CHAPTER XII: A Tale of The Gold Coast

Evening was deepening by the time Greagoir and Tatya had passed through the high, parched grasses of the sun-bleached meadow on their way to the deep pond that lay at the tumbled, mossy stone feet of the highlands, jutting haphazardly in shaggily craggy tumuli above them. For a blind, and sometimes lame, old man, Greagoir walked at a brisk pace, planting his staff with authority every few paces or so to continue his forward momentum. Although the light was failing, he had no need to seek guidance, having trod this path many times over the years ("When the sighted man doth stumble at night," he had once said, "there goes the blind man without aid of light."). Meanwhile, Tatya stopped and started all along the way with the ungainly weight of lanterns, parchment, ink, quills, blankets, wineskin, and the master's chair in tow. Greagoir kept up a rambling discourse on gladiatorial spectacles in Bajazet, and their prime importance to that desert kingdom's local economy, the entire length of their journey, punctuated by "Tatya, quit dawdling!" every time his apprentice would falter.

A few ancient willows marked the spot where the dark waters lay, and they slowly swayed in mournful cadence to the stale breezes fanned by the high heat of summer, moving only with drowsy tremors as if the oppressive warmth disturbed their treeish dreams. But their long and supple tendril branches seemed to capture what coolness there was on the sluggish wind, and under their drooping protection the air about the pond was far less humid. Tatya tripped on a root and dropped his load with a clumsy crash, then spent several minutes on elbows and knees trying to locate his ink well in the muddy weeds. By the time the apprentice's search was complete, the master had already sat in his chair and began his lecture.

"I have been to the Gold Coast on Peer Kiryatin's business numerous times over the years," he stated matter-of-factly, "and never once could I draw you a map clearly delineating the borders of the khanates and petty-princedoms that line the shores of the Eastern Ocean, so often do these lands change hands. One would think that border swapping is as seasonal a business as the harvest in those outlandish realms, save that the farmers have more common sense in that regard than the potentates who attempt to rule them. It is truly ironic that the thousand mile stretch of eastern shoreline referred to as the Gold Coast is really only profitable to the mercenaries who constantly shift allegiances to the highest bidders in the unending series of internecine feuds between the ruling families of these fractious kingdoms; yet so intermarried have these royal families become over the years that it is impossible to pick a fight with anyone that is not a brother, nephew, in-law, great uncle or cousin twice-removed on his mother's side. I have actually commenced trade-talks with one side of a family, the ruling house of a khanate, only to have a cousin, a usurper come to power after a bloody coup, eventually sign the agreements while his relations were being sent to the block! Maddening for a diplomat, perhaps, but it certainly spices up tedious negotiations!

"Such chicanery and fratricide have been ever-present on the Gold Coast, but the Second Age was a period of consolidation. Throughout Middle-earth in that epochal time great empires or near-empires rose coevally, or close enough time-wise to strive against each other in a titanic struggle for the domination of the greater part of the known world: in the West, the maritime might of majestic Numenor versus the monolithic, malevolent power of Mordor; and in the East, the seething advance of the Balchoth horde against the realm of Tsin-Quinqan, the Khanate of Five Kingdoms. But like all the empires of the Second Age, Tsin-Quinqan is now a thing of shadows and dust, split once again into faded parcels of ebbing glory by the very factions from whence it was first formed, bereft of the unifying will upon which its glorious legend lies. Only a mere handful of chronicles and ballads escaped the final ruin of Tsin-Quinqan's once magnificent royal court -- its stately halls and lush gardens reduced to rubble in a series of bloody civil wars -- but the imposing tomb of its greatest emperor still stands, and is likened to a palace in its grandeur, and is hailed as one of the Seven Wonders of the World. And I was drawn to this emperor's tragic tale, intrigued by the simple but stunning epitaph chiseled into the onyx marble facade below his golden effigy:

'Great among kings, still his fate lieth thus:

Even those enthroned on high fall to dust.

What you are in life, friend, so once was he;

What he is in death, then so shall ye be.

Proud, the victor in ev'ry war he fought,

But love's loss conquered what the sword could not.'

