by Martin Ash
*
The day passed and neither Sermilio nor anyone claiming to represent him made an appearance.
That night I had a strange dream. I found myself in an unfamiliar place, yet one in which I felt, inexplicably, I had been before. It was a place imbued with a feeling of the unnatural, of extraordinary magic, of a reality which manifested in ways ungrasped by the minds of mortals.
All was silent there; nothing moved. I stood upon a flat area of baked yellowish mud, and a road stretched away before me. A little way off, beside the road, was a building. It appeared to be a temple of some kind, its interior open to the skies. Its frontage was characterized by seven tall, ornately carved pillars set at the head of wide stone steps.
I turned my face upwards to gaze upon a sky that was startlingly black. Not the black of night but blackness of another quality. It made me feel that I had never known black before.
But there was illumination, though I could identify no source. Everything stood out with exaggerated, hallucinatory clarity. In the stillness and the silence I feared it might all vanish before my eyes. That fear, a sense of the loss I would suffer, struck me more deeply than I could explain.
I looked at the temple again. A man now stood upon the steps; I was certain he had not been there a moment ago. He wore grey - a tunic, close-fitting hose, soft ankle-boots and a hood - and his posture was extraordinary. He rested motionless upon one foot, the other raised and supported lightly against the upright knee, the leg crooked. His arms were lifted above and before him, the fingertips touching as if in supplication, or perhaps celebration. His head was cocked to one side and slightly upturned. I could make out little of his face, but his gaze seemed to be upon something distant, overhead, perhaps within his own mind, and his shadow was long and slender, draped darkly across the steps at his back.
I stepped down on to the road, thinking to approach the man. (Only now did I realize that I had been positioned upon a low stone plinth or platform.) Somewhere a baby cried, breaking the strange silence. The sound seeming to breathe life into the eerie tableau. Small gusts of wind whipped up dust on the road. I heard the soft patter of tiny particles of grit blown against the stone. The baby cried: I heard a voice, so sweet, as the mother sang. From high above there came the sound of bells.
The man on the steps moved, slowly lowering his upraised leg and arms and rotating his head and body to face me. I turned away. I was weeping — I did not know why. The road stretched before me and I stepped out, one foot, slowly, then the other, so heavy, my body, the burden. I barely moved. I looked back: the man had gone. All was silence again but for the wind. I was alone.
Ahead of me, beside the road, there stood a strange figure silhouetted against an ocean gilded with the fabulous hues of sunset. The figure’s back was to me. I approached, infinitely slowly, hampered by the drag of unfamiliar flesh. The figure was clearly visible, yet it seemed a lifetime, an eternity, before I reached his side.
He was a young man, garbed in a loose white kirtle and blouson with a fine golden cincture binding his waist, from which hung a short sword with a bright blade so slim as to be hardly more than a stiletto. From his back there sprouted a pair of magnificent wings, huge and gleaming - even folded - their plumage a lustrous black banded with deep red. I moved around him so that I might see his features. He was gazing on the sunset with a rapt expression, and he turned slowly to face me. He looked at me for a long time, then smiled. ‘You have come.’
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘What have I come for? What does this all mean?’
‘You do not know?’
I shook my head. ‘It’s as if... if I could just. . .’ I fell silent, for there were no words.
He turned slightly, pointing down the road. The breeze whispered through the feathers of his resplendent wings.
‘Go to the well,’ he said.
There were other buildings before me now - a cluster of small houses, another temple-like structure - all supported by the yellowish dust suspended within the embracing black. The winged youth spoke in my ear. ‘From the well all things come. Out of the well comes the known.’
He stepped back and spread his wings wide and rose from the ground. ‘We need you,’ he said, and rose higher and higher to become an oddly familiar form against the sky, then a dot, then nothing.
I gazed upon the sunset, filled with a feeling I had never known before. If only... if I could just grasp it, find a way through... through the intensity of feeling, the distraction, understand the meaning of it all... I tore my eyes away, my face wet with tears.
I was among the buildings. A narrow grassy path led off down a gentle incline, and at its foot was a well surmounted by a low circular stone wall. I approached it slowly, with trepidation, but no longer hampered by the heaviness of before.
A line of dark trees stood nearby, bending and shaking in the breeze. I laid my hands on the warm stone of the well’s wall and inclined by body forward to peer into the hollow depths.
Utter dark. Then I heard a fluttering sound far below, a faint echo, the rustle of feathery wings, a splash of water. My heart pounded in my chest. I was afraid. Something was in there that I did not want to have to face. I heard screams, then saw - or thought I saw - a staggering figure, drenched in blood. Others came behind, likewise bloodied, clutching their heads, moaning and wailing in distress.
Then the vision ended. The baby cried again. I cried out, something wordless, an expression of what I could not express. The bells rang, resonant and profound. And the mother sang, and her voice was the sweetest sound I had ever heard. Tears streamed from my eyes and fell glistening into the warm blackness of the well.
