Silverberg, Robert - Lord Valentine's Castle

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Lord Valentine's Castle

by Robert Silverberg

I -- The Book of the King of Dreams

AND THEN, AFTER WALKING all day through a golden haze of humid warmth that

gathered about him like fine wet fleece, Valentine came to a great ridge of

outcropping white stone overlooking the city of Pidruid. It was the

provincial capital, sprawling and splendid, the biggest city he had come upon

since -- since? -- the biggest in a long while of wandering, at any rate.

There he halted, finding a seat at the edge of the soft, crumbling white

ridge, digging his booted feet into the flaking ragged stone, and he sat there

staring down at Pidruid, blinking as though newly out of sleep. On this

summer day twilight was still some hours away, and the sun hung high to the

southwest beyond Pidruid, out over the Great Sea. I will rest here for a

while, Valentine thought, and then I will go down into Pidruid and find

lodging for the night.

As he rested he heard pebbles tumbling past him from a higher point on the

ridge. Unhurriedly he looked back the way he had come. A young herdsman had

appeared, a boy with straw-colored hair and a freckled face, leading a train

of fifteen or twenty mounts down the hill road. They were fat sleek purple-

skinned beasts, obviously well looked after. The boy's own mount looked older

and less plump, a wise and toughened creature.

"Hoy!" he called down to Valentine. "Where are you bound?"

"Pidruid. And you?"

"The same. Bringing these mounts to market. Thirsty work it is, too. Do

you have wine?"

"Some," Valentine said. He tapped the flask at his hip, where a fiercer

man might wear a weapon. "Good red mid-country wine. I'll be sorry to see

the last of it."

"Give me a drink and I'll let you ride into town with me."

"Done," said Valentine.

He got to his feet as the boy dismounted and scrambled down the ridge

toward him. Valentine offered him the flask. The boy was no more than

fourteen or fifteen, he guessed, and small for his age, though deep through

the chest and brawny. He came hardly elbow-high to Valentine, who was tall

but not unusually so, a sturdy man just above middle height, with wide flat

shoulders and big capable hands.

The boy swirled the wine in the flask, inhaled in a knowing way, nodded

his approval, took a deep gulp, sighed. "I've been eating dust all the way

from Falkynkip! And this sticky heat -- it chokes you! Another dry hour and

I'd have been a dead one." He returned the wine to Valentine. "You live in

town?"

Valentine frowned. "No."

"Here for the festival, then?"

"Festival?"

"You don't know?"

Valentine shook his head. He felt the pressure of the boy's bright,

mocking eyes, and was confused. "I've been traveling. I haven't followed the

news. Is this festival time in Pidruid?"

"This week it is," said the boy. "Beginning on Starday. The grand

parade, the circus, the royal celebration. Look down there. Don't you see

_him_ entering the city even now?"

He pointed. Valentine sighted along the boy's outstretched arm and

squinted, peering at Pidruid's southern corner, but all he saw was a jumble of

green-tiled rooftops and a tangle of ancient streets following no rational

plan. Again he shook his head. "There," the boy said impatiently. "Down by

the harbor. See? The ships? The five tremendous ones, with _his_ banner

flying from the rigging? And there's the procession, coming through Dragon

Gate, just beginning to march Black Highway. I think that's his chariot,

coming up now by the Arch of Dreams. Don't you see? Is there something wrong

with your eyes?"

"I don't know the city," said Valentine mildly. "But yes, I see the

harbor, the five ships."

"Good. Now follow along inland a little way -- the big stone gate? And

the wide highway running through it? And that ceremonial arch, just this side

of -- "

"I see it now, yes."

"And his banner over the chariot?"

"Whose banner? If I sound dim, forgive me, but -- "

"Whose? Whose? Lord Valentine's banner! Lord Valentine's chariot! Lord

Valentine's bodyguard marching through the streets of Pidruid! Don't you know

the Coronal has arrived?"

"I didn't."

"And the festival! Why do you think there's a festival at this time of

summer, if not to welcome the Coronal?"

Valentine smiled. "I've been traveling and I haven't followed the news.

Would you like more wine?"

"There's not much left," the boy said.

"Go on. Finish it. I'll buy more in Pidruid."