"I was deeply moved by this self-effacing requiem. For such a great emperor to admit, even in death, that he was no more or less than any common man of his realm certainly was not in keeping with the high opinions the haughty but largely impotent potentates who followed in his stead had of themselves. Thus bemused with fascination, I sought out the story of Cui-Baili Khan, the last emperor of Tsin-Quinqan. Little did I know, but the getting of this tale of woe was in itself a story of sadness for me, and driven to madness I blindly crossed the Roaring Wastes and trod treacherous paths in my haste for self-destruction."

In the glinting lantern-light Tatya perceived a shadow of melancholy pass over Greagoir's face, and the robust old man seemed to shrink as his thoughts were drawn inward to some haunting memory that seemed to suck the vitality from his very marrow. Yet with the exhale of a wistful sigh, his aged master returned, a bit weakened and somewhat somber in his visage, perhaps, but hale and hearty as ever. Greagoir grasped his black staff as if it were a ward against the darkness, and pulled his cloak closer to him, even though the night was still hot and humid.

"I was sent on an embassy by Attar Kiryatin to the Khanate of Geas-geata," Greagoir blurted suddenly and with some effort, "there to procure for him a birthright to bury his bastardly background. It was my first journey on behalf of that ungrateful poseur of a pirate," the master hissed at the thought of his reluctant patron, "and I took my mission with all the seriousness a young man at the advent of a bright career could muster: which is to say I had every intention of conducting myself in the manner of a seasoned diplomat; yet saddled with the wandering mind and restless heart of a precocious youth, I was bound to go somewhat astray.

"The Khanate of Geas-Geata was a corrupt and decadent remnant of glorious Tsin-Quinqan, a meager shadow of that once great empire, accounting for perhaps a tenth of that former realm's land mass; yet it was ruled by exactly the type of disreputably greedy bureaucrats that would be amenable to my sordid plan for raising my master to respectability. Seeking proper introductions and wrangling my way through that pit of seething vipers took some doing, as even the lowest echelon administrators had their hands out, their eyes closed and their ears to the ground. But I must say, once rumor got about that a young diplomat was spending freely for information, doorways that were at first closed to me swung wide with fawning prefects and smarmy seneschals bidding me solicitous and wholly insincere welcome. It was all I could do to keep from laughing right in their bloated faces as their pudgy little fingers nervously counted the coins I had dropped in their ample laps.

"Most difficult of all was reaching the eunuchs of the inner circle, the Castrati, who surrounded their figurehead princeling and basically wielded power in his stead, leaving the oblivious Khan to putter about in his gardens -- kept fresh and unhampered with the day-to-day rule of his realm -- ever ready to be trotted out for ceremonial display on state occasions. These eunuchs proved to be tough nuts to crack -- if you'll pardon the pun. As their positions were neither hereditary nor a matter of entitlement, the Castrati jealously guarded their shadowy roles behind the throne and looked at all outsiders with utter suspicion. Needless to say, I was left to cool my heels for several weeks while I sought an audience with the head eunuch, a sly and grossly obese creature named Mharu-muc.

"In the interim, and out of boredom, I took to searching out the ancient ruins that littered the countryside of Geas-Geata, fallen monuments to an illustrious past. It was on one of these expeditions that I came upon the Sepulchre of Cui-Baili, whose daunting minarets loomed out of a forsaken valley, black-bulbed spires wholly alien to the natural surroundings of tumbled boulders, flagstone, wildflowers, grass and pine. The vale itself was a great lake and in the center, accessible only by a granite and basalt causeway, stood the magnificent tomb of the fallen emperor. To say this mausoleum was breathtaking would be an understatement. I only had such a sense of awe when I first beheld the tower of Ecthelion and then the white city of Minas Tirith itself, shimmering against the mountains of Ered Nimrais. On the drowned plain below me, encircled by crystal blue water and standing amidst groves of tropical hibiscus, jasmine, magnolia and palm, the stunning edifice shone starkly in stone of white and black, mirrored in chiaroscuro upon the glassy pool at its impervious feet.

