The Tritonian Ring and Other Pasudian Tales (2 page)

             
Zeluud fell silent as Entigta turned an ominous black.

             
"Is your faith then so fragile?"
gurgled
the squid-god. "By whose help have you long raided with impunity the coasts of Poseidonis and the mainland, and the rich commerce of the Hesperides?"

             
"Well then—what am I to do?"

             
"Seize Lorsk and the rest will fall, for Lorsk is the strongest of the Pusadian states, among
whom
there is no unity but only mutual hatred and suspicion. Your warriors are the world's mightiest, and even if they were not, my priests have the world's deadliest weapon: their captive medusas. With your warlike people and the mineral wealth of Lorsk you can conquer the world! And I," murmured Entigta, "shall be sea-god not merely of the Gorgades
...
"

             
"Still—" began Zeluud doubtfully, but Entigta said:

             
"There is another point of attack against Lorsk. King Zhabutir has twin sons, Vakar and Kuros. Vakar, being the younger by a quarter-hour, is heir according to their old system of ultimogeniture. Now Kuros, who mortally hates his brother, might serve your interest in return for a promise of the throne, even as a tributary of yours. And once in control you can slay all three of them."

             
"How can I deal with this Kuros? He is too far for messengers, and the Pusadian sea-god would not let you communicate with one of his votaries."

             
"I can handle Lyr. There is a Gorgonian fisherman on the west coast of Poseidonis, in the Bay of Kort. In accord with the pact between Lyr and myself, I visit this fisherman in dreams as if he were back in Gorgonia. You can therefore speak to Kuros through this man."

             
"Mightiest of gods though you
be
, not even gods know all, or you would know more of the doom overhanging you. What if we fail?"

             
"Then the reign of the gods is ended, unless Poseidonis be sunk beneath the sea.
"

             
"
What?"

             
"Know you not the continent settles, the water round its shores having risen three feet in the last century? We can speed this process so that in a few centuries nought would show above the waves save the tallest peaks." The god's slit-pupilled eyes stared into space. "The outlines of land and water would be altered from the swamps of Blackland to the snows of Thule. Nor would this be all. Without the copper of Poseidonis, men might even forget the metal-working art and return to stone. But even that is
preferable
to the other doom, for without the gods to guide you, how could you poor weak mortals survive?
Return to the waking world, then, and set about your allotted tasks."

             
Entigta dissolved into a swirl of slime. The king awoke, threw the handkerchief off his sweating swarthy face, and sat up on his gold-knobbed couch. He shouted:

             
"Khashel!
Go to the temple of Entigta and tell the priest Qasigan to come to me at once!"

-

             
On an early spring evening months later, thirteen hundred miles north of the Gorgades, on the continent of Poseidonis, in the kingdom of Lorsk, in the capital city of Mneset, the king of Lorsk held council. A cold wind roared through the streets of Mneset, whipping tatters of scud across the pocked face of the moon and rattling the shutters of the houses. Inside the castle of King Zhabutir, the wind swayed the wall-hangings and made cressets flare and lamps flutter. Outside in the cast
l
e courtyard the pigs huddled together to keep warm.

             
In the king's council room the light of the central hearth-fire flickered upon the walls of massive cyclopean stonework and the ceiling of rough-hewn oaken beams. Four men, wrapped in cloaks against the drafts, sat around the council-table listening to a fifth: S
ö
l the spy, a thickset commonplace-looking fellow with quick-shifting eyes.

             
As these eyes flickered across the table they first passed over, on the left, Ryn the magician, peering vaguely through watery eyes over a stained beard like an elderly and absent-minded billygoat. A hunched back added to the grotesqueness of his appearance.
Next sat the king's elder son Kuros, square-jawed and broad-shouldered, nibbling on a wedge of cheese.
Then
came
King Zhabutir himself, in the chair of pretence at the head of the table, looking with his high-bridged nose and flowing white beard like the serene embodiment of justice and wisdom, though his nickname of "the Indecisive" belied his looks. His golden crown glowed redly in the firelight, and little gleams from his uncut stones, polished by the black craftsmen of Tartaros, chased each other about the walls when he moved his head. A great shaggy wolfhound lay across his feet.

             
On the king's left sat his younger son Vakar, the twin
(but not the identical twin) brother of Kuros, looking a bit vacuous (for age and experience had not yet stamped his features with character) and a bit foppish. The jewels on his fingers shone as he nervously cracked his knuckle-joints. He had a narrow hatchet-face which swept back from a long forward-jutting nose that had been straight until a fall from a horse had put a slight dog-leg in it. Instead of the normal Pusadian kilt he wore the checkered trews of the barbarians, and (another fad) copied the barbarian custom of shaving all the face but the upper Up. He was small for a Lorskan, a mere five-ten, with the swarthy skin and thick black hair of most Pusadians. Deepset dark eyes looked out of his narrow face from under heavy brow-ridges and thick black brows into those of
Söl,
who said:

             
"I couldn't get to the Gorgades myself, for their system of public messes serves to check all adult men, and they'd soon see through any disguise. Since the land lives by robbery, the ships of other nations have no peaceful occasion to touch there. I did however spend a month in
Kernê
and there learned that the Gorgons are preparing a great expedition somewhither."