He handed over the flask and turned toward the city again, letting his

gaze travel down the slope and across the woodsy suburbs to the dense and

teeming city, and outward toward the waterfront, and to the great ships, the

banners, the marching warriors, the chariot of the Coronal. This must be a

great moment in the history of Pidruid, for the Coronal ruled from far-off

Castle Mount, all the way on the other side of the world, so distant that he

and it were almost legendary, distances being what they were on this world of

Majipoor. Coronals of Majipoor did not come often to the western continent.

But Valentine was oddly unmoved by the knowledge of the presence of his

glittering namesake down below there. I am here and the Coronal is here, he

thought, and he will sleep tonight in some splendid palace of the masters of

Pidruid, and I will sleep in some pile of hay, and then there will be a grand

festival, and what is that to me? He felt almost apologetic, being so placid

in the face of the boy's excitement. It was a discourtesy.

He said, "Forgive me. I know so little of what's been happening in the

world these past months. Why is the Coronal here?"

"He makes the grand processional," said the boy. "To every part of the

realm, to mark his coming to power. This is the new one, you know. Lord

Valentine, only two years on his throne. The brother to Lord Voriax who died.

You knew that, that Lord Voriax was dead, that Lord Valentine was our

Coronal?"

"I had heard," said Valentine vaguely.

"Well, that's he, down there in Pidruid. Touring the realm for the first

time since he got the Castle. He's been down south all month, in the jungle

provinces, and yesterday he sailed up the coast to Pidruid, and tonight he

enters the city, and in a few days there'll be the festival, and food and

drink for everyone, games, dancing, delights, a great market too, where I'll

sell these animals for a fortune. Afterward he travels overland through the

whole continent of Zimroel, from capital to capital, a journey of so many

thousands of miles it makes my head ache to think of it, and from the eastern

shore he'll sail back to Alhanroel and Castle Mount, and none of us in Zimroel

will see him again for twenty years or more. A fine thing it must be to be

Coronal!" The boy laughed. "That was good wine. My name's Shanamir. What's

yours?"

"Valentine."

"Valentine? _Valentine_? An auspicious name!"

"A common one, I'm afraid."

"Put _Lord_ in front of it and you'd be the Coronal!"

"It's not as easy as that. Besides, why would I want to be Coronal?"

"The power," said Shanamir, wide-eyed. "The fine clothes, the food, the

wine, the jewels, the palaces, the women -- "

"The responsibility," Valentine said somberly. "The burden. Do you

think a Coronal does nothing but drink golden wine and march in grand

processions? Do you think he's put there just to enjoy himself?"

The boy considered. "Perhaps not."

"He rules over billions upon billions of people, across territories so

huge we can't comprehend them. Everything falls on his shoulders. To carry

out the decrees of the Pontifex, to sustain order, to support justice in every

land -- it tires me to think of it, boy. He keeps the world from collapsing

into chaos. I don't envy him. Let him have the job."

Shanamir said, after a moment, "You're not as stupid as I first thought,

Valentine."

"Did you think I was stupid, then?"

"Well, simple. Easy of mind. Here you are a grown man, and you seem to

know so little of certain things, and I half your age and I have to explain.

But perhaps I misjudge you. Shall we go down into Pidruid?"

-- 2 --

VALENTINE HAD HIS PICK of the mounts the boy was taking to market; but

they all seemed alike to him, and after making a pretense of choosing he

picked one at random, vaulting lightly into the creature's natural saddle. It

was good to ride, after so long on foot. The mount was comfortable, as well

it might be, for they had been bred for comfort for thousands of years, these

artificial animals, these witchcraft-creatures out of the old days, strong and

tireless and patient, able to convert any sort of trash into food. The skill

of making them was long forgotten, but now they bred of themselves, like

natural animals, and it would be a slow business getting about on Majipoor

without them.

