Majipoor Chronicles

"Somewhat. But you still have much to learn."

"Doubtless." He paused. "All right, you accept the inevitability of the kingship, if the kingship should come to you. But do you want it, Voriax, do you truly crave it, or is it only your breeding and your sense of duty that lead you to prepare yourself for the throne?"

Voriax said slowly, "I am not preparing myself for the throne, but only for a role in the government of Majipoor, as you also are doing, and yes, it is a matter of breeding and a sense of duty, for I am a son of the High Counsellor Damiandane, as I believe you also to be. If the throne is offered to me I will accept it proudly and discharge its burdens as capably as I can. I spend no time craving the kingship and even less time speculating on whether it will come to me. And I find this conversation tiresome in the extreme and I would be grateful if you permitted me to gather firewood in silence."

He glared at Valentine and turned away.

Questions blossomed in Valentine like alabandinas in summer, but he suppressed them all, for he saw Voriax' lips quivering and knew that he had already gone beyond a boundary. Voriax was ripping angrily at the fallen branches, pulling twigs free with a vehemence not at all necessary, for the wood was dry and brittle. Valentine did not attempt again to breach his brother's defenses, though he had learned only a little of what he wanted to know. He suspected, from Voriax' defensiveness, that Voriax did indeed hunger for the kingship and devoted all his waking hours to training himself for it; and he had an inkling, but only an inkling, of why he should want it. For its own sake, for the power and the glory? Well, why not? And for fulfillment of a destiny that called certain people to high obligations? Yes, that too. And doubtless to atone for the slight that had been shown their father when he had been passed over for the crown. But still, but still, to give up one's freedom merely to rule the world — it was a mystery to Valentine, and in the end he decided that Voriax was right, that these were things he could not fully comprehend at the age of seventeen.

He carried his load of firewood back to the campsite and began kindling a blaze. Voriax joined him soon, but he said nothing, and a chill of estrangement lingered between the brothers that gave Valentine great distress. He wished he could apologize to Voriax for having probed so deeply, but that was impossible, for he had never been graceful at such things with Voriax, nor Voriax with him. He still felt that brother could talk to brother concerning the most intimate matters without giving offense. But on the other hand this frostiness was hard to bear, and if prolonged would poison their holiday together. Valentine searched for a way of regaining amity and after a moment chose one that had worked well enough when they were younger.

He went to Voriax, who was carving the meat for their meal in a gloomy, sullen way, and said, "While we wait for the water to boil, will you wrestle with me?"

Voriax glanced up, startled. "What?"

"I feel the need for exercise."

"Climb those pingla-trees, then, and dance on their branches."

"Come. Take a few falls with me, Voriax."

"It would not be right."

"Why? If I overthrew you, would that offend your dignity even further?"

"Careful, Valentine!"

"I spoke too sharply. Forgive me." Valentine went into a wrestler's crouch and held out his hands. "Please? Some quick holds, a bit of sweat before di

"Your leg is only newly healed."

"But healed it is. You can use your full strength on me, as I will on you, and never fear."

"And if the leg snaps again, and we a day's journey from any city worth the name?"

"Come, Voriax," Valentine said impatienly. "You fret too much! Come, show me you still can wrestle!" He laughed and slapped his palms together and beckoned, and slapped his hands again, and thrust his gri

Something was wrong. They had wrestled often enough, ever since Valentine had been big enough to fight his brother as an equal, and Valentine knew all of Voriax' moves, his little tricks of balance and timing. But the man he wrestled with now seemed a complete stranger. Was this some Metamorph sneaked upon him in the guise of Voriax? No, no, no; it was the leg. Valentine realized, Voriax was holding back his strength, was being deliberately gentle and awkward, was once again patronizing him. In surprising rage Valentine lunged and, although in this early moment of the bout etiquette called on them only to be testing and probing one another, he seized Voriax with the intent to throw him, and forced him to one knee. Voriax stared in amazement. As Valentine caught his breath and gathered his strength to drive his brother's shoulders against the ground, Voriax rallied and pressed upward, unleashing for the first time all his formidable strength: he nearly went down anyway before Valentine's onslaught, but at the last moment he rolled free and sprang to his feet.

They circled one another warily.

Voriax said, "I see I underestimated you. Your leg must be entirely healed."

"So it is, as I've told you many times. I merely limp a little, which makes no difference. Come here, Voriax: come within reach again."

He beckoned. They sprang for one another and locked chest against chest, neither able to budge the other, and stayed that way for what seemed to Valentine an hour or more, though probably it was only minutes. Then he drove Voriax back a few inches, and then Voriax dug in and resisted, and forced Valentine back the same distance. They grunted and sweated and strained, and gri

"Your match," Valentine said, gasping, and Voriax rolled free, lying beside him as laughter overtook them both. "I'll whip you the next one!"

How good it felt, even in defeat, to have regained his brother's love!

Abruptly Valentine heard the sound of applause coming from not very far away. He sat up and stared about in the twilight, and saw the figure of a woman, sharp-featured and with extraordinarily long straight black hair, standing by the edge of the forest. Her eyes were bright and wicked, her lips were full, her clothes were of a strange style — mere strips of ta

"I watched you," she said, coming toward them with no trace of fear. "At first I thought it was a real quarrel, but then I saw it was for sport."

"At first it was a real quarrel," said Voriax. "But also it was sport, always. I am Voriax of Halanx, and this is Valentine, my brother."

She looked from one to the other. "Yes, of course, brothers. Anyone could see that. I am called Tanunda, and I am of Ghiseldorn. Shall I tell you your fortunes?"

"Are you a witch, then?" Valentine asked.

There was merriment in her eyes. "Yes, yes, certainly, a witch. What else?"

"Come, then, foretell for us!" cried Valentine.

"Wait," said Voriax. "I have no liking for sorceries."

"You are too sober by half," Valentine said. "What harm can it do? We visit Ghiseldorn the city of wizards; should we not then have our destinies read? What are you afraid of? It's a game, Voriax, only a game!" He walked toward the witch and said, "Will you stay with us for di