Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn 4 Darkbridge Read online

  30 Million Years From Now

  Eartherea has engulfed the Earth we knew.

  One side faces only the Goddess Sun, burning into desert waste. Over the other side, the roving chariot of the jade Moon God rules unending Night. Only in twilight may life endure. Into the far North, where Elna chased and caged the warlike barbarians centuries ago, came the stranger, Ara-Karn. He was a renegade Southron, some said; others claimed he was the returned ghost of a long-dead King; others said he was an avenging demon.

  Ara-Karn drew the tribes into his hand. Half the world he conquered, even Tarendahardil herself, the City Over the World. Only its black citadel yet defied him. Only the Golden Queen, Elna’s last descendant, would not yield to his advances.

  Ampeánor, last Charan of Rukor, battled his way across the Southern continent to reach the citadel in time. Along with him he took a captive, the barbarian general Gundoen, the only man who knew the truth of the Conqueror, and his secret weakness.

  Ampeánor brought his prisoner into the citadel. And he swore that he would wring the secret from Gundoen, and reveal the truth to the Golden Queen.

  Also by asotir

  Fiction:

  Swan’s Road

  The Island of Lost Women

  Return to the Island of Lost Women

  The Killing Sword

  Crawlspace

  Siren of Creepland

  Blood by Moonlight

  The Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn:

  The Former King

  The Divine Queen

  The Iron Gate

  Darkbridge

  Nonfiction:

  Movie Letters, Winter 2009

  Darkbridge

  Canto Four of

  The Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn

  §

  by Adam Corby

  & asotir

  Copyright © 2009 by A. Adam Corby

  This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ or send a letter to

  Creative Commons

  171 Second Street, Suite 300

  San Francisco, California, 94105, USA.

  Contents

  I. The Blood-Offering of Gundoen

  II. Of the Tribes at Tarendahardil

  III. Disgrace

  IV. War

  V. The Summons

  VI. Glory

  VII. Defeat

  VIII. The Black Tent

  IX. Freedom

  X. The Dark Lands

  XI. The Ancient Path

  XII. The World Beyond

  XIII. The Lady of the Sword

  XIV. Refuge

  XV. The Passing of the Queen

  XVI. The Last Assembly

  XVII. Whispers

  XVIII. In Darkness

  XIX. The Final Flight

  XX. Judgment

  Epilogue

  Prologue:

  The Song Sung Every Waking

  IN THE MIDST of the haunted walls of High Town the ash-strewn streets resounded with the clattering of barbarian warriors riding down again to their camp; then silence crept back among the stones. It was a silence rendered only more profound by the light rain and the vague movements of a few dogs and rats. High above them the Brown Temple of Goddess seemed to preside over the scene, rising dark and undamaged against the sky like an outlined hill that had watched unmoved the turmoil of the ages.

  Within the Temple’s gold-chased marble walls the echoes of a strange chanting might be heard. It was a low, slow chant, a chant of slumberous, seductive beauty. The voices of the chant shuddered as they sang, like flames held out in a stiff, sullen wind.

  Let no one aid him, let all revile him and relish his pain.

  Let him die in darkness alone and senseless.

  Let nothing of him survive, O Lady. Nothing, not even the memory of his name.

  Let his blood boil and his flesh scab, let his bones rot and fail him. Let the one he loves most strike the blow. O Goddess, hear our words!

  O Goddess, O Dear One, O Lady Unequaled, grant us the strength to accomplish your will. Our hearts and bodies await you. Fill us with your fire. Let us be the flame of your anger, that scars and burns and blackens life to cinders. He has slain, he has destroyed, he has ravaged and burned. Now let him be burned!

  Bare-footed, garbed hair to ankles in robes of black, their faces hidden behind golden masks worked by antique ways into the likeness of Goddess, even as their foregoers had done through all the centuries before them since the building of the Temple, the last half-score of holy virgin priestesses sang in a half-circle before the ancient altar.