The road to Pidruid led along the high ridge for more than a mile, then

began sudden sharp switchbacks down into the coastal plain. Valentine let the

boy do most of the talking as they made the descent. Shanamir came, he said,

from a district two and a half days' journey inland, to the northeast; there

he and his brothers and his father raised mounts for sale at Pidruid market,

and turned a good living at it; he was thirteen years old, and had a high

opinion of himself; he had never been outside the province of which Pidruid

was the capital, but someday he meant to go abroad, to travel everywhere on

Majipoor, to make the pilgrimage to the Isle of Sleep and kneel before the

Lady, to cross the Inner Sea to Alhanroel and achieve the ascent of Castle

Mount, even to go down south, maybe, beyond the steaming tropics, into the

burnt and barren domain of the King of Dreams, for what was the use of being

alive and healthy on a world as full of wonders as Majipoor if you did not

journey hither and thither about on it?

"And you, Valentine?" he asked suddenly. "Who are you, where from,

whither bound?"

Valentine was caught by surprise, lulled by the boy's prattle and the

steady gentle rhythm of the mount as it padded down the broad twisting road,

and the burst of jabbing questions left him unprepared. He said only, "I come

from the eastern provinces. I have no plans beyond Pidruid. I'll stay here

until I have reason to leave."

"Why have you come?"

"Why not?"

"Ah," said Shanamir. "All right. I know purposeful evasion when I hear

it. You're the younger son of a duke in Ni-moya or Piliplok, and you sent

someone a mischievous dream and were caught at it, and your father gave you a

pouch of money and told you to vanish to the far side of the continent.

Right?"

"Precisely," Valentine said, with a wink.

"And you're loaded with royals and crowns and you're going to set yourself

up like a prince in Pidruid and drink and dance until your last coin is gone,

and then you'll hire aboard a seagoing vessel and ship out for Alhanroel, and

you'll take me with you as your squire. Isn't that so?"

"You have it exactly, my friend. Except for the money. I neglected to

provide for that part of your fantasy."

"But you have _some_ money," said Shanamir, not so playfully now. "You

aren't a beggar, are you? They're very hard on beggars in Pidruid. They

don't allow any sort of vagrancy down there."

"I have a few coins," Valentine said. "Enough to carry me through

festival time and a bit beyond. And then I'll see."

"If you do go to sea, take me with you, Valentine!"

"If I do, I will," he promised.

They were halfway down the slope now. The city of Pidruid lay in a great

basin along the coast, rimmed by low gray hills on the inland side and along

much of the shore, save only where a break in the outer range allowed the

ocean to spill through, forming a blue-green bay that was Pidruid's

magnificent harbor. As he approached sea level here in late afternoon

Valentine felt the offshore breezes blowing toward him, cool, fragrant,

breaking the heat. Already white shoals of fog were rolling toward the shore

out of the west, and there was a salty tang to the air, thick as it was now

with water that had embraced the fishes and sea-dragons only hours before.

Valentine was awed by the size of the city that lay before him. He could not

remember ever having seen a larger one; but there was so much, after all, that

he could not remember.

This was the edge of the continent. All of Zimroel lay at his back, and

for all he knew he had walked it from end to end, from one of the eastern

ports indeed, Ni-moya or Piliplok, except that he knew himself to be a young

man, not very young but young enough, and he doubted that it was possible to

have made such a journey on foot in one lifetime, and he had no recollection

of having been on any sort of mount until this afternoon. On the other hand,

he seemed to know how to ride, he had lifted himself knowledgeably into the

beast's broad saddle, and that argued that he must have ridden at least part

of the way before. It did not matter. He was here now, and he felt no

restlessness; since Pidruid was where he had somehow arrived, Pidruid was

where he would stay, until there was reason to go elsewhere. He lacked

Shanamir's hunger for travel. The world was so big it did not bear thinking

about, three great continents, two enormous seas, a place that one could

comprehend fully only in dreams, and even then not bring much of the truth of

it away into the waking world. They said this Lord Valentine the Coronal

lived in a castle eight thousand years old, with five rooms for every year of

its existence, and that the castle sat upon a mountain so tall it pierced the

sky, a colossal peak thirty miles high, on whose slopes were fifty cities as

big as Pidruid. Such a thing as that did not bear much thought either. The

world was too big, too old, too populous for one man's mind. I will live in

this city of Pidruid, Valentine thought, and I will find a way to pay for my

food and lodging, and I will be happy.

"Naturally you don't have a bed reserved in an inn," Shanamir said.

"Of course not."

