“What if he’s involved with this sea-dragon cult?” Stasilaine said.
“I don’t know,” said Elidath. “It could be anything. I tell you only that Tunigorn seemed deeply troubled, and urged me to join the Coronal on the processional as quickly as I could, in the hope that I’ll be able to prevent him from doing something rash. I think I could succeed where others, even Tunigorn, would fail.”
“What?” Divvis cried. “He’s thousands of miles from here! How can you possibly—”
“I leave in two hours,” Elidath answered. “A relay of fast floaters will carry me westward through the Glayge Valley to Treymone, where I’ve requisitioned a cruiser to take me to Zimroel via the southern route and the Rodamaunt Archipelago. Tunigorn, meanwhile, will attempt to delay Valentine’s departure from the Isle as long as he can, and if he can get any cooperation from Admiral Asenhart he’ll see to it that the voyage from the Isle to Piliplok is a slow one. With any luck, I might reach Piliplok only a week or so after Valentine does, and perhaps it won’t be too late to bring him back to his senses.”
“You’ll never make it in time,” said Divvis. “He’ll be halfway to Ni-moya before you can cross the Inner Sea.”
“I must attempt it,” Elidath said. “I have no choice. If you knew how concerned Tunigorn is, how fearful that Valentine is about to commit himself to some mad and perilous course of action—”
“And the government?” Stasilaine said softly. “What of that? You are the regent, Elidath. We have no Pontifex, you tell us that the Coronal has become some sort of visionary madman, and now you propose to leave the Castle leaderless?”
“In the event that a regent is called away from the Castle,” said Elidath, “it’s within his powers to appoint a Council of Regency to deal with all business that would fall within the Coronal’s jurisdiction. This is what I intend.”
“And the members of this council?” Divvis asked.
“There will be three. You are one, Divvis. Stasilaine, you also. And you, Hissune.”
Hissune, astounded, sat bolt upright. “I?”
Elidath smiled. “I confess I couldn’t understand, at first, why Lord Valentine had chosen to advance someone of the Labyrinth, and such a young man at that, so quickly toward the center of power. But gradually his design has come clear to me, as this crisis has fallen upon us. We’ve lost touch, here on Castle Mount, with the realities of Majipoor. We’ve stayed up here on our mountaintop and mysteries have sprung up around us, without our knowing. I heard you say, Divvis, that you think everyone in the world is happy except perhaps the Metamorphs, and I confess I thought the same. And yet an entire religion, it seems, has taken root out there among the discontented, and we knew nothing of it, and now an army of hungry people marches toward Pidruid to worship strange gods.” He looked toward Hissune. “There are things you know, Hissune, that we need to learn. In the months of my absence, you’ll sit beside Divvis and Stasilaine in the place of judgment—and I believe you’ll offer valuable guidance. What do you say, Stasilaine?”
“I think you’ve chosen wisely.”
“And you, Divvis?”
Divvis’s face was blazing with barely controlled fury.
“What can I say? The power’s yours. You’ve made your appointment. I must abide by it, must I not?” He rose stiffly and held forth his hand to Hissune. “My congratulations, prince. You’ve done very well for yourself in a very short time.”
Hissune met Divvis’s cold gaze evenly. “I look forward to serving in the council with you, my lord Divvis,” said Hissune with great formality. “Your wisdom will be an example for me.” And he took Divvis’s hand.
Whatever reply Divvis intended to make seemed to choke in his throat. Slowly he withdrew his hand from Hissune’s grasp, glared, and stalked from the room.
11
The wind was out of the south, and hot and hard, the kind of wind that the dragon-hunting captains called “the Sending,” because it blew up from the barren continent of Suvrael where the King of Dreams had his lair. It was a wind that parched the soul and withered the heart, but Valentine paid no heed to it: his spirit was elsewhere, dreaming of the tasks that lay before him, and these days he stood for hours at a time on the royal deck of the Lady Thiin, looking to the horizon for the first sign of the mainland and giving no thought to the torrid, sharp-edged gusts that whistled about him.
The voyage from the Isle to Zimroel was beginning to seem interminable. Asenhart had spoken of a sluggish sea and contrary winds, of the need to shorten sail and take a more southerly route, and other such problems. Valentine, who was no sailor, could not quarrel with these decisions, but he grew fiercely impatient as the days went by and the western continent grew no closer. More than once they were compelled to change course to avoid sea-dragon herds, for on this side of the Isle the waters were thick with them. Some of the Skandar crewmen claimed that this was the greatest migration in five thousand years. Whether or not that was true, certainly they were abundant, and terrifying: Valentine had seen nothing like this on his last crossing of these waters many years ago, in that ill-fated journey when the giant dragon stove in the hull of Captain Gorzval’s Brangalyn.
Generally the dragons moved in groups of thirty to fifty, at several days’ distance from one another. But occasionally a single huge dragon, a veritable dragon-king, was seen swimming steadfastly by itself, moving unhurriedly, as though deep in weighty meditations. Then after a time no more dragons, great or small, were seen, and the wind strengthened, and the fleet made haste toward the port of Piliplok.
And one morning came shouts from the top deck: “Piliplok ho! Piliplok!”
The great seaport loomed up suddenly, dazzling and splendid in its forbidding, intense way, on its high promontory overlooking the southern shore of the mouth of the Zimr. Here, where the river was enormously wide and stained the sea dark for hundreds of miles with the silt it had swept from the heart of the continent, stood a city of eleven million people, rigidly laid out according to a complex and unyielding master design, spread out along with precise arcs intersected by the spokes of grand boulevards that radiated from the waterfront. It was, Valentine thought, a difficult city to love, for all the beauty of its broad welcoming harbor. Yet as he stood staring at it he caught sight of his Skandar companion Zalzan Kavol, who was native to Piliplok, gazing out upon it with a tender expression of wonder and delight on his harsh, dour face.
“The dragon-ships are coming!” someone cried, when the Lady Thiin was somewhat nearer to the shore. “Look, there, it must be the whole fleet!”
“Oh, Valentine, how lovely!” Carabella said softly, close beside him.
Lovely indeed. Until this moment, Valentine had never thought that the vessels in which the seafarers of Piliplok went forth to hunt the dragons were beautiful in any way. They were sinister things, swollen of hull, grotesquely decorated with hideous figureheads and threatening spiky tails and gaudy, painted rows of white teeth and scarlet-and-yellow eyes along their flanks; and taken one by one they seemed merely barbaric, repellent. Yet somehow in a flotilla this huge—and it looked as though every dragon-ship in Piliplok was on its way out to sea to greet the arriving Coronal—they took on a bizarre kind of glory. Along the line of the horizon their sails, black striped with crimson, bellied out in the breeze like festive flags.