by Roger Taylor
Senses heightened by terror, Jeyan caught the change and, like a desperate animal, suddenly hurled herself at one of the mirrors. As she touched it, it turned to one side and she passed by it only to run headlong into the wall of the passage. The impact sent her staggering backwards and the mirrors folded back around her as she tumbled to the floor. The ceiling became a panoply of struggling scarecrow bodies hovering over her. Slowly they began to descend, threatening to bury her. As she raised her arms to protect herself so they all reached down to her.
Then, white floating hands were gliding amongst the flock and it was dispersed. The tattered army groped to its knees.
'There are many ways in which you can be bound, child.'
'Always there is choice.'
'But there is no way in which you may be free of us.'
'You are one of us.'
'We are your future.'
'We are the future.'
Though no signal was apparently given, the scarecrow army vanished and Jeyan found herself in a gloomy corridor. Ragged shafts of daylight were fingering in through ill-closed shutters and curtains, but they illuminated little, and merely served to dim the few lanterns that were lit. In two lines on either side of her the mirror-bearers stood, stone-faced and motionless, eyes on some unknown distance and the tools of their mysterious art turned about and stood in front of them like shields. Save for three of them, so that as Jeyan oriented herself she was watched by four Gevethen. Hunching forward and peering at them blearily, she forced herself to stand.
A riot of thoughts rushed into her mind simultaneously, paralysing her. She must attack them now, do what hurt she could. She must flee while these bizarre bodyguards were frozen in ceremony. She must stay and plead a case—deny everything—how could a mere girl have killed the great Lord Counsellor Hagen? She must admit the deed and beg for mercy. The Gevethen were speaking.
'How long will your future be...?'
'... your future be?'
'How long will it seem...?'
'... will it seem?'
'Questions for you alone ...'
'... alone.'
'Ponder well.'
'Always there is choice.'
They turned away.
And the escorting army was back, waiting only her will to march forward again. Though the Gevethen's echoing words had been spoken flatly, without emphasis, there was a terrible menacing finality in them.
Always there is choice.
How long will your future be?
How long will it seem?
The fear inside her became icy. Brittle shards of rational thought began to form in the stillness.
She could not hope to escape from this place by some mindless dash. Whatever these creatures were who served the Gevethen so strangely, they moved very quickly. There had been only the slightest contact with the mirror she had charged at before it had twisted away from her. And even if she evaded them, how could she hope to escape from the Citadel, a building she had only been in on a few ceremonial occasions long ago? She had no idea where she was. She was trapped in the enemy's lair—at its very heart.
The word changed its character even as she thought it. She was at the heart of all the ills that had happened to her: their heart.
The hatred within her rose to displace her fear for a moment. She must be like Assh and Frey—the thought hurt—she must be silent and endlessly patient. She stepped forward. Her scarecrow escort matched her stride.
* * * *
Jeyan's decision to abandon any reckless escape attempt was fortunate. Helsarn had been doubly shaken; first by the revelation that his captive was a woman and, secondly, that he had failed to discover it himself. It was only a matter of time before courtiers and advisers and, not least, army and Guard commanders, were milling about, seeking to glean to themselves some credit for the capture, and it was essential that he not only keep his name clearly before the Gevethen as the principal actor, but also ensure that no mockery or disdain could be linked with it. He had therefore taken vigorous action to divert attention away from any possible damage to his reputation. Jeyan's true captor, desperately weakened by loss of blood, had lapsed into unconsciousness as Helsarn's company had pursued their deliberately leisurely way back to the Citadel, and he had died during the night despite Physician Harik's best endeavours. As a sop to the army, Helsarn would give some credit to the man for his assistance in the capture.