  When the barbarians had first overrun High Town, a few had entered these chambers. In the midst of their plundering the barbarians had discovered on the stone bench before the fire and high idol the broken, naked corpse of an aged woman. They had looked upon the corpse uneasily, thinking of the Gray Priestess: fear took them, they dropped their sacks of loot and fled.

  Later, disturbed by certain strange reports, the chieftains had set men to watch in the Temple. These warriors found the high stone shelves of offerings restored to their former order. The chambers were empty of life, but the floors had been swept and the sacred fire still burned before the idol. There was no sign of the old woman’s corpse. The warriors made jokes and sat down to await whoever came, but they did not touch the offerings. When these men never returned to camp, no others might be ordered to follow them. So the Brown Temple was let be, and the dreaded armies of Ara-Karn rode wide of it on the far side of the square.

  And now the last ten priestesses broke their half-circle and put an end to their ritual. Each in turn bowed to touch the lips of her mask to the stone bowl of the fire. Then they passed below to the secret chambers, there to await that time when the jade orb of dark God should fall into the dark horizon.

  Before, there had always been fifty of them.

  Now the others of the Fifty, those who yet lived, were journeyed to the bright horizon. There the heat and glare of Goddess were things unbearable, and the sands and ledges of the unbounded Desert began. Nothing could live there but the sands dancing in whirlwinds, driven mad by the nearness of Her. Beyond the shores of the Desert some rocks rose up in a high island out of the waves of sand. There were deep caves in the rocks, and even water. And there the priestesses of all the fallen cities had come to gather with their attendants.

  There in that refuge beyond the lands where men dwell they had vowed to remain in prayer to await the downfall of the conqueror and the rebirth of Goddess’ cult.

  The gentlewomen had learned much on the bitter road to that refuge. Already they knew how to seduce and steal and slay. Goddess guided their hands and taught them what was needful; Her bounty was generous. The older priestesses had perished, despairing of life under the hand of Ara-Karn; the younger ones remained, a different breed.

  They had set about devising new rituals to maintain themselves. A new rank of priestesses had already been formed, of those who might lie with men and bring forth daughters to replenish the number of the initiates. But the male offspring were left on the heights of the rocky ledges in the light of Goddess, to suffer, dry, and die. And the few boys left alive were crippled, their leg-bones broken and bent, their hands broken and broken again, so that they could not run swiftly nor strike a blow. Nor was that a cruelty, because it had been ordered by Goddess, and the kindliness and mercy of Goddess were by-words.

  So it was determined the last priestesses would refuge in the Desert until the one girl-child would be born, she who would be the Creature of Goddess. And she would lead the priestesses out from the sands and back i
nto the green lands where men dwell, and there overthrow and extinguish the cult of Ara-Karn and restore the worship of Goddess.

  * * *

  When the jade orb of God fell at length into the dark horizon, nine priestesses departed the Temple. They rode the back roads of the City down to the Sea Way, to follow it unto the bright horizon and the hidden refuge. Silently and sadly the last priestess of Goddess kissed her sisters and bade them good-journeying.

  She had been named Alsa, the Pointed Brightness, when she had been initiated. Some seeing her would have called her a girl, but in truth she was a girl no longer.

  Alone she entered again the high hollow chamber of the altar. It would be her task to tend the sacred fire and await the coming of the Empress Allissál, the Body of Goddess. Those who still hid in the City would continue to support her with food and whatever else she wished. And perhaps it would not be long before the Divine One would appear, and Alsa’s wait would end. Then she could lead the earthly incarnation of Goddess away to the secret refuge, there to lead her priestesses in worship and in vengeance.

  Laying her young body on the worn stones before the altar, Alsa prayed that it might be soon. Then she raised her golden face and bent her body back, sitting on her heels, and she raised her dark-swathed arms, and began again the song. Her voice resounded weirdly from beneath the golden, ancient mask and off the bloodstained walls.

  O Goddess, O Dear One, O Lady Unequaled, hear me, hear my words. The Man has come and defiled your temples and ravished those made holy in your service. He has struck down your altars and reft you of offerings. Strike him, and reave him of life in return.

