Read The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) for Free Online

blink in
surprise at the paintings, before a woman came down the stair. She was
barefooted and wore a plain grey robe, shaped only by the belt that held her
dagger. She was a slight creature and her cropped hair and timid look made her
seem very young.
    “Welcome, Lord of the Towers,” she said
tonelessly. “All remains as at the moment of your departure . . .”
    “Ah, leave the old phrases. I know them
well enough,” commanded O-grak. He picked up his wife, tossed her like a baby
and caught her and kissed her. “Now wife, you must prepare a warmer welcome.”
    “The watchmen said that you had prisoners .
. .”
    “Call them captives of affection,” said the
Khan with a sly smile. “This is Lord Forollkin and this is Gidjabolgo. Look at
him carefully and tell me if you'd rather wake up with that face on your pillow
or mine?”
    The Khan's wife blushed and failed to
answer.
    “And this,” continued O-grak, “is Gwerath,
a Princess of Erandachu. Do you remember where that is? Well, take her away and
perhaps the tales she can tell will fill your hollow head better than my
teaching. Ah, and we must prepare for a fourth guest - Prince Kerish-lo-Taan
himself. What? Interested at last?”
    “The Prince of Galkis? The one who sent it
to me?”
    “The same. Now take the Princess to your
quarters.”
    Khan O-grak's wife timidly stretched out
her hand and Gwerath grasped it firmly.
     
    *****
     
    Kerish woke drenched with sweat and could
not remember his dreams. The single torch was burning out. `Good', thought
Kerish drowsily, `the dark is better'. The torch died in a shower of sparks. He
snuggled down again. The dark seemed like a tangible thing, gently coiling
around him to keep him warm and safe.
    His crippled hand twitched violently.
Kerish gripped it with his other hand to stop the tremors and his dreams seemed
to float to the surface of his mind and sink again, just before he remembered
them. All his uneasiness returned and he sat up. Against the darkness, his left
hand faintly glimmered. Kerish remembered the brilliance of the Jewel of Zeldin
and thought, `But now I am my own light'.
    The glimmering grew until it lit the whole
chamber, lit the remains of his sordid meal and the discarded coverlet
crouching like an animal in the corner. Kerish lifted his hand but the light
could not penetrate the blackness of the crack. Then one dream at least
surfaced into memory. He had built a palace for Gwerath on the seashore, but as
fast as he built, its beauty was marred. The walls continually split open and
though no visible darkness flowed in, the palace seemed so much altered that
when Gwerath knocked at the gate, he dared not let her in. Fully awake now,
Kerish stood and faced the crevice and the light in his hand faded.
    With a rattle of bolts the door was thrust
open.
    “What, Prince, all in darkness?” demanded
O-grak. “Perhaps that's no disadvantage in such lodgings.”
    Kerish turned very slowly. “I have known
worse on my travels.”
    “Ah, these travels of yours.” O-grak fixed
his own torch in the sconce and studied the Prince by its light. “I could believe
anything of them when I see how much they've changed the dainty, quick-tempered
Prince I remembered. Have you killed a man yet?”
    “I have tried to.”
    “In hatred?” asked O-grak, “or in your own
defense?”
    “In hate and jealousy. “ The Prince spoke
very calmly and his face was the impassive mask of the Godborn.
    “Do you still hate?” demanded O-grak.
    Kerish smiled. “No. Not now that I have
cause.”
    “I am glad you are still no warrior. It
will make it easier to protect you. My people do not kill those who have no
blood on their hands.”
    “The Brigands of Fangmere do not make such
a distinction.”
    “The Brigands of Fangmere do not kill, they
sacrifice. They cling to older ways as though piety was their greatest
treasure, and if you'd seen Fangmere you'd know that it is. That makes
releasing you no simple task.”
    Kerish