Thus, though the Gevethen had given no specific commands after they led Jeyan away, Helsarn had taken Commanders’ powers to himself and quickly marshalled enough men to seal the immediate exits to the Citadel and all the corridors along and adjacent to the route which would carry the Gevethen back to the Watching Chamber. It was not a massive operation, but it was elaborate and detailed and proved to be an impressive and highly disruptive piece of impromptu organizing. It more than adequately served to stamp Helsarn's name firmly on the events of the day. Further, the levying of armed men to his back gave discreet notice to both his peers and his superiors that in the changes which must follow the death of Hagen, Helsarn was an individual determined to gain improvement—an individual better as an ally than a foe. Of course, Helsarn knew, there was always the possibility that this woman had had nothing to do with the killing of Hagen, or even the knife attack on the soldier, though he doubted it. He had felt the ferocity of her intent as she had swung on the rope that was strangling the man, and he had seen the difficulty his own men had had in overpowering her. A man who fought like that was bad enough, but a woman ...! He did not care to dwell on the matter. Nor did he concern himself too much with the possibility of Jeyan's innocence. The Gevethen seemed certain that she was the one who had murdered Hagen and that was sufficient. In any event, she was an extremely dangerous individual and was best out of the way. People like that always had to be dealt with sooner or later.
Thus, as Jeyan, hedged about by ephemeral and shifting images, made her unreal journey through the Citadel, she was shadowed by Helsarn and Vintre and various other of his more trusted men, all ready to offer far harder-edged restraints if need arose. As they neared the Watching Chamber, Helsarn took the risk of moving his group forward to walk alongside the mirror-bearers as a formal armed escort. When they reached it there were only the statue-like door Guards waiting.
Excellent, Helsarn thought. His late and wilfully unobtrusive arrival at the Citadel the previous night, coupled with the fortuitously early intervention of the Gevethen this morning had outflanked the Citadel's elaborate network of gossips and informers very effectively. He could almost hear the frenzied whispering hissing like a winter wind through the Citadel in the wake of the Gevethen's procession, and the clamour of frantic footsteps being drawn towards the Watching Chamber. Footsteps that would pace and tap anxiously as they ran into the cordon of Guards he had thrown around the Gevethen's progress. Now he and his men would be able to guard the door to the Watching Chamber. For a while at least, all would have to answer to him for access to Nesdiryn's Lords. He was careful however, to keep even the faintest hint of triumph from his face. The Gevethen appeared to be paying him no heed, but he knew from past experience that it would be a mistake to assume he was not being watched.
The doors opened like an expectant maw to reveal the gloomy interior of the Watching Chamber. The Gevethen turned to Helsarn. He dropped down on to one knee immediately, and lowered his head.
'Such happenings do not fall to chance. You find favour in His eyes,' they said, voices grating. 'And so you find favour in ours, Commander Helsarn.'
'I am nothing without your guidance and your grace, Excellencies,’ Helsarn managed to say, though he was scarcely able to contain his elation. Commander! Just like that! Plans for the future unfurled recklessly in front of him. He swept them aside. Now was not the time. That which had been bestowed with the merest word could be as easily removed. Now he must listen.
'We are in Vigil, Commander.'
The mirror-bearers closed about them and they were gone. As
Helsarn looked up, the doors of the Watching Chamber were softly closing. He had a momentary glimpse of Jeyan. Unexpectedly he felt a twinge of pity for the slight figure, trapped behind the mirrors and being swept into the darkness. He dared not even speculate on what fate was going to be meted out to her. His concern faded quickly however, turned to nothingness by the touch of his burning exhilaration.
As he stood up and straightened his tunic, Vintre appeared in front of him, saluting rigidly. ‘My congratulations on your promotion, Commander.'
Good, Vintre still had wit enough not to bring the familiarity of their long acquaintance to this scene. Helsarn returned the salute. ‘Thank you, Captain Vintre,’ he replied. He looked in turn at each of the others, still standing motionless. ‘All those who have helped in this will be duly noted in due course. Now we must guard their Excellencies against intrusion while they interrogate the prisoner.’ He nodded to Vintre. ‘Open the exits and corridors again. Tell the men what has happened and order them to return to their normal duties. I'll speak to them as soon as circumstances allow.’ As Vintre was leaving, Helsarn called him back. He allowed himself a smile. ‘And if anyone's hoping to see their Excellencies, tell them that they're in Vigil. All must wait.'