  Let no one aid him, let all revile him and delight in his pain.

  Let him die in darkness alone and senseless.

  Let nothing of him survive, O Lady. Nothing, not even the memory of his name.

  Let his blood boil and his flesh scab, let his bones bend and hurt him. Let the one he loves most strike the blow. O Goddess, hear my words!

  Darkbridge

  I

  The Blood-Offering of Gundoen

  ‘HE IS TOO STRONG for that,’ Ampeánor said. ‘You saw him on the Iron Gate. Death is a thing he is half in love with.’

  Allissál turned back to face him. Around the edges of the round roof of the White Tower, it was as if the world were far away. The winds were stronger and colder here, and the shrunken sunlit fields about the dead city mute and moveless. It was the second pass after Ampeánor’s return.

  ‘Are we now no better than the barbarians?’ she asked. She went to the support-pillar of the Disk of Goddess, and looked North toward Rukor.

  There were four of them there: the Queen, Berowne, the Gerso and Ampeánor. Ampeánor had bathed, shaved and groomed as befit a lord of his stature, so that he was now as handsome as he had been when he had left.

  ‘I tell you my Queen, it is the only way.’

  ‘The only way,’ she repeated to the city below. ‘Why it is it then, my lord, that you do not say that regretfully?’

  ‘Who is the enemy we must fight?’ he asked. ‘We do not fight mere armies – if that were so, our League would have triumphed at Egland Downs. We fight a man – a name – a legend – a word. Against that, only another word of equal power can avail.

  ‘Once I too thought of Ara-Karn as a man. Then I went into his camp. His tents were empty, and yet his armies rolled on! He has not walked among them for two years, but his myth drives them and defeats us. The truth, and only the truth, will take the power from this man – this word. Let his armies see him for what he truly is, and Ara-Karn’s power will fade like cloud-shade in the wind. And who knows the truth? Only this one man, this Gundoen. That is his great value. Holding him, we hold the balance in the war. And now by dark God he will tell us the truth of Ara-Karn!’

  ‘He will not tell you,’ she said.

  ‘He will.’ The face of Ampeánor was scarred with eagerness; he moved about the small roof as if he might scarcely hold himself in. ‘I will make him.’

  ‘And who will you find to perform it?’ she asked scornfully. ‘Will you ask honest guardsmen? Captain Berowne, would you do this thing?’

  Berowne looked back and forth between his lord and his Queen. ‘I am a soldier, your reverence,’ he said at length. ‘I will do as you command. Still, this is not a thing I would do willingly or well.’

  ‘You see,’ Allissál said. ‘Or will you choose out some poor folk from the Tarendahardilites to do it? – Or better yet, put your orders to slaves?’

  ‘If need be,’ said Ampeánor, ‘I would do it with my own hands.’

  She turned again to look at him. For a space it was silent there, save for the whipping of their cloaks and garments in the cold winds.

  ‘I would remind you, my lord, that we stand here in the presence of the gods.’

  ‘Then I will swear before the Couple, that I would do the thing, and gladly!’

  She shook her head. ‘Was it for this that I awaited your return throughout this long year? In all the time since you left on that mad quest, would not let them perform the rites of the dead for you. I was sure that you lived and would return. And now, after all this time, I find that I was wrong. You have returned, but you are not Ampeánor. I wish you had never come alive from Tezmon.’

  ‘Tezmon!’ The word was an oath torn from his lips. ‘Yes, Tezmon was the start of this! For it was in Tezmon I first saw the true nature of the masks and pretty shadows you are pleased to call our civilization. Are the tales of Arstomenes and his end true? If that is what it is to be one with the brightness of Goddess, then I renounce it and take up God’s banner instead! Let them call me what they will, but I will have the strength of heart to dare to do what must be done! – And you, Gerso, what is it that makes your foul lips grin so?’