"As I drank in the view I discerned a solitary figure, small against the imposing backdrop, passing secretively in through the massive gilt doors of the Sepulchre. Strange as it was that only a single person might be partaking with me in the grandeur of this palatial tomb; I thought it stranger still that it was indeed so desolate there, and I wondered why penitents had not made the Sepulchre a place of pilgrimage, flocking in their milling thousands to marvel at this monument to mournful majesty. Ever inquisitive, I was drawn down from my vantage point, across the causeway and to the great doors, there to seek out the lone soul who had unwittingly joined me in my desultory reverie. The immense vaulted inner space of the Sepulchre stretched above me, a great ribbed chest consuming sound and light, commanding my silence. And there...and there..."

Greagoir paused again as if to draw from a deep well of will, a diminishing reserve that grew harder and harder to reach. His lips quavered as speech escaped him, leaving Tatya to wonder at his master's sudden mute distress. But even blind, Greagoir felt his apprentice's intense scrutiny, and returned a wan smile. "In my long life, Tatya," the master finally drawled, "I have been bludgeoned, I have been punched and I have been stabbed, but the pain of being smitten supersedes all other physical forms of torment. Love is a bewildering mix of infuriating pain and sultry bliss from its first, awkward embrace to its woeful parting kiss. Love is a weight one shoulders gladly, but its absence is an excruciating burden that must be endured. Yet separated by a countless span of miles and a great gulf of time, love remains -- never to be shirked or forgotten -- a living entity haunting the deep recesses of your heart long after it has departed."

That is it! Tatya thought to himself, the master has finally lost his mind -- he's begun to babble. Concerned, the apprentice attempted to interrupt, but Greagoir continued on with his tale as if he had just surmounted some difficult hurdle:

She was standing there at the emperor's tomb, merely staring at the great block of black marble, utterly lost to the rest of the world. By her silk robes, I could tell she came from a wealthy family, which I thought odd, as she was there unattended. I stood behind her near the entrance, barely moving from the apse to the nave of the Sepulchre. I dared not speak, as I thought it would be rude to disturb her quiet contemplation. After several moments of silent communion, she at last acknowledged my presence.

Turning her head, so that her long, dark hair glided from her shoulder across the silk on her back, revealing only the side of her face, she said, 'Do you, too, come here to mourn the passing of all that is just and true in this fallen realm?'

I knew not what to say. I stepped forward tentatively, allowing time enough to compose myself (so as not to sound like some blithering idiot). When I finally stood beside her, I looked up at the resting place of Cui-Baili and read the words inscribed on his monument. 'Truth does not entirely abandon any land where lives those who seek it, my lady,' I answered quietly, still pondering the emperor's epitaph. I added, 'few though those seekers may be.'

'There may be those few in Geas-Geata who recognize Truth,' she replied forlornly, 'but then avoid it at all costs. None seek it in this realm."

She was so sad, so awash in melancholy, that my heart was moved to pity. 'If there are but two souls left who bear witness to the Truth, then all is not lost,' I said sympathetically as I turned to meet her gaze. I was instantly struck by her eyes: almond-shaped they were, of a sparkling green but flecked with lighter hazel. Her beauty was familiar, as if from a dream. I let out an audible gasp, then dropped my glance in embarrassment.

She smiled a little, and I melted further. ''Tis obvious you are an optimist," she stated in a less somber tone, "for you the bottle is always half-full."

'Nay, my lady,' I said with a grin, 'rarely have I left a bottle that wasn't emptied!'

She laughed then, high and clear, uplifting and tender. 'Ah, my friend!' she exclaimed, 'you have heard my laughter, which is a thing rarer still than Truth these days!'

'Then I would have it as common as sand on the shore,' I replied, 'if such a thing so precious could be made so.'

She looked at me strangely and said, 'Hmmm...a diplomat with a poet's soul. I know you from court, do I not?'

My face grew ashen as the sudden shock of recognition overwhelmed me. Of course, the maid was familiar! I had never met her before, and had only seen her from afar. On those occasions, she was dressed more regally, and was surrounded by a great retinue of servants, soldiers and sycophants, all dutifully following her father, the Khan.