'Until?’ Vintre queried.
Helsarn shrugged his Commander's shoulders helplessly. ‘Until the Vigil's over,’ he replied.
Vintre paused before he left. ‘What about the purging?’ he asked.
'What about it?’ Helsarn retorted. ‘It'll have to continue until decreed otherwise. I doubt we'll be thanked for relaxing it just because the murderer's been caught. The people have to be shown the consequence of standing idly by while their Excellencies’ servants are brutally cut down.'
When Vintre had left, Helsarn stood his men at ease around the entrance to the Watching Chamber. He would have given a great deal to be away from there and somewhere where he could exult in private about his sudden advancement, but, he reflected, here he was still before the eyes of the Gevethen; here he stood, for the time being, between them and all others. And here he could think and plan quietly, free from the responsibilities of his normal duties and anxieties about who might be reaching their ear.
He did not have much time for reflection; very shortly, the sound of a characteristic footfall reached him along the sparsely lit corridor.
'Physician,’ he said, as Harik's tall lank form emerged from the gloom.
'Commander Helsarn, I understand,’ Harik replied with a cold politeness that turned the new rank into an insult. ‘I'm not amused by your Guards blocking half the corridors in the Citadel and keeping me from my duties.'
Helsarn became expansive. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I had to make a hasty decision. Their Excellencies were personally escorting Lord Hagen's murderer from the cells. A very dangerous person. I couldn't take any risks.'
Harik gave a non-committal grunt. ‘He's in there now, is he?'
'She is.'
'She?’ Harik started and his impassiveness wavered briefly. Helsarn enjoyed the effect and let it show in a smug smile. ‘Yes, she,’ he confirmed.
Harik recovered quickly, yet though his armour had closed about him again, he radiated concern. ‘What state is she in?’ he asked.
'Better than that soldier she knifed,’ Helsarn retorted as though he were punching the questioner.
'A little more dispatch in bringing him to me and he'd be alive now,’ Harik replied with the same force.
'Exigencies of the service, Physician,’ Helsarn said off-handedly. ‘If she hadn't cut halfway through his arm he'd be alive too.'
Harik's jaw tightened but he did not pursue the matter further. ‘I must see her right away,’ he said. ‘I'm not satisfied about ...'
'Prisoners aren't your concern, Physician,’ Helsarn said, not allowing him to finish. ‘Unless they have some form of contagious disease. You know that well enough. I'm surprised you should make such a request. This one's fit enough, rest assured. She and her dogs have left others dead in the Ennerhald by all accounts, and it took four of my men to restrain her.’ He leaned forward, his voice low and filled with a deliberate mixture of surprise and indignation. ‘She even tried to attack one of their Excellencies’ mirror-bearers as she was being escorted here.’ But this provoked no response, as Harik was fully in control of himself again. Helsarn straightened up. ‘Besides, their Excellencies are in Vigil. It's more than my life's worth to disturb them.'
Helsarn looked past the Physician, footsteps could be heard approaching. ‘Ah, more anxious petitioners doubtless,’ he said, then, with the polite urgency of someone with weightier matters pending, he concluded his conversation with a rhetorical, ‘Is there anything further I can do?'
Harik turned and left without comment. Helsarn laughed softly to himself as he watched the retreating form. It was rare indeed to see Harik's guard slip. This was proving to be a remarkable day. Then he signalled his men to line up across the corridor, and, lifting a finger to his mouth for silence, stepped forward to meet the advancing crowd.