"It stands to reason you wouldn't. And naturally everything in town is

full, this being festival time and the Coronal already here. So where will

you sleep, Valentine?"

"Anywhere. Under a tree. On a mound of rags. In the public park. That

looks like a park there, over to the right, that stretch of green with the

tall trees."

"You remember what I told you about vagrants in Pidruid? They'll find you

and lock you deep for a month, and when they let you out they'll have you

sweeping dung until you can buy your way out of your fine, which at the pay of

a dung-sweeper will take you the rest of your life."

"At least dung-sweeping's steady work," Valentine said.

Shanamir didn't laugh. "There's an inn the mount-sellers stay at. I'm

known there, or rather my father is. We'll get you in somehow. But what

would you have done without me?"

"Become a dung-sweeper, I suppose."

"You sound as though you really wouldn't mind." The boy touched his

mount's ear, halting it, and looked closely at him. "Doesn't _anything_

matter to you, Valentine? I don't understand you. Are you a fool, or simply

the most carefree man on Majipoor?"

"I wish I knew," said Valentine.

At the foot of the hill the ridge road joined with a grand highway that

came running down out of the north and curved westward toward Pidruid. The

new road, wide and straight along the valley floor, was rimmed with low white

markers stamped with the double crest of Pontifex and Coronal, the labyrinth

and the starburst, and was paved in smooth blue-gray stuff of light

resiliency, a springy, flawless roadbed that probably was of great antiquity,

as were so many of the best things of this world. The mounts plodded

tirelessly. Synthetic things that they were, they scarcely understood

fatigue, and would clop from Pidruid to Piliplok without resting and without

complaining. From time to time Shanamir glanced back, checking for strays,

since the beasts were not tied; but they remained blandly in their places, one

after another, blunt snout of one close behind coarse ropy tail of another,

along the flank of the highway.

Now the sun was faintly tinged with late-day bronze, and the city lay

close before them. A stunning sight presented itself in this part of the

road: on both shoulders of it had been planted noble trees, twenty times the

height of a man, with slim tapering trunks of dark bluish bark and mighty

crowns of glistening greenish-black leaves sharp as daggers. Out of those

crowns burst astounding clusters of bloom, red tipped with yellow, that blazed

like beacons as far as Valentine could see.

"What are those trees?" he asked.

"Fireshower palms," Shanamir said. "Pidruid is famous for them. They

grow only near the coast and flower just one week a year. In the winter they

drop sour berries, that make a strong liquor. You'll drink it tomorrow."

"The Coronal has picked a good moment to come here, then."

"Not by chance, I imagine."

On and on the twin column of brilliant trees stretched, and they followed

along, until open fields yielded to the first country villas, and then

suburban tracts thick with more modest homes, and then a dusty zone of small

factories, and finally the ancient wall of Pidruid itself, half as high as a

fireshower tree, pierced by a pointed arch set with archaic-looking

battlements. "Falkynkip Gate," Shanamir announced. "The eastern entrance to

Pidruid. Now we enter the capital. Eleven million souls here, Valentine, and

all the races of Majipoor to be found, not just humans, no, everything here,

all mixed together, Skandars and Hjorts and Liimen and all the rest. Even, so

they say, a little group of Shapeshifters."

"Shapeshifters?"

"The old race. The first natives."

"We call them something else," Valentine said vaguely. "_Metamorphs_, is

it?"

"The same. Yes. I've heard they're called that in the east. You have a

strange accent, do you know that?"

"No stranger than yours, friend."

Shanamir laughed. "To me your accent's strange. And I have no accent at

all. I speak normal speech. You shape your words with fancy sounds. _'We

call them Metamorphs,'_" he said, mimicking. "That's how you sound to me. Is

that Ni-moyan talk?"

Valentine replied only with a shrug.

Shanamir said, "They frighten me, Shapeshifters. Metamorphs. This would

be a happier planet without them. Sneaking around, imitating others, working

mischief. I wish they would keep to their own territory."

"Mostly they do, is that not so?"

"Mostly. But they say a few live in each city. Plotting who knows what

kind of trouble for the rest of us." Shanamir leaned across toward Valentine,

caught his arm, peered solemnly into his face. "One might meet one anywhere.

Sitting on a ridge looking out toward Pidruid on a hot afternoon, for

example."

