaty have, to you or to the king?"

"To me, none. But presumably it has some for the king. It gives him, after all, the thing he most wishes, which is protection for the people of this valley against further incursions by the forces of the government of Majipoor."

"Yes. That is surely true." Korinaam laughed harshly.

"What bold soul would dare defy the sacred clauses of this treaty? If at some time in years to come a future Coronal should be so venturesome as to send an army in here, why, whoever occupies Toikella's throne at that time will simply need to take the treaty down from the wall and wave it in the face of the commanding officer of the invading force, and that officer will immediately order his troops to withdraw! Is that not so, prince? For that has always been the way the people of Majipoor treat those who have less power than they. Tell me, prince: is that not so?"

Harpirias let the Shapeshifter's heavy sarcasm pa.s.s. Undoubtedly Korinaam had his own Piurivar axes to grind; but Harpirias had no desire to fight Lord Stiamot's war all over again ten thousand years later. Whatever unpleasantnesses the human settlers of Majipoor had imposed on Korinaam's ancestors long ago were ancient history now, and had been atoned for, insofar as atonement for the taking of a world was possible at all, by the reconciliation of the races that had begun in the time of Valentine Pontifex. Whatever grievances Korinaam persisted in holding were no affair of Harpirias's. Finishing this business with the Othinor was all that interested him now.

He studied the parchment. It was, he had to admit, very nicely lettered indeed. As for the text, he was quite proud of it: crisp in style, efficient and straightforward in setting forth the obligations of the respective signatory parties. No ambiguities or equivocations so far as he could tell, nothing that could be misconstrued or misinterpreted. The Coronal Lord of Majipoor agreed to respect the sovereignty of His Royal Highness the King of the Othinor, and to avoid any further unwanted incursions upon his domain, the king's domain being defined as beginning at such-and-such a parallel of north lat.i.tude on the continent of Zimroel and extending to the planetary pole, et cetera, et cetera. For his part, His Highness the King of the Othinor undertook immediately to release from custody the nine paleontologists who had accidentally intruded upon the sovereign territory of the Kingdom of the Othinor, and to return to them such scientific specimens as they had collected, et cetera, et cetera.

Nothing was said about continued paleontological research in this area. The king almost certainly would have boggled at that, considering that the main thing he wanted from this treaty was a promise that he would never be troubled by contact with Majipoori citizens again. The scientists, once they were freed, could always pet.i.tion the Coronal to negotiate an agreement with Toikella permitting them to resume their exploration in Othinor territory. But Harpirias hoped that some amba.s.sador other than himself would be the one who got the job of negotiating that agreement.

Nor was there any clause covering repatriation to the civilzed parts of Majipoor of the children that had been born of Majipoor fathers and Othinor mothers. Best not to touch on hat subject at all, Harpirias thought, though he did feel some private discomfort about it. The children would be Othinor, and that was that.

" 'And so,' " he read, coming to the bottom of the sheet, " 'we the Coronal Lord Ambinole herewith dignify our approval and solemnly make our royal pledge - ' "

Harpirias looked up from his reading.

"Wait a minute," he said. "The way it's worded here, the signature of the Coronal himself is called for. That's not what I-"

"I asked the Ghayrog to make a slight change," said Korinaam blandly.

"You did what?"

"King Toikella has never grasped the fact that you are merely an amba.s.sador. He continues to believe that he has been host to the person of Lord Ambinole."

"But I told you a thousand times to let him know that - "

"I appreciate your concern, prince. Nevertheless, at this point the primary object, is it not, is to maintain the cooperation of the king until the hostages are freed and we have safely withdrawn from his territory? At this stage of things the king can only react badly to the revelation of your true ident.i.ty. Even now, with the treaty completely negotiated and ready for signing, such a revelation might have explosive effects."

"I'll give him explosive effects!" Harpirias exclaimed. "He's seen what our energy-throwers can do. If he refuses to release those men, after all the talking that's gone on here -"

"You can order your soldiers to do great damage, oh, yes, certainly. But I remind you that the hostages remain in his custody to this moment. If he has them put to death, even while your troops are demonstrating the power of their energy-throwers-what have you accomplished then, prince? Sign the doc.u.ment with the name of Lord Ambinole, I implore you."

"I will not. I draw the line at fraud."

"Fraud is a very small sin. I call it to your attention once more that our main purpose - "

"Is the release of the hostages. Right. But what happens when the signed text of the treaty reaches Castle Mount? What will the Coronal say, when he sees that I've forged his name? No, no, Korinaam. I'll sign as Harpirias of Muldemar. As you've already pointed out, King Toikella can't read anyway. Let him interpret the signature any way he wants."

Which was where the discussion ended; for at that moment a messenger from the king arrived, bearing word that the grand feast of celebration, at which the treaty would be formally signed and the hostages brought forth, was ready to begin in the royal banqueting hall.

It seemed to Harpirias that a great many months had gone by since that other grand feast in the royal hall, the one on his first night here, welcoming him to the land of the Othinor. But he knew it could opt be nearly that long a time: some number of weeks, yes, but surely not months. The sky these days still remained light far into the evening and the heavy snows of winter had not yet begun. Yet he could understand now why the hostages had lost track of time here, had even forgotten what year it was. In this valley one day faded imperceptibly into the next. Twoday, Threeday, Seaday, Starday, who could tell which was which? There were no calendars here. The only clock was the clock of the heavens: the sun, the stars, the moons.