* * * *
As the doors to the Watching Chamber silently closed, Jeyan's scarecrow army swung away on either side of her and evaporated into a tapering distance, leaving her alone, eyes blinking, as she tried to orient herself amid the confusion of lights and shadows and strange shapes. The Gevethen too, slipped into the distance, mirror-bearers silently moving about them, a strange soft-shelled tortoise of a creature shifting and changing as it slithered across the shining floor. Then there was a sudden flickering and they were gone. Jeyan swayed and reached out to steady herself against a mirror standing nearby. It was part of the bottom tier of a complicated tower of mirrors. To her horror, it swayed as she touched it and she snatched her hand away. A tremor passed through the entire edifice. There was a sound like that of a reluctant hinge echoing down a long passageway, and the hall became alive with dancing lights. Looking up instinctively, it seemed to Jeyan that the whole edifice was about to topple on to her, but it was merely an illusion caused by her leaning back too far and almost immediately she fell over.
As she scrambled to her feet, a figure, oddly mobile in the still-moving lights, loomed up in front of her. It reached out to her as she lifted a hand to defend herself then it retreated as she did. She snarled as she realized that it was only another mirror, but it was gone before she could gather her wits fully. It was replaced by two others. Jeyan spun round, looking to flee, but crouching, twisting forms were all about her except on one side. As she edged towards it, the corralling figures moved with her.
Then she was in front of the throne platform. Its curving sides drew her gaze upwards. From the top of it, a host of Gevethen looked down. They swayed hypnotically. Then they were beside her, their features and forms subtly twisted by the strange reflected journey that had brought them there.
'Child.'
The two voices grated through her.
'You have a name?'
She did not answer. The two figures looked at one another, red lips pouted in mocking sorrow.
'Do you think that our knowing your name will put you in our power, child?'
'Or that not knowing it will protect you?'
'Do you think we are magicians?'
'Conjurors and mountebanks?'
Regretful heads were shaken. 'A superstitious primitive. A simpleton. The great Lord Hagen has been destroyed by a simpleton.'
'It does not seem possible.'
'But it is so. The scent of his dying is all about her. What could he have thought, our proud Lord Counsellor, to find himself impaled on the cruel thorns of this sapling from the Ennerhald?'
'This ragged simpleton.'
'With no name.'
'What could he have thought?'
'He was surprised. He was irritated like a peevish child.’ The words, sneering and venomous, spat out of Jeyan, driven by an anger goaded beyond restraint by the nerve-jangling tones of the Gevethen. ‘He could not believe what was happening even as I killed him.'<
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'Ah!'
'And my name is Jeyan. Jeyan Dyalith.'
'Ah.'
'The child of the traitor.'
'No!'
'A tainted line. We were right to expunge it.'
'To root it out.'
'To lop it off.'
'Tainted.'
'No!’ Jeyan screamed and swung the edge of her fist at the nearest moon-faced image. On the instant it was gone and her fist struck only the fist of her own reflection. The impact made her recoil violently. Then the mirrors were all about her and she was staggering to and fro, lashing out wildly, a jerking hobby-horse leading her own wild scarecrow round dance. Someone, somewhere, was clapping out a beat for the buffeting mirrors.
Abruptly, and without signal, it was over. Jeyan slumped to her knees. Aisle upon devout aisle of kneeling figures appeared beside her. But still she was filled with a rage sufficient to hold her terror at bay. ‘Come within arm's reach and I'll surprise you too,’ she snarled.
'Would you?'
The pallid faces and floating hands were beside her again, though the voices still came from the swaying figures above. Nevertheless, their sudden reappearance and an oddly plaintive note in the voices, shook Jeyan. As she struggled to rein in her passion, her mind began to race. She must escape this place. But the problem was the same as it had been before. Even if she could escape this room, how could she escape the Citadel? And, in any event, how could she escape this room? These mirror-bearers moved with uncanny and alarming speed. And, incongruously, she did not even know where the door was.
'Excellencies, forgive me,’ she heard herself pleading. ‘I've been so long in the Ennerhald. And so alone. A madness must have seized me. A madness that required the payment of blood debt for the murder of my parents by Lord Hagen.'
'Blood debt!'
The tone was awful. Jeyan cowered, truly fearful now.
'You do not know the meaning of the words, child.'
'When He comes to collect His blood debt, then you will know.'