Robert Silverberg - Valentine Pontifex

“This is not Pendiwane. Pendiwane was not in rebellion against you. There was no false Coronal waiting at the gate for you, but only a fat terrified provincial mayor.”

“It is all the same,” Valentine said.

He came to the bridge’s end. The way was blocked there by the troops in green and gold. An officer in the front line whose eyes were glittering with fear called out hoarsely, “Who are you that would enter Khyntor without leave of Lord Sempeturn?”

“I am the Pontifex Valentine, and I need no one’s leave to enter a city of Majipoor.”

“The Coronal Lord Sempeturn will not have you come further on this bridge, stranger!”

Valentine smiled. “How can the Coronal, if Coronal he be, gainsay the word of the Pontifex? Come, fellow, stand aside!”

“That I will not do. For you are no more Pontifex than I.”

“Do you deny me? I think your Coronal must do that with his own voice,” said Valentine quietly.

He began to walk forward, flanked by Zalzan Kavol and Lisamon Hultin. The officer who had challenged him threw uncertain glances at the soldiers to his right and left in the front line; he drew himself up rigidly, and so did they; their hands went ostentatiously to the butts of the weapons they carried. Valentine continued to advance. They stepped back half a pace, and then half a pace more, while continuing to glare sternly at him. Valentine did not halt. The front line was melting away to this side and that, now, as he marched steadfastly into it.

Then the ranks opened and a short stocky man with rough reddish cheeks emerged to face Valentine. He was clad in a Coronal’s white robe over a green doublet, and he wore the starburst crown, or a reasonable likeness of it, in his great wild tuft of black hair.

He held up both hands with his palms outstretched and cried loudly, “Enough! No further, impostor!”

“And by whose authority do you issue such orders?” Valentine asked amiably.

“My own, for I am the Coronal Lord Sempeturn!”

“Ah, you are the Coronal, and I am an impostor? I had not understood that. And by whose will are you Coronal, then, Lord Sempeturn?”

“By the will of the Divine, who has appointed me to rule in this time of a vacancy on Castle Mount!”

“I see,” said Valentine. “But I know of no such vacancy. There is a Coronal, Lord Hissune by name, who holds office by legitimate appointment.”

“An impostor can make no legitimate appointments,” Sempeturn rejoined.

“But I am Valentine who was Coronal before him, and who now is Pontifex—by will of the Divine also, so it is generally believed.”

Sempeturn grinned darkly. “You were an impostor when you claimed to be Coronal, and you are an impostor now!”

“Can that be so? Was I acclaimed wrongly, then, by all the princes and lords of the Mount, and by the Pontifex Tyeveras, may he rest always at the Source, and by my own mother the Lady?”

“I say you deceived them all, and the curse that has descended on Majipoor is best proof of that. For the Valentine who was made Coronal was a dark-complected man, and look at you—your hair is bright as gold!”

Valentine laughed. “But that is an old story, friend! Surely you know of the witchery that deprived me of my body and put me into this one!”

“So you say.”

“And so the Powers of the realm agreed.”

“Then you are a master of deceit,” said Sempeturn. “But I will waste no more time with you, for I have urgent tasks. Go: get you back into Hot Khyntor, and board your ship and sail yourself off down the river. If you are found in this province by this hour tomorrow you will regret it most sorely.”

“I will leave soon enough, Lord Sempeturn. But first I must ask a service of you. These soldiers of yours—the Knights of Dekkeret, do you call them?—we have need of them to the east, on the borders of Piurifayne, where the Coronal Lord Hissune is assembling an army. Go to him, Lord Sempeturn. Place yourself under his command. Do what he asks of you. We are aware of what you have accomplished in gathering these troops, and we would not deprive you of leadership over them: but you must make yourself part of the greater effort.”

“You must be a madman,” Sempeturn said.

“I think otherwise.”

“Leave my city unguarded? March off thousands of miles to surrender my authority to some usurper?”

“It is necessary, Lord Sempeturn.”

“In Khyntor I alone decide what is necessary!”

“That must change,” said Valentine. He slipped easily into the waking trance, and sent forth the merest tendril of his mind toward Sempeturn, and played with him, and brought a frown of confusion from the red-faced man. He sent into Sempeturn’s mind the image of Dominin Barjazid, wearing the body that once had been his own, and said, “Do you recognize that man, Lord Sempeturn?”

“He—he—he is the former Lord Valentine!”

“No,” said Valentine, and hurled a full jolt of his mental force at the false Coronal of Khyntor.

Sempeturn lurched and nearly fell, and clutched at the men in green and gold about him, and the color of his cheeks deepened until it was the purple of overripe grapes.

“Who is that man?” Valentine asked.

“He is the brother of the King of Dreams,” whispered Sempeturn.

“And why does he wear the features of the former Lord Valentine?”

“Because—because—”

“Tell me.”

Sempeturn sagged until his knees were bent and his quivering hands hung almost to the ground.

“Because he stole the Coronal’s body during the time of the usurpation, and wears it yet—by the mercy and dispensation of the man he would have overthrown—”

“Ah. And who am I, then?”

“You are Lord Valentine,” Sempeturn said miserably.

“Wrong. Who am I, Sempeturn?”

“Valentine—Pontifex—Pontifex of Majipoor—”

“Indeed. At last. And if I am Pontifex, who is Coronal?”

“Whoever—you—say, your majesty.”

“I say he is Lord Hissune, who waits for you in Ni-moya, Sempeturn. Go: gather your knights, take your army east, serve your Coronal as he wishes. Go, Sempeturn! Go!”

He sent one last thrust of force toward Sempeturn, who reeled and swayed and shook, and at last fell to his knees. “Majesty—majesty—forgive me—”

“I will spend a night or two in Khyntor,” said Valentine, “and see to it that all is in order here. And then I think I must move on toward the west, where more work awaits me.” He turned and saw Carabella staring at him as though he had sprouted wings or horns. He smiled at her and lightly blew her a kiss. This is thirsty work, he thought. A good bowl or two of wine, now, if they have any in Khyntor, eh?

He glanced down at the dragon-tooth that he had held in his hands all this time and ran his fingers lightly over it, and heard once more the sound of bells, and thought that he felt the stirring of mighty wings within his soul. Carefully he wrapped the tooth in a piece of colored silk that he took from Carabella, and handed it to her, saying, “Guard this well, my lady, until I ask you for it again. I will have some great use for it, I think.” He looked into the crowd and caught sight of the woman Millilain who had given the tooth to him. Her eyes were fixed on his; and they blazed with a frightening intensity, as though she were staring with awe and rapture at some godlike being.

What sounded like a loud argument seemed to be going on just outside the door of his bedchamber, Hissune realized. He sat up, scowled, blinked groggily. Through the great window to his left he saw the red daybreak glow of the sun low on the eastern horizon. He had been awake far into the night preparing for the arrival this day of Divvis, and he was hardly pleased to be roused from sleep so soon after sunrise.