Lord of Light Read online

  "That is correct," said Sam.

  "Good. I've always felt a brotherly affection for you. Go now and summon my priest, that I may instruct him concerning your incarnation. I'll see you soon."

  "Sure thing. Lord Brahma." Sam nodded and raised his pipe. Then he pushed back the row of shelves and sought the priest in the hall without. Various thoughts passed through his mind, but this time he let them remain unspoken.

  That evening, the prince held council with those of his retainers who had visited kinsmen and friends within Mahartha, and with those who had gone about through the town obtaining news and gossip. From these he learned that there were only ten Masters of Karma in Mahartha and that they kept their lodgings in a palace on the southeastern slopes above the city. They made scheduled visits to the clinics, or reading rooms, of the Temples, where the citizens presented themselves for judgment when they applied for renewal. The Hall of Karma itself was a massive black structure within the courtyard of their palace, where a person applied shortly after judgment to have his transfer made into his new body. Strake, along with two of his advisers, departed while daylight yet remained to make sketches of the palace fortifications. Two of the prince's courtiers were dispatched across town to deliver an invitation to late dining and revelry to the Shan of Irabek, an old man and distant neighbor of Siddhartha's with whom he had fought three bloody border skirmishes and occasionally hunted tiger. The Shan was visiting with relatives while waiting his appointment with the Masters of Karma. Another man was sent to the Street of the Smiths, where he requested of the metal workers that they double the prince's order and have it ready by early morning. He took along additional money to ensure their cooperation.

  Later, the Shan of Irabek arrived at the Hostel of Hawkana, accompanied by six of his relatives, who were of the merchant caste but came armed as if they were warriors. Seeing that the hostel was a peaceable abode, however, and that none of the other guests or visitors bore arms, they put aside their weapons and seated themselves near the head of the table, beside the prince.

  The Shan was a tall man, but his posture was considerably hunched. He wore maroon robes and a dark turban reaching down almost to his great, caterpillar-like eyebrows, which were the color of milk. His beard was a snowy bush, his teeth shown as dark stumps when he laughed and his lower eyelids jutted redly, as though sore and weary after so many years of holding back his bloodshot orbs in their obvious attempt to push themselves forward out of their sockets. He laughed a phlegmy laugh and pounded the table, repeating, "Elephants are too expensive these days, and no damn good at all in mud!" for the sixth time; this being in reference to their conversation as to the best time of year to fight a war. Only one very new in the business would be so boorish as to insult a neighbor's ambassador during the rainy season, it was decided, and that one would thereafter be marked as a nouveau roi.

  As the evening wore on, the prince's physician excused himself so as to superintend the preparation of the dessert and introduce a narcotic into the sweetcakes being served up to the Shan. As the evening wore further on, subsequent to the dessert, the Shan grew more and more inclined to close his eyes and let his head slump forward for longer and longer periods of time. "Good party," he muttered, between snores, and finally, "Elephants are no damn good at all. . ." and so passed to sleep and could not be awakened. His kinsmen did not see fit to escort him home at this time, because of the fact that the prince's physician had added chloral hydrate to their wine, and they were at that moment sprawled upon the floor, snoring. The prince's chief courtier arranged with Hawkana for their accommodation, and the Shan himself was taken to Siddhartha's suite, where he was shortly visited by the physician, who loosened his garments and spoke to him in a soft, persuasive voice:

  "Tomorrow afternoon," he was saying, "you will be Prince Siddhartha and these will be your retainers. You will report to the Hall of Karma in their company, to claim there the body which Brahma has promised you without the necessity of prior judgment You will remain Siddhartha throughout the transfer, and you will return here in the company of your retainers, to be examined by me. Do you understand?"

  "Yes," whispered the Shan.

  "Then repeat what I have told you."

  'Tomorrow afternoon," said the Shan, "I will be Siddhartha, commanding these retainers. . ."