             
Kuros said: "P
ff
. The Gorgons' ferocity has been exaggerated by distance and the envy of their neighbors. If we knew them at first hand we should find their intentions as peaceful as anybody's."

             
Prince Vakar shifted his gaze from the smoking wood-fire to the pocked face of the spy. His tight-drawn lips betrayed his inner tension as he spoke:

             
"Certainly their intentions are peaceful, like those of the lion for the lamb. The Hon wishes only to be allowed to devour the lamb in peace.
But, Master
Söl,
if the Gorgons have no peaceful contacts with other nations, how could such news reach
Kernê
?"

             
"The Gorgons' isolation isn't
so
perfect as they pretend. They carry on a small secret trade with certain merchants in Kern
é
for things
they can neither make, grow, nor steal
. Though the
Kernean
s hang or head any man they catch in this traffic, such are the profits that there's always someone to take the chance. A
Kernean
would brave the seven hells for a profit."

             
Ryn the wizard blew his nose on his robe and spoke: "Was there any indication of the Gorgons' direction?"

             
The wind blew
a gout
of smoke into
Söl's
face as if trying to stop him from replying. When the spy got over coughing and wiping his eyes he answered:

             
"Nothing definite, but the shadow of the echo of a whisper that said 'Lorsk'."

             
"No more?"

             
"No more, sir. I had it from a harlot of the town who said she'd learned it from a sailor who worked for a trader who'd heard
...
and so on."

             
Kuros swallowed the last of his cheese, dusted the crumbs off his fingers, and said: "That's all, Sol."

             
Vakar wished to hear more, but before he could protest,
Söl
had glided out and Kuros said:

             
"Very interesting, but let's not work ourselves into a sweat over the shadow of an echo of a whisper—"

             
"Is that so?" said Vakar sharply. "With due respect, my brother wishes us to take the attitude of the man in the story who went to sleep on the skerry thinking he had a spell that would hold back the tides. You remember:

             
"Shoreward they shouldered with crests ever-curling,

             
The waxing waves washed higher and higher—"

             
"For Lyr's sake don't start one of those!" said Kuros. Vakar shot a dagger-glance at his
brother and continued: "Where there's shadow there's more often than not a substance to cast it. And the words of so reliable a spy as Master
Söl
should not lightly be thrown aside. The Gorgons—"

             
"You have Gorgons on the brain," said Kuros. "Suppose they did sail against us? They must pass Tartaros and Dzen, sail west through the Hesperides, land upon the coast of Zhysk, and march through that land to come to grips with us. We should have ample
warning,
and one Lorksan's worth three Gorgons—"

             
"As I was saying when the yapping of a mongrel interrupted me," said Vakar. "The Gorgons don't even fight fair. I've been reading—"

             
"As if any real man ever learned anything from marks on papyrus," put in Kuros.

             
"Those who can't read can't judge—" King Zhabutir said: "Boys! Boys! I forbid this dreadful quarreling.
Go on, Vakar."

             
"You know how we fight: in loose groups, each led by a lord or champion followed by his kinsmen and liegemen and friends. We usually start out with challenges to single combat from our champions to the
foe's
, and sometimes the whole day is occupied with such duels. Moreover our men go equipped as they like: with swords, spears, axes, halberds, berdiches, war-clubs, and so on."

             
"What other way of fighting is there?" said Kuros.

             
"The Gorgons equip all their men alike, with helmets, shields, and weapons of the same pattern. They align their men in a solid mass, every man having a fixed place despite rank or kinship. They waste no time in challenges, but at a signal all move upon the foe, every man keeping his place in the whole. Such a mass goes through an army like ours like a plow through sand."

             
"Fairy-tales," said Kuros. "No true warriors would submit to be so forced into a single rigid mold
...
"

             
As usual the argument went round and round, with Vakar (whose disposition it was to take a gloomy view of things) arguing against Kuros while the other two remained mute. Kuros began to press the king:

             
"You agree, don't you, Father?"

             
Zhabutir the Indecisive smiled weakly. "I know not... I cannot decide
...
What thinks Master Ryn?"

             
"Sir?" said the magician. "Before sending my opinions forth across the chasm of surmise, I« prefer to wait until they're provided with a more solid bridge of fact. With your permission I'll call upon witch Gra for counsel."