Behind me I heard the beat of powerful wings. A rush of air stirred my hair and clothing as the winged youth alighted beside me. His beautiful face was contorted with anguish.
‘Save us!’ he cried, imploring, and fell back as though struck by something unseen.
I stared at his body, the wings draped wide upon the ground. ‘What has happened?’
I awoke then, weeping. My pillow was wet with tears, and for a long time, as the grey light of dawn seeped slowly through the shutters of my room, I was too overcome to move.
Not for some while would I understand anything of the true significance of that dream.
Four
My visit to Castle Beliss bore no great fruit, though something which would later prove to be of relevance did come to light.
I rode there with Bris and another good fellow, Cloverron. The day was bright, if chill, and our journey uneventful. We arrived a little before midday.
Lord Mintral received me cordially in his private apartments. ‘The hospitality of my house is yours. Please avail yourself fully of anything you require. How long will you rest here? Shall I have rooms prepared?’
‘You are kind, my lord, but that will not be necessary. I am returning to Hon-Hiaita this afternoon.’
‘Then you will take luncheon with us?’
‘That would be most agreeable.’
Mintral was in his early thirties, of about average height and with a build tending to slight underweight. His pale brown hair, parted at the centre, fell to his collar and was bound by a slender circlet of gold. His face was rather long and oval in form, with a prominent nose and eyes of deep blue. Drooping eyebrows, pendent moustaches and darkly sagging crescents beneath the eyes gave him a somewhat mournful look. He had elected to follow scholarly pursuits rather than a purely military career, and had acquired an impressive collection of rare books. By all accounts he passed much of his time locked in his library at Castle Beliss, engaged in silent discourse with philosophers, artists, poets, historians and others, the topics roaming over present and past, far and wide. I wondered that Mintral had never entered the Zan-Chassin; he seemed to me an ideal candidate. Perhaps he had, and had for some reason been found unsuitable - I did not enquire.
His love of academic knowledge notwithstanding, Mintral commanded loyal and disciplined troops. He pledged his unri
valled allegiance to the Khimmurian throne and had in the past proved himself a more than capable commander.
He was elegantly and a touch flamboyantly attired in a long, richly textured robe of dark blue velvet with flared and scalloped sleeves hemmed in gold satin. It had not been purchased from me, I noted. His fingers were adorned with a number of gold and silver rings studded with precious stones, and soft boots of blue calf’s leather covered his feet.
Though his manner was welcoming he seemed just a little wary - a not uncommon response from one visited with little warning by an initiate of the Zan-Chassin. He showed me to a chair set before a blazing log fire which warded off the spring chill penetrating the ancient stones of Castle Beliss. As he seated himself opposite me I said, ‘You show no great surprise, Lord Mintral, at receiving into your presence one whom you believed to be gone from this world.’
Mintral produced a wry smile. ‘Ha! Well, I was informed yesterday of your coming. The message came from the highest level of the Hierarchy, and stated that you wished to interview me. I took it as given that I was not to be interviewed by a corpse. Might I add, Dinbig, how pleased I am to discover you alive and well and apparently - ahem! - in one piece. But how in Moban’s name did you escape?’
‘I didn’t.’
He appeared nonplussed. ‘Then, what—?’
‘I was never there,’ I said testily. These endless references to my having been in Anxau, deriving from so many sources, were rapidly becoming tiresome.
Mintral eyed me narrowly.
‘Lord Mintral,’ I said, ‘would you be good enough to repeat to me exactly what you heard in regard to myself and my so-called misadventures abroad?’
‘Of course.’
His account of the indignities served upon me by Feikermun and his beasts accorded more or less accurately with Lady Celice’s version.
‘And the stated crime that I had committed?’ I enquired when he had done.
‘That you had unwisely bedded one of Feikermun’s concubines.’
‘And from whom did you hear this?’
‘The news was brought to me in the first instance by my head steward. He had received it from a trader who was passing through here and had stopped to sell a few items. I immediately went down to speak to the trader and get the details from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.’
‘I see. And this fellow related to you the tale of my misfortunes as you have just recounted them.’
‘Precisely. And I would add that his account was convincing. He claimed to have been present in Dhaout when the word went out that you were wanted, and to have seen you subsequent to your arrest, bruised and bloodied, being led by those monstrous thugs of Feikermun of Selph. Plainly, I must now conclude, he was a low fellow intent upon spreading malicious gossip.’
‘Yes, plainly.’ Lord Mintral had obviously heard nothing of my double, and I thought it expedient to remain silent on that subject.
‘I apologize most profusely, Dinbig. It shames me to learn that I have been nothing more than a propagator of scurrilous rumour. However, I would add that the same news was brought to me quite soon afterwards by others, coming out of Kutc’p. They had heard it in Riverway, and seemed equally persuaded of its veracity.’