  Bright bloomed the morning, and debts were settled beneath it. Half of the prince's men rode out of the city, heading north. When they were out of sight of Mahartha they began circling to the southeast, working their way through the hills, stopping only to don their battle gear.

  Half a dozen men were dispatched to the Street of the Smiths, whence they returned bearing heavy canvas bags, the contents of which were divided into the pouches of three dozen men who departed after breakfast into the city.

  The prince took counsel with his physician, Narada, saying, "If I have misjudged the clemency of Heaven, then am I cursed indeed."

  But the doctor smiled and replied, "I doubt you misjudged."

  And so they passed from morning into the still center of day, the Ridge of the Gods golden above them.

  When their charges awakened, they ministered to their hangovers. The Shan was given a posthypnotic and sent with six of Siddhartha's retainers to the Palace of the Masters. His kinsmen were assured that he remained sleeping in the prince's quarters.

  "Our major risk at this point," said the physician, "is the Shan. Will he be recognized? The factors in our favor are that he is a minor potentate from a distant kingdom, he has only been in town for a short period of time, has spent most of that time with his kinsmen and he has not yet presented himself for judgment. The Masters should still be unaware of your own physical appearance —"

  "Unless I have been described to them by Brahma or his priest," said the prince. "For all I know, my communication may have been taped and the tape relayed to them for identification purposes."

  "Why, though, should this have been done?" inquired Narada. "They should hardly expect stealth and elaborate precautions of one for whom they are doing a favor. No, I think we should be able to pull it off. The Shan would not be able to pass a probe, of course, but he should pass surface scrutiny, accompanied as he is by your retainers. At the moment, he does believe he is Siddhartha, and he could pass any simple lie-detection test in that regard—which I feel is the most serious obstacle he might encounter."

  So they waited, and the three dozen men returned with empty pouches, gathered their belongings, mounted their horses and one by one drifted off through the town, as though in search of revelry, but actually drifting slowly in a southeasterly direction.

  "Good-bye, good Hawkana," said the prince, as the remainder of his men packed and mounted. "I shalt bear, as always, good report of your lodgings to all whom I meet about the land. I regret that my stay here must be so unexpectedly terminated, but I must ride to put down an uprising in the provinces as soon as I leave the Hall of Karma. You are aware of how these things spring up the moment a ruler's back is turned. So, while I should have liked to spend another week beneath your roof, I fear that this pleasure must be postponed until another time. If any ask after me, tell them to seek me in Hades."

  "Hades, my Lord?"

  "It is the southernmost province of my kingdom, noted for its excessively warm weather. Be sure to phrase it just so, especially to the priests of Brahma, who may become concerned as to my whereabouts in days to come."

  "I'll do that, my Lord."

  "And take especial care of the boy Dele. I expect to hear him play again on my next visit."

  Hawkana bowed low and was about to begin a speech, so the prince decided upon that moment to toss him the final bag of coins and make an additional comment as to the wines of Urath—before mounting quickly and shouting orders to his men, in such a manner as to drown out any further conversation.

  Then they rode through the gateway and were gone, leaving behind only the physician and three warriors, whom he was to treat an additional day for an obscure
condition having to do with the change of climate, before they rode on to catch up with the others.

  They passed through the town, using side streets, and came after a time to the roadway that led up toward the Palace of the Masters of Karma. As they passed along its length, Siddhartha exchanged secret signs with those three dozen of his warriors who lay in hiding at various points off in the woods.

  When they had gone half the distance to the palace, the prince and the eight men who accompanied him drew rein and made as if to rest, waiting the while for the others to move abreast of them, passing carefully among the trees.

  Before long, however, they saw movement on the trail ahead. Seven riders were advancing on horseback, and the prince guessed them to be his six lancers and the Shan. When they came within hailing distance, they advanced to meet them.

  "Who are you?" inquired the tall, sharp-eyed rider mounted upon the white mare. "Who are you that dares block the passage of Prince Siddhartha, Binder of Demons?"

