Robert Silverberg - The Mountains of Majipoor

Did she understand? It was galling not to be able to communicate clearly in words with these people. But a little of his meaning appeared to have registered on her, at least. She spoke at some length to her father, who scowled and growled as he listened, but he heard her out, however reluctantly. When she was done he replied with no more than a few curt syllables. She spoke again; and again the king replied, more elaborately this time. He signaled to one of his men. The ropes tying Korinaam to the altar were loosened.

Haltingly Ivla Yevikenik explained to Harpirias what he already knew in essence: that the Othinor had observed Korinaam’s recent comings and goings in the high country, and they believed that it was his intention somehow to betray the village to his kinsmen of the mountains. As a suspected ally of the Eililylal, therefore, Korinaam’s life was forfeit to the Othinor. Only as a courtesy to the great Coronal Lord of Majipoor had the Shapeshifter been spared, she said. But if Korinaam made any further attempts to contact the Elilylal he would die regardless.

"No," Harpirias said. "He is not the ally of the Eililylal. He is the enemy of the Eililylal. Tell the king that."

She gave him a questioning frown. He said it all again, slowly and with gestures. There was another long colloquy between Ivla Yevikenik and the king, too low and fast for Harpirias to catch the sense of it. He heard the word "Eililylal" repeated many times. At one point the king seized the hilt of his sword and shook it furiously.

To Korinaam Harpirias said, "I could slit your throat myself. Look at the mess you’ve caused! Tell me what they’re saying now, will you? Are they going to kill you or not?"

The Shapeshifter, who had arisen and stood shivering nearby, seemed to have recovered somewhat from his terror.

"The king will permit me to live," he said in a tentative, shaky voice. "But I am to be expelled from the village at once."

"What? What? By the Divine—"

"You yourself are permitted to remain," Korinaam said. "The treaty negotiations will continue."

"Without an interpreter? And who’s going to lead us back to Ni-moya when this is over? Oh, no, no, Korinaam, we aren’t going to let you be expelled!" An idea was beginning to spring to life in Harpirias’s mind. He released his grip on Ivla Yevikenik and reached for the Metamorph instead, catching him by the loose fabric at his throat. "What’s going to happen instead is that you’re going to go up into those mountains and find the Eililylal, and you’re going to order them to clear out of the neighborhood. And you’ll make it stick with whatever spooky Shapeshifter magic you’re able to command."

Korinaam looked horror-stricken.

"What are you saying? Magic? I am no magician, prince! I am simply one who guides visitors that wish to see the north country. Find yourself some little Vroon, if wizardry is what you want. And as for ordering those people to do anything — how could I possibly do that?"

"You’ll do it, all right, and that’s all there is to it." Harpirias let go of Korinaam’s garment and shoved him a few paces away. To Ivla Yevikenik he said, "Tell your father that we offer our services in ridding his land of the Eililylal. Do you follow me? Eililylal — out. We will do! Korinaam and I, with my soldiers! Yes? No more Eililylal. By my solemn oath. But the assistance of Korinaam is needed. Needed very much. Tell him that!"

The girl smiled, turned to her father, began to speak.

"Prince, what are you promising them?" Korinaam asked. His face was a study in anguish and despair.

"What I have in mind is this," said Harpirias. "I’m going to tell you and then, if you think you have your wits about you again, you’ll explain it to the king for me. I want you to stand on your hind legs in front of him and let him know that you are a mighty sorcerer and that on his behalf you will devote all of your energies and powers to driving off the wild Shapeshifters of the mountains, whom you loathe and despise. Is that clear? Tell him that the army of the Lord Coronal of Majipoor, led in person by me, will go back up into the high country in the morning and make a maximum show of force to impress the Eililylal while you are casting your spells; and in return for all this, once the Eililylal have been duly driven off, the king will free the hostages and we will take our leave of his village and everyone will live happily ever after. Tell him that, Korinaam."

"Prince — this matter of casting spells—"

"Tell him what I want you to tell him," Harpirias said ominously. "Every word, just as I spoke it. Ivla Yevikenik will be listening, and she’ll report to me on the accuracy of your translation. Nothing will help you if you try to trick me, Korinaam. I’ll let the king know that it’s fine with me if he wants to put you back on that altar and slit your throat, and I’ll help tie you down myself. Is that understood, Korinaam? Is it?"

"Yes, prince. It is."

"Good. Start talking, then."

Finding the Eililylal, of course, was easier promised than accomplished. It took three days, three disagreeable days of marching hither and thither in the heights, while the north wind blew almost unceasingly and occasional sprinklings of light snow fell to remind Harpirias that the short Othinor summer was almost at its end.

More than once his plan began to seem like a fool’s errand to him. A huge expeditionary force had gone up into the mountains: not only Korinaam and Harpirias and the entire military force of Skandars and Ghayrogs, but also King Toikella and the high priest Mankhelm and some thirty or forty warriors of the tribe. For this sparsely populated part of the world, that was an enormous army. Surely the Eililylal, watching such a horde make its way up the canyon trails from the village to the high country, would prudently take to their heels and scurry back to their own territory in the deep north until it seemed safe to venture into the vicinity of the Othinor again.

But Harpirias was reckoning on two factors that he hoped would work in his favor. One was the mischief that the wild Shapeshifters had been up to among the king’s hajbaraks. He suspected that the killing of the first two, and the hurling of them into the Othinor village, had been only the prelude to some more elaborate hostile event that they were contemplating. Since that had not happened yet, they were probably still somewhere in the neighborhood.

The other factor was sheer Eililylal malevolence: their obvious love of making trouble, their eagerness to do things like slaughtering the king’s sacred beasts and tossing them down into the village, or of dancing and capering obscenely on a high ridge when the king came up from the village to look for them, or the reception that they had provided for Konnaam. This bigger force, with its multitude of armed Othinor warriors and its array of great lumbering Skandars, might just tempt them to come forth again for an even livelier display of mockery than before.

Which indeed proved to be the case.

They appeared, finally, just when Harpirias had almost given up hope of finding them and King Toikella was beginning to study Korinaam in a sinisterly appraising sort of way. It was Mankhelm who saw them first. The gaunt high priest had gone off the trail by himself to perform some morning ritual on an outcropping ledge looking into a shallow side canyon; and suddenly he came rushing back all helter-skelter, trailing his holy ribbons and pouches of sacred powders casually from one hand, signaling wildly with the other, and crying loudly, "Eililylal! Eililylal!"

They were arrayed along the upper crags of the opposite face of the little side canyon: a band of scrawny ragged-looking creatures, twenty, thirty, perhaps even fifty of them, perching on the rocks and quietly staring down at the army of the Othinor.