I gave this thought for a moment. ‘This trader who brought the news initially, Lord Mintral: do you recall his name?’
Lord Mintral closed his eyes briefly. ‘Aah, no. It escapes me. Harand is sure to know it, though.’
He stood and pulled upon a blue tasselled cord suspended beside the hearth. Presently there was a knock at the door and a tall, somewhat aged fellow with long dark grey hair entered.
‘Harand, my chief steward,’ declared Mintral, and turned to the man. ‘Harand, what was the name of that sly merchant who passed through here some days ago, bringing the tragic but bogus news of Master Dinbig’s death?’
‘Wirm, sir,’ replied Harand without hesitation. ‘Wirm of Guling Mire.’
‘Are you quite sure of that?’ I asked.
Harand levelled a haughty glance at me. ‘Quite, sir.’
‘Does the name have some relevance to you?’ enquired Lord
Mintral.
‘No, not especially, though I have heard it before.’
In fact Master Wirm of Guling Mire was known to me. He was a specialist merchant - the speciality being Twiner-meat, which he farmed. Like any trader of reasonable acumen, of course, he was willing to deal in diverse goods providing they brought him a profit. He was a man of questionable integrity with, from what I had heard, a background that spoke of achievement by sometimes underhand means. Most significantly in the fog of my present situation, Wirm of Guling Mire was the man who had sold me the chunk of green-tinged amber that currently adorned the workdesk in my study in Hon-Hiaita.
Mintral dismissed his head steward. I gathered my thoughts and said to him, ‘Having gained this news about me, you brought it straightway to Hon-Hiaita. Is that so?’
‘I happened to have urgent business with one of my tenant-farmers the following day at Little Nestor. As the village is only a few miles from the capital I took the opportunity to go there and report the news. This was, mmh, just four days ago, I believe. You were absent, which though not unusual seemed ominous under the circumstances. My time was limited, so I left a sealed letter at the palace.’
‘Did you speak of it with anyone else?’
‘Mmh... I had occasion to pay a brief call upon Lady Celice. She had just returned to Cheuvra from a sojourn in Surla. I mentioned it to her. She seemed rather upset.’
‘I heard that you had called’ - not for the first time, I wondered about the nature of Mintral’s business with the Orl’s beautiful wife - ‘yet I was not told about your letter.’
‘You were not? Well, one assumes that the palace was better-informed than I in regard to your immediate state of health, and thus took scant heed of my words.’
It was a reasonable enough explanation. I had learned a little, but not enough to shed any positive light on the mystery. I dined, then, with Lord Mintral and his family, and afterwards returned to Hon-Hiaita.
Dusk was closing in by the time we arrived; the hills deeply blue, the evening sky a tarnished silver-grey lit with pale colour in the low west. As we rode up Water Street towards the Sharmanian Gate, the sea had merged with the sky to become a void at the city’s back; the River Huss beside the meadows glowed with a dim phosphorescence.
The night guard was taking up its post as we rode through the gate and entered the town. I dismissed Cloverron but had Bris accompany me to my home. During the day I had given additional thought to the nature of the disguise I would adopt and the manner of my journey to Dhaout. I had decided upon a compromise. Bris, and Bris alone, would accompany me as far as Riverway in Kutc’p. But he would not know that it was I who rode at his side. By means of this simple subterfuge I could thoroughly test the effectiveness of my disguise.
At Riverway I would leave Bris, who would make his own way home. I would hire an escort of perhaps two or three men to take me the remainder of my journey to Dhaout. These need not be total strangers. At Riverway’s main inn, The Goat and Salmon Pool, there would likely be men willing for a fair salary to throw in their lot with a traveller. I had passed through there enough times to know faces and reputations, at least to some degree. All things considered, this seemed the most acceptable option.
‘Some time within the next couple of days you will be sent for,’ I told Bris. ‘A messenger will come to you asking you to meet a man who requires a strong and reliable fellow to accompany him into Kutc’p. He is a person well known to me — indeed, he is very dear to me. He asked for my recommendation in regard to a trustworthy companion to ride as his escort. I had no hesitation in giving him your name. He will treat you well and pay you generously. Does the commission interest you? It will take only a few days.’
‘It does, Master Dinbig. But what of my work here?’
‘As I said, this man is a close friend. I am h
appy to give you leave to accompany him.’
‘You are kind, sir. What is his name?’
‘He will tell you that when he sends for you, if he so chooses. Do not be offended if he speaks little to you. He is a taciturn fellow, and suffers moreover from a painful scourge of the throat.’
This last I added as a precaution. My physical features I might well alter so that Bris would not know me, but it would not be as easy to disguise my voice. Silence would be a great virtue.
‘When he dismisses you, return immediately to Hon-Hiaita. I wish you to take charge, with Minyon, of matters here, as I shall be taken up with other business pursuits for some time.’
‘Do you not need me with you?’