I bowed humbly and said, 'A thousand pardons for my forwardness, your Highness. Had I but known...'

'Had you but known,' she interrupted, 'then we would not being having this conversation. I would have not had a brief moment of mirth, and you would be attempting to curry favor for your employer with well-worn words of tedious flattery. For you are working for that corsair...that murderous Kiryatin...are you not?'

'Well...yes...I am in his hire,' I replied with chagrin. 'But I was not aware my mission was one that would gain the ear of the Princess.'

'And how could I not hear of your trollishly subtle machinations?' she snapped and boldly placed her fists on her hips. 'I am surrounded by thieves who would sell themselves finger by finger, joint by joint, if the price were right, and here you come, the suave Southron, buying off my traitorous administrators with a limitless supply of gold most likely plundered from my father's coffers in the first place!'

I did not like where this conversation was going. The Princess' eyes grew dark, actually changing from a lively green to near gray, like a stormy sea. 'Again, I beg...most deeply...your pardon, Highness,' I sputtered in supplication and bowed with eyes averted. 'I have indeed been sent on an errand where bribery is, unfortunately, a stock item in the arsenal of diplomacy. If I have offended thee, then I shall remove myself from your sight.'

'Ha!' she exclaimed, then laughed, 'An honest scoundrel! I am not sure of the length of a cutpurse's career if he goes about telling his victims he is picking their pockets, but I must admit the idea is novel!' She glared at me hard for a moment then her features softened, and she appeared vulnerable. She turned again to gaze at the gold and marble sarcophagus, and said wistfully, 'I wish that I could have been the daughter of a true Khan, and not the scion of a mere shell of a man who long ago surrendered his power and dignity, mocked and paraded about for the sport of his own crows at court.'

She turned again to me and asked, 'Southron....or Greagoir of Caladh, is it not? Yes? Well then, Greagoir, know you the tale of Cui-Baili? Know you of the fall of the greatest emperor of the East, and why Geas-Geata is now in its present sorry state?'

When I admitted I hadn't, but longed to hear such a tale, she nodded with satisfaction and said, 'I had heard you were a wordsmith in addition to your more unsavory role as huckster for a pirate.' Obviously amused at my silent discomfort, she smiled and added, 'Please, Greagoir, for the present I ask that you ignore my station, a circumstance brought about wholly by birth and not through any entitlement, I can assure you. Let us for a few, short moments be two lore-seekers intent on finding the Truth, and neither a noble prize to be sold to the highest bidder, nor a conniving diplomat employed by a cut-throat.'

I had heard at court that the Princess was being shopped around by the Castrati to the other khanates on the Gold Coast, a bride to seal alliances and reduce the risk of war. I knew then the reason for her melancholy: she was merely a bird in a guilded cage, lacking the freedom to sing her own song; whereas I had been an indentured servant who eventually worked his way out of his chains, she would forever be a slave to the whims of courts and khans, a bauble to be toyed with. Her personification was worth more than her person, which was incidental. 'Your highness...' I said, whelmed with pity, and attempted to bow, but she placed her hand lightly on my shoulder and I froze, as if entranced.

'I have a name, and it is Leannan,' she said imploringly, 'I shall have the rest of my life to bear my cursed title, allow me this time to merely be Leannan."

Gazing into the depths of her fathomless eyes, I dumbly nodded. Would that it were she was only a woman and not a princess! I thought. For even then, Leannan held me in thrall. I had met her but once and I knew. Leaving the grandly austere tomb, we strolled about the park that surrounded the Sepulchre, and spoke of many things. Leannan was well-read, indeed wise beyond her years, and far more perceptive than her court officials. Had circumstances been different she might have been a poet of some note, or a scholar hermited away -- unmindful of her beauty or former position -- and had been happier with her lot. And so I encouraged the voice of the poet from within and ignored the troubled princess from without, and we sat beneath the scented shade of a blooming magnolia as she recounted the history of Tsin-Quinqan.