  Ennius Kandi’s face also was pale, his eyes narrow as he faced into the winds and Goddess. Dangerous lights played in those slitted green eyes, and the smile that twisted back his lips was hardly pleasant. ‘It was only that you spoke of what must be done, my lord, while I speak ever of what I will do.’

  ‘Enough! Enough!’ Allissál found she could stomach no more. ‘Go then and do this thing, Ampeánor, since you will not be denied. We cannot stop you – go then and do it, but let us hear of it no more!’

  ‘I am afraid, my Queen, that that will not be enough.’ His voice was calmer now; a rigor had taken it. He no longer spoke as if to win the hearts of friends, but as if to subdue enemies to his will. ‘You must yourself assent to this.’

  ‘That I will never do.’

  ‘You must. You are the Divine Queen, the last of the Imperial house, the final survivor of the Bordakasha. I am but your servant. I will not have it said, when this is done and you have reaped the profit of it, that I came to be your consort by force. We stood before the altar in the Brown Temple and announced our intentions – in the eyes of the world we are husband and wife already. Mine be the strength and lance, yours the heart and grace. You shall grant that this be done, and set your seal and signs to parchment for it. And more,’ he added, stepping toward her a pace, ‘and more, you shall sit above the pit with all your maidens, and watch what I shall order. With your own ears you shall hear the barbarian: for he may speak some truths that you will little like to learn.’

  There was a wildness in his eyes, and something brutal about the lips and nostrils of the High Charan. Even his ears up-pricked in the winds, like those of some animal. He stood by the support-pillar of the Disk, and she backed to the rim of the roof, over a fall of two hundred fathoms and more.

  Then she drew herself up before him. ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘I begin to believe I never knew you.’

  ‘We all learn unpleasant things, from time to time, about the ones we thought we knew.’

  ‘I think you might truly do this thing.’

  ‘I will do it. You will watch me do it. We will learn the truth about Ara-Karn, and this barbarian will give us the knowledge.’

  ‘That,’
she said, ‘will be for Charan Kandi to decide.’

  ‘I, your majesty?’

  She turned to him, and fled from Ampeánor’s side. ‘You were born among the barbarians, if what you have told me is indeed the truth,’ she said. ‘You shall decide this, as you have decided all else. Is this secret of which Ampeánor speaks so valuable that it would be worth the payment of so great a price?’

  ‘Yes, Gerso,’ Ampeánor said. ‘Speak, enlighten us! You also shall agree to it – you also shall attend us!’

  Slowly, the dark man brought his eyes to bear upon the lord of Rukor. Slowly he shook his head. In those black-green eyes of his an immense, gloomy amusement seemed to dwell.

  ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘a year and a half ago, in late spring, we two stood on a beach in Rukor, and at that time you swore to me, upon all the honor of your house, that you owed me a life. Then you said that I might come to you at any time and claim it of you, no matter what the circumstances.’

  ‘Do you dare mention that to me, Gerso, after what I saw among the charts in the tent of Ara-Karn? I vowed you a life, and grant you one; but Gerso, the life I grant you is your own.’

  ‘It seems you must choose, my lord,’ the Queen said. ‘Or do you know some reason why this barbarian need not undergo this thing?’

  ‘And your majesty will be bound by my decision?’ he asked softly.

  ‘So would we all be bound,’ she answered: ‘Captain Berowne, the High Charan, you, myself – and Gundoen.’

  ‘And if I say yes, you would go below and watch what transpires?’

  ‘I would watch it,’ she said.

  ‘I do not believe you, your majesty.’

  ‘If you say no,’ she answered, ‘you must give us your reason. And it must go beyond morality and pleasantness.’

  He nodded. He looked into the upper reaches of the sky around them. High above, the orb of God ran toward the dark horizon. The Charan Ennius Kandi raised his hand, like a spade’s tongue against the sky. ‘And if I hold it thus,’ he said mournfully, ‘I can set it beside dark God as if I held Him in my palm. But not for all that could I halt the running of this pass. Let it be done.’