Robert Silverberg - Sorcerers of Majipoor

“Behold and worship!” the Messenger cried.

And from the Mayor of Sisivondal at Prestimion’s side came the response: “We behold! We behold!”

Thismet cried it also, this time: “We behold! We behold!” And nudged Prestimion sharply with her elbow, and nudged him again, until at last he cried it out too: “We behold!”

And now Thegomar Edge, by Stifgad Lake, in Ganibairda.

In this place a high hill, steep and heavily forested on its eastern face, sloped down more gently to the west into a broad marshy region called Beldak, which had the lake lying at its back. The road from the west came running around the border of the lake and traversed the marsh to ascend the Thegomar hill, going across the summit of it near its southern side.

All during the night Prestimion marched eastward through the farming land of Ganibairda Province toward Thegomar, and just at dawn, as he was nearing the western shore of the lake, news was brought to him that Korsibar was already here with his formidable force and in position on the hill.

“How did they know we were heading this way?” Septach Melayn demanded angrily. “Who is the spy in our midst? Smoke him out, and flay him alive!”

“We are not the only ones with scouts in the field,” said Prestimion calmly. “Or maguses to search for the omens, for that matter. We have our information and Korsibar has his. It makes no difference.”

“But he holds the high ground,” Septach Melayn pointed out.

Prestimion was undisturbed even by that. “We’ve charged high places from below before, haven’t we?And this time he has no reservoir to drop on us.”

He gave the command, and they continued their advance into Beldak marsh as the morning was born above them.

By first light they could see Korsibar’s forces on high. The whole crest of the hill seemed to be bristling with the spears of an infinite sea of men. At the center, two gigantic banners were unfurled: the green and gold one that marked the presence of the Coronal of Majipoor, and just to its side a second one in royal blue and vivid scarlet on which was emblazoned the dragon emblem of the ancient family to which Korsibar belonged. Other banners fluttered elsewhere on the hill: one at the northern end that Prestimion recognized as Serithorn’s, with Oljebbin’s a little way to the south of it, and the banner of Gonivaul beyond that.

And on the far side of Korsibar’s dragon-banner, down by the southern end of Thegomar Edge, there rose a rippling banner of pale crimson nearly as great in size as Korsibar’s own, with a bloodred moon in its center. It was the banner of the clan of Dantirya Sambail. Prestimion had never thought to see that banner arrayed against him.

He ordered the deployment of the troops to begin at once. In mid-morning, while this was still under way, a man came riding out from Korsibar’s side of the field bearing a herald’s white flag. The message he carried was from the Grand Admiral Gonivaul, who called upon Prestimion to send a representative to midfield for an immediate parley. He suggested Duke Svor as an appropriate choice, indeed particularly requested that Svor be sent.

“Gonivaul’s forsworn six times over,” Gialaurys said at once. “Why waste breath parleying with any such as he?”

“And what will he offer us?” Septach Melayn asked. “Pardons for all, and great estates at the Mount, if we swear to be good children and make no more trouble in the land? Send him your glove, Prestimion.”

But Prestimion shook his head. “We should hear what they have to tell us. It does us no harm to listen. Svor, will you go?”

The little duke shrugged. “If you wish me to, of course I will.”

So Svor rode out to a point in the middle of the open field, and waited there a time, and eventually he caught sight of Gonivaul descending the hill road and approaching him over the marshy ground. The Grand Admiral was so bulked out in armor that he seemed more burly even than Farholt or Gialaurys, and his helmet came down over his forehead so that nothing showed of his face except his eyes and dense black beard. His long jutting jaw thrust outward at Svor like a javelin.

He dropped down heavily beside his mount and for a time simply stood staring at Svor, who waited in silence. Then the Admiral said, “I come at Korsibar’s request, and he specifically asked that I speak with you. He loves you still, Svor do you know that? He talks often of the friendship that there was between the two of you in days gone by. He greatly fears that harm will come to you in the battle today. That possibility much disturbs him.”

“Why, then,” said Svor, “if that’s how he feels, he can disband his troops and take himself elsewhere in peace, and all will be well.”

Gonivaul did not seem amused. “The Coronal Lord Korsibar has sent me out here because he offers his hand to you in peace, Svor. For once, put your mockery aside. It may save your life.”

“Is that what this parley is about? Nothing more than a personal invitation to me to surrender?”

“Not to surrender, but to return your allegiance to the great lord who once was your friend. Prestimion’s doomed, Svor. We know that, and in your heart you must surely know that too. Look at our army, and the position it occupies. Look at his. You know what today’s outcome will be. Why die for him? When we die, we are dead forever, Svor. The dead drink no wine and they know no lovers’ embraces.”

“The last time I saw you,” said Svor, “it was in Muldemar House, where we all drank wine aplenty, especially you, and I listened to you pledge yourself most warmly to Prestimion. You would do your duty, you told him, and help return the world to the proper path. You would do so at whatever risk to your personal position might be entailed. Those were your own words, Admiral. Of course, you were a little tipsy when you spoke them, but that was what you said. I see that the pursuit of your duty has somehow brought you to the side of the field opposite Prestimion’s. And now you want me to do the same? To turn my back on him and come back over to the other side with you this minute?”

“Hardly that, Svor,” said Gonivaul in a stony voice. “Nothing so blatant.”

“What, then?”

“Remain on your side of the field during the battle. You can hardly do otherwise. But in the thick of the fray, go among Prestimion’s captains and let them know one by one that they’ll be treated well by Korsibar if they cast off their allegiance to Prestimion as the day goes along. Tell them there’s no reason to give up their lives in a lost cause, and that rewards await them if they abandon it Do it quietly; but do it. Provide us your cooperation, and Korsibar will reward you beyond your wildest dreams, Svor. You need only make your request of him, and it will be yours. Nothing will be denied you. Nothing. Not even a place in the Coronal’s own family, should you want that. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Svor?”

“I think that I do.”

“Or else continue on your present course, and you’ll surely die today on the battlefield, along with Prestimion and Septach Melayn and all the rest. That much is certain. The stars have shown us our victory. There can be no doubt of the outcome.”

“None, eh?”

“None.” Gonivaul undid his helmet, so that the thick fur of his head sprang from its confinement, and extended his hand to Svor. “You have our offer. Say to me that you’ll give it thought, and then we should return to our places.”

Svor touched his hand briefly to Gonivaul’s.

“It will have the most careful consideration,” he said. “Tell that to the Coronal Lord Korsibar. And tell him also that I remember the old days of our friendship with the greatest warmth.”