In the feasting hall everything was exactly as it had been that other time. The heavy white rugs of steetmoy fur had been unpacked and spread on the floor; the great tables of rough planks laid over trestles made of hajbarak bones had been a.s.sembled; the innumerable bowls and plates and tureens br.i.m.m.i.n.g with food had been set out. The king was on his high throne and an a.s.sortment of his wives and daughters lounged at its base.

Everything was the same, yes. In the intervening weeks only Harpirias had changed; for now the dense, smoky air of the great room seemed perfectly natural to him, and the odors rising from the dishes of food, rather than rousing uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, actually stirred his appet.i.te, for he had grown accustomed to the dry stringy meats and fiery sauces of these people, to their baked roots and roasted nuts, their bitter beer, their acrid, glutinous soups and stews. The dissonant screeing and skirling of the king's musicians was familiar to him now also, and when occasionally some bawdy words would drift to him out of the group of Othinor warriors standing against the side wall, he would sometimes grin with comprehension, for in the course of his nights with Ivla Yevikenik he had learned more than a little of the Othinor language.

The dancing before the meal was very much the same as before, too: the wives of the king, first, and then a ponderous solo for Toikella himself, and then Harpirias invited to join him on the floor. This time, though, Harpirias called Ivla Yevikenik out of the group of royal princesses to accompany him. The girl's eyes gleamed with pleasure as she came forward to dance with him; and Toikella too, in his own dark and somber way, appeared pleased at the honor being paid his daughter.

After the dancing came the dining, and along with it the drinking, round upon round of formal toasting in long, orotund outbursts of Othinor oratory. Harpirias was skilled enough in the ways of high ceremonial dinners on Castle Mount to understand the art of keeping his consumption of the potent Othinor beer as low as was diplomatically permissible: a sip where the others took a gulp, all the while pretending to be swilling the stuff down as l.u.s.tily as everybody else. The wisdom of that tactic was confirmed when the beer mugs were cleared away and two bowls of finely polished stone were ostentatiously laid out on a long narrow table that had been set up at the foot of the throne. A high official of the court now entered, bearing a tall alabaster vessel, from which he carefully poured into each of the bowls a clear, bright fluid: a brandy or liqueur of some sort, evidently.

Sounds of awe and surprise could be heard around the room. Harpirias guessed that this must be some very special beverage indeed, something consumed only on the most momentous of ceremonial occasions: the coronation of a king, say, or the birth of a royal heir. Or the consummation of a treaty with a fellow monarch, Harpirias supposed.

Slowly and majestically Toikella descended from his throne, walked to the table that held the bowls, picked one of them up in both his hands. The king looked strangely grim and tense. All this evening the king had seemed uncharacteristically bleak and edgy and withdrawn, even during the dancing, even during the noisiest part of the feasting; but now his expression was positively funereal. Which was very much out of keeping with the presumable joyousness of the moment.

What was bothering him? What had become of his natural exuberance, his colossal profligate vitality?

He stared across at Harpirias, then at the bowl that remained at the table. The meaning was clear enough; Harpirias rose, went to the table, lifted his bowl in both hands as Toikella had done. Then he waited. Toikella's great bulk loomed oppressively over him. Harpirias felt dwarfed by the king, disturbingly overshadowed. And the king's black glare bothered him most of all.

Was there poison in his bowl? Was that why Toikella had turned so edgy as he waited for Harpirias to take the fatal draught?

But that was nonsense, Harpirias knew. Both bowls had been filled from the same vessel. Toikella would not be planning a joint suicide as the climax of this evening's festivities.

The king raised his bowl to his lips. Harpirias did the same. For a moment the king's eyes met those of Harpirias across the rim of the bowl: they had a baleful look, a look of barely contained anger. Something is very wrong here, Harpirias thought. He glanced over uncertainly at Ivla Yevikenik. She smiled and nodded; she mimed lifting the bowl and drinking. Would she betray him? No. No. The bowl must be safe.

He took a tentative sip.

The stuff was like liquid fire. Harpirias felt it burning a track to the bottom of his gut. He gasped, steeled himself, cautiously took a second sip. Toikella had already drained his bowl: no doubt he was expected to do likewise. The second jolt was easier. Already Harpirias could feel his head beginning to swim a little. Much still remained in the bowl. Would it be a dire loss of face if he failed to drink it all down? He was the personal representative of the Coronal, after all. In Toikella's eyes he was the Coronal. He could not allow himself to disgrace the honor of Majipoor before these barbarians.

He gulped and gulped again, and a third gulp gave him the last of the brandy. It hit with a frightful impact. His shoulders quivered violentlyv almost convulsively. His head throbbed and whirled. For a moment he swayed and thought he would fall; but then he steadied himself and planted his feet firmly on the floor.

By the Lady, would the king fill those bowls again?

No, he would not. The Divine be thanked, Toikella was content with a single draught of the stuff!

"Treaty," the king said gruffly. He still looked grim. "Now we sign."

"Yes," said Harpirias. He fought back another shiver, another wobble. "Now we sign."

The two parchment scrolls were produced and arrayed side by side on the table before the throne. A chair made of bone was brought for the king, and another for Harpirias, and they too sat side by side, looking out at the a.s.sembled grandees of the Othinor. Korinaam stood just behind Harpirias in his role as interpreter and adviser, and Mankhelm took up the same position in back of the king.