"So you think I'm a Metamorph in masquerade?"

The boy cackled. "Prove that you aren't!"

Valentine groped for some way to demonstrate his authenticity, found none,

and made a terrifying face instead, stretching his cheeks as though they were

rubber, twisting his lips in opposite directions, rolling his eyeballs high.

"My true visage," he said. "You have discovered me." And they laughed, and

passed on through Falkynkip Gate into the city of Pidruid.

Within the gate everything seemed much older, the houses built in a

curious angular style, humpbacked walls swelling outward and upward to tiled

roofs, and the tiles themselves often chipped and broken, and interspersed

with heavy clumps of low fleshy-leaved roof-weeds that had gained footholds in

cracks and earthy pockets. A heavy layer of fog hovered over the city, and it

was dark and cool beneath it, with lights glowing in almost every window. The

main highway split, and split again, until now Shanamir was leading his

animals down a much narrower street, though still a fairly straight one, with

secondary streets coiling off from it in every direction. The streets were

thick with folk. Such crowds made Valentine obscurely uncomfortable; he could

not recall having had so many others so close about him at once, almost at his

elbow, smack up against his mount, pushing, darting about, a jostling mob of

porters, merchants, mariners, vendors, people from the hill country like

Shanamir bringing animals or produce to the market, tourists in fine robes of

glowing brocades, and little boys and girls underfoot everywhere. Festival

time in Pidruid! Gaudy banners of scarlet cloth were strung across the street

from the upper stories of buildings, two and three on every block, emblazoned

with the starburst crest, hailing in bright green lettering Lord Valentine the

Coronal, bidding him be welcome to this his westernmost metropolis.

"Is it far to your inn?" Valentine asked.

"Halfway across town. Are you hungry?"

"A little. More than a little."

Shanamir signaled to his beasts, and they marched obediently into a

cobbled cul-de-sac between two arcades, where he left them. Then,

dismounting, he pointed out a tiny grimy booth across the street. Skewered

sausages hung grilling over a charcoal flame. The counterman was a Liiman,

squat and hammer-headed, with pocked gray-black skin and three eyes that

glowed like coals in a crater. The boy pantomimed, and the Liiman passed two

skewers of sausages to them and poured tumblers of pale amber beer. Valentine

produced a coin and laid it on the counter. It was a fine thick coin, bright

and gleaming, with a milled edge, and the Liiman looked at it as though

Valentine had offered him a scorpion. Hastily Shanamir scooped up the piece

and put down one of his own, a squarish coppery coin with a triangular hole

punched in the center. The other he returned to Valentine. They retreated to

the cul-de-sac with their dinner.

"What did I do wrong?" Valentine asked.

"With that coin you could buy the Liiman and all his sausages, and a month

of beer! Where did you get it?"

"Why, from my purse."

"Are there more like that in there?"

"It could be," said Valentine. He studied the coin, which bore on one

face the image of an old man, gaunt and withered, and on the other the visage

of a young and vigorous one. The denomination was fifty royals. "Will this

be too valuable to use anywhere?" he asked. "What will it buy, in truth?"

"Five of my mounts," Shanamir said. "A year's lodgings in princely

style. Transportation to Alhanroel and back. Any of those. Perhaps even

more. To most of us it would be many months' wages. You have no idea of the

value of things?"

Valentine looked abashed. "It would seem that way."

"These sausages cost ten weights. A hundred weights make a crown, ten

crowns make a royal, and this is fifty of those. Now do you follow? I'll

change it for you at the market. Meanwhile keep it to yourself. This is an

honest city and a safe one, more or less, but with a purse full of those you

tempt fate. Why didn't you tell me you were carrying a fortune?" Shanamir

gestured broadly. "Because you didn't know, I suppose. There's such a

strange innocence about you, Valentine. You make me feel like a man, and I'm

only a boy. You seem so much like a child. Do you know anything? Do you

even know how old you are? Finish your beer and let's move along."

Valentine nodded. One hundred weights to a crown, he thought, ten crowns

to a royal, and he wondered what he would have said had Shanamir pressed him

on the matter of his age. Twenty-eight? Thirty-two? He had no idea. What

if he were asked in earnest? Thirty-two, he decided. That had a good sound

to it. Yes, I am thirty-two years old, and ten crowns make a royal, and the

shining piece that shows the old man and the young one is worth fifty of

those.