  The prince looked upon him—muscular and tanned, in his mid-twenties, possessed of hawklike features and a powerful bearing — and he felt suddenly that his doubts had been unfounded and that he bad betrayed himself by his suspicion and mistrust. It appeared from the lithe physical specimen seated upon his own mount that Brahma had bargained in good faith, authorizing for his use an excellent and sturdy body, which was now possessed by the ancient Shan.

  "Lord Siddhartha," said his man, who had ridden at the side of the Lord of Irabek, "it appears that they dealt fairly. I see naught amiss about him."

  "Siddhartha!" cried the Shan. "Who is this one you dare address with the name of your master? I am Siddhartha, Binder of—" With that he threw his head back and his words gurgled in his throat.

  Then the fit hit the Shan. He stiffened, lost his seating and fell from the saddle. Siddhartha ran to his side. There were little flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were rolled upward.

  "Epileptic!" cried the prince. "They meant me to have a brain which had been damaged."

  The others gathered around and helped the prince minister to the Shan until the seizure passed and his wits had returned to his body.

  "Wh-what happened?" he asked.

  "Treachery," said Siddhartha. "Treachery, oh Shan of Irabek! One of my men will convey you now to my personal physician, for an examination. After you have rested, I suggest you lodge a protest at Brahma's reading room. My physician will treat you at Hawkana's, and then you will be released. I am sorry this thing happened. It will probably be set aright. But if not, remember the last siege of Kapil and consider us even on all scores. Good afternoon, brother prince." He bowed to the other, and his men helped the Shan to mount Hawkana's bay, which Siddhartha had borrowed earlier.

  Mounting the mare, the prince observed their departure, then turned to the men who stood about him, and he spoke in a voice sufficiently loud to be heard by those who waited off the road:

  "The nine of us will enter. Two blasts upon the horn, and you others follow. If they resist, make them wish they had been more prudent, for three more blasts upon the horn will bring the fifty lancers down from the hills, if they be needed. It is a palace of ease, and not a fort where battles would be fought. Take the Masters prisoner. Do not harm their machineries or allow others to do so. If they do not resist us, all well and good. If they do, we shall walk through the Palace and Hall of the Masters of Karma like a small boy across an extensive and excessively elaborate ant hill. Good luck. No gods be with you!"

  And turning his horse, he headed on up the road, the eight lancers singing softly at his back.

  The prince rode through the wide double gate, which stood open and unguarded. He set immediately to wondering concerning secret defenses that Strake might have missed.

  The courtyard was landscaped and partly paved. In a large garden area, servants were at work pruning, trimming and cultivating. The prince sought after weapon emplacements and saw none. The servants glanced up as he entered, but did not halt their labors.

  At the far end of the courtyard was the black stone Hall. He advanced in that direction, his horsemen following, until he was hailed from the steps of the palace itself, which lay to his right.

  He drew rein and turned to look in that direction. The man wore black livery, a yellow circle on his breast, and he carried an ebony staff. He was tall, heavy and muffled to the eyes. He did not repeat his salutation, but stood waiting.

  The prince guided his mount to the foot of the wide stairway. "I must speak to the Masters of Karma," he stated.

  "Have you an appointment?" inquired the man.

  "No," said the prince, "but it is a matter of importance."

  "Then I regret that you have made this trip for nothing," replied the other. "An appointment is necessary. You may make arrangements at any Temple in Mahartha."

  He then struck upon the stair with his staff, turned his back and began to move away.

  "Uproot that garden," said the prince to his men, "cut down yonder trees, heap everything together and set a torch to it."

  The man in black halted, turned again.

  Only the prince waited at the foot of the stair. His men were already moving off in the direction of the garden.

  "You can't do that," said the man.

  The prince smiled.

  His men dismounted and began hacking at the shrubbery, kicking they way through the flower beds.

  "Tell them to stop!"