-- 3 --

THE ROAD TO SHANAMIR'S INN led squarely through the heart of Pidruid,

across districts that even at this late hour were crowded and hectic.

Valentine asked if that was on account of the visit of the Coronal, but

Shanamir said no, the city was like this all the time, for it was the major

port of the western coast of Zimroel. From here went vessels to every major

part of Majipoor: up and down this busy coast, but also across the Inner Sea

on the enormous journey to Alhanroel, a voyage requiring the better part of a

year, and there was even some commerce with the sparsely populated southern

continent, Suvrael, the sun-blasted lair of the King of Dreams. When

Valentine thought of the totality of Majipoor he felt oppressed by the weight

of the world, the sheer mass of it, and yet he knew that was foolish, for was

not Majipoor a light and airy place, a giant bubble of a planet, huge but

without much substance, so that one felt forever buoyant, forever afloat? Why

this leaden sense of pressure across his back, why these moments of unfounded

dismay? He led himself quickly back to an easier mood. Soon he would sleep,

and the morning would be a day of new marvels.

"We cross the Golden Plaza," said Shanamir, "and on the far side of it we

take Water Road, that leads to the piers, and our inn is ten minutes out that

way. You'll find the plaza amazing."

Indeed it was, such of it as Valentine was able to see: a vast rectangular

space, wide enough to drill two armies in, bordered on all four sides by

immense square-topped buildings on whose broad flat faces were inlaid dazzling

designs in gold leaf, so that by the evening's torchlight the great towers

blazed with reflected light and were more brilliant than the fireshower trees.

But there was no crossing the plaza tonight. A hundred paces from its eastern

entrance it was roped off with thick braided cord of red plush, behind which

stood troops in the uniform of the Coronal's bodyguard, smug, impassive, arms

folded across their green-and-gold jerkins. Shanamir leaped from his mount

and trotted forward, and spoke quickly with a vendor. When he returned he

said angrily, "They have it entirely blocked. May the King of Dreams send

them prickly sleep tonight!"

"What's happening?"

"The Coronal has taken lodging in the mayor's palace -- that's the tallest

building, with the jagged golden swirls on its walls, on the far side over

there -- and nobody can get near it tonight. We can't even go around the

plaza's inner rim, because there's such a mob piled up there, waiting for a

glimpse of Lord Valentine. So it's a detour for us, an hour or more, the long

way around. Well, sleep isn't that important, I suppose. Look, there he is!"

Shanamir indicated a balcony high on the facade of the mayor's palace.

Figures had emerged on it. At this distance they were no larger than mice,

but mice of dignity and grandeur, clad in sumptuous robes; Valentine could see

at least that much. There were five of them, and the central personage was

surely the Coronal. Shanamir was straining and standing on tiptoe for a

better view. Valentine could make out very little: a dark-haired man,

possibly bearded, in a heavy white steetmoy-fur robe over a doublet in green

or light blue. The Coronal stood at the front of the balcony, spreading his

arms toward the crowd, who made the starburst symbol with their outstretched

fingers and shouted his name again and again: "Valentine! Valentine! Lord

Valentine!"

And Shanamir, at Valentine's side, cried out too: "Valentine! Lord

Valentine!"

Valentine felt a fierce shudder of revulsion. "Listen to them!" he

muttered. "Yelling as if he's the Divine Itself, come down for dinner in

Pidruid. He's only a man, isn't he? When his bowels are full he empties

them, yes?"

Shanamir blinked in shock. "He's the Coronal!"

"He means nothing to me, even as I mean less than nothing to him."

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LordValentine'sCastlebyRobertSilverberg(c)1979I--TheBookoftheKingofDreamsANDTHEN,AFTERWALKINGalldaythroughagoldenhazeofhumidwarmththatgatheredabouthimlikefinewetfleece,ValentinecametoagreatridgeofoutcroppingwhitestoneoverlookingthecityofPidruid.Itwastheprovincialcapital,sprawlingandsplendid,thebigge...

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Silverberg, Robert - Lord Valentine's Castle

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