  "Why should I? I have come to speak with the Masters of Karma, and you tell me that I cannot. I tell you that I can, and will. Let us see which of us is correct."

  "Order them to stop," said the other, "and I will bear your message to the Masters."

  "Halt!" cried the prince. "But be ready to begin again."

  The man in black mounted the stairs, vanished into the palace. The prince fingered the horn that hung on a cord about his neck.

  In a short while there was movement, and armed men began to emerge from the doorway. The prince raised his horn and gave wind to it twice.

  The men wore leather armor—some still buckling it hastily into place—and caps of the same material. Their sword arms were padded to the elbow, and they wore small, oval-shaped metal shields, bearing as device a yellow wheel upon a black field. They carried long, curved blades. They filled the stairway completely and stood as if waiting orders.

  The man in black emerged again, and he stood at the head of the stair. "Very well," he stated, "if you have a message for the Masters, say it!"

  "Are you a Master?" inquired the prince.

  "I am."

  "Then must your rank be lowest of them all, it you must also do duty as doorman. Let me speak to the Master in charge here."

  "Your insolence will be repaid both now and in a life yet to come," observed the Master.

  Then three dozen lancers rode through the gate and arrayed themselves at the sides of the prince. The eight who had begun the deflowering of the garden remounted their horses and moved to join the formation, blades laid bare across their laps.

  "Must we enter your palace on horseback?" inquired the prince. "Or will you now summon the other Masters, with whom I wish to hold conversation?"

  Close to eighty men stood upon the stair facing them, blades in hand. The Master seemed to weigh the balance of forces. He decided in favor of maintaining things as they were.

  "Do nothing rash," he stated, "for my men will defend themselves in a particularly vicious fashion. Wait upon my return. I shall summon the others."

  The prince filled his pipe and lit it. His men sat like statues, lances ready. Perspiration was most evident upon the faces of the foot soldiers who held the first rank on the stairway.

  The prince, to pass the time, observed to his lancers, "Do not think to display your skill as you did at the last siege of Kapil. Make target of the breast, rather than the head.

  "Also," he continued, "think not to engage in the customary mutilation of the wounded and the slain—for this is
a holy place and should not be profaned in such a manner.

  "On the other hand," he added, "I shall take it as a personal affront if there are not ten prisoners for sacrifice to Nirriti the Black, my personal patron—outside these walls, of course, where observance of the Dark Feast will not be held so heavily against us . . ."

  There was a clatter to the right, as a foot soldier who had been staring up the length of Strake's lance passed out and fell from the bottom stair.

  "Stop!" cried the figure in black, who emerged with six others — similarly garbed—at the head of the stairway. "Do not profane the Palace of Karma with bloodshed. Already that fallen warrior's blood is—"

  "Rising to his cheeks," finished the prince, "if he be conscious — for he is not slain."

  "What is it you want?" The figure in black who was addressing him was of medium height, but of enormous girth. He stood like a huge, dark barrel, his staff a sable thunderbolt.

  "I count seven," replied the prince. "I understand that ten Masters reside here. Where are the other three?"

  "Those others are presently in attendance at three reading rooms in Mahartha. What is it you want of us?"

  "You are in charge here?"

  "Only the Great Wheel of the Law is in charge here."

  "Are you the senior representative of the Great Wheel within these walls?"

  "I am."

  "Very well. I wish to speak with you in private—over there," said the prince, gesturing toward the black Hall.

  "Impossible!"

  The prince knocked his pipe empty against his heel, scraped its bowl with the point of his dagger, replaced it in his pouch. Then he sat very erect upon the white mare and clasped the horn in his left hand. He met the Master's eyes.

  "Are you absolutely certain of that?" he asked.

  The Master's mouth, small and bright, twisted around words he did not speak. Then:

  "As you say," he finally acknowledged. "Make way for me here!" and he passed down through the ranks of the warriors and stood before the white mare.

  The prince guided the horse with his knees, turning her in the direction of the dark Hall.