Ibryen [A sequel to the Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  'Still, hunger will sharpen your awareness.'

  'And you are strong. Your body will sustain you well enough until you've grown accustomed to your new life. You may rise and look on us.'

  Jeyan was released. Slowly she stood up. Part of her wanted to seize the glass she had just been holding, and slash it across the throats of her two tormentors, but memories of the speed and strength of the Gevethen's servants held her in check. Whatever grim game was being played here, a reckless display like that could bring it to a premature end.

  She raised her head and met their gaze. The many Gevethen stared back. Abruptly, and without any signal being given that she could perceive, the mirror-bearers were moving frantically. The crowd milled and jostled as if exchanging views about what they had just seen. Red lips opened and closed silently, white hands fluttered like trapped doves. Then there was stillness again.

  'You have such rage in you, Jeyan Dyalith ...'

  '... Jeyan Dyalith.'

  'Soon you will be able to give it full rein against those who brought your beloved country to this pitch.'

  Jeyan clenched her fists and tried to keep all emotion from her face. They were laughing at her, mocking her. She would give them nothing. Nothing! She would be as stone-faced as their precious servants.

  A tremor of amusement passed through the watching eyes, then hands beckoned.

  'Darkness closes about the city. You must stand with us while we perform our Night Vigil.'

  'And be shown the Ways.'

  They turned and vanished as the mirror-bearers swirled down the steps and enclosed Jeyan as they had done on the journey from the dungeon. Once again she found herself in the train of the Gevethen. Now however, where there had been a straggling train of scarecrow attendants flanking her, there was line upon line of youthful Hagens, resplendent in formal attire. Unexpectedly, a hint of pride came into the lines as she drew herself up.

  * * * *

  Helsarn was pacing the floor outside the Watching Chamber.

  'Relax Commander,’ Gidlon said, smiling knowingly and laying heavy emphasis on Helsarn's new rank. ‘Waiting is something you have to become very good at in the service of their Excellencies. It's not given to us senior officers to be able to ease the burden of our tasks by riding out into the city and cracking a few heads.’ He gave Helsarn a slap on the back.

  There was enough force in it for Helsarn to feel the pent-up anger and frustration in the man. To receive promotion as he had was virtually unknown and would obviously add a wild, complicating factor to the general jockeying for position amongst the Guards that had started as soon as Hagen's death became common knowledge. What companies would Helsarn be given, now that the five commanders had become six? What status would he be given amongst the existing Commanders, for the corps of Commanders, though small, was responsible for administering the policies laid down by the Gevethen and wielded considerable power within the city. Most importantly, what ambitions did Helsarn have? For though internal squabbling occupied much of the Commanders’ time, they battled constantly too with their counterparts in the army with the intention of extending the limits of their authority ultimately to include them. It was no secret that the Gevethen's ambitions lay far beyond the control of Nesdiryn and, to those intimately acquainted with the way they worked, there was little doubt that they would meet with success in whatever venture they undertook. Their coming to power in Nesdiryn had been a leisurely affair, but their consolidation and expansion of it in the last few years had been breathtaking. It was only a matter of time before the Count, persistent irritant though he was, was destroyed, then eyes could be turned firmly outward from the mountains and there would be substantial prizes to be gained by whoever rose high in the command of what would surely be a greatly expanded military force.

  Helsarn's ambitions however, were not something to which any of them were privy. Progress through the ranks of the Guards was not made by publicly airing such matters, and Helsarn with his previous murky history in the Count's Guards was particularly tight-lipped. Gidlon for one had concluded that it would be foolish to make an enemy of him. He might be the most junior Commander, but he had found Hagen's assassin—a measure either of his ability or his luck, but not to be ignored, whichever it was—and he had been appointed by the Gevethen themselves. Perhaps that had been only a whim, but no one could read the actions of the Gevethen, and who could say what plans they had for him?

  Helsarn laid a hand heavily on Gidlon's shoulder in imitation of friendship. ‘I'm beginning to realize that,’ he said. ‘And I appreciate you staying with me on my first duty watch as Commander.'

  'Their Excellencies may well have ended their vigil and left the Watching Chamber,’ Gidlon said, testing the new Commander for his response.

  'They have,’ Helsarn replied, tightening his grip on the smaller man's shoulder. ‘They left by the Throne Door some time ago.'

  Servants running to curry favour with this new star that the Gevethen have hoisted into their constellation, Gidlon thought. Or have they been in his service all along? Perhaps he would be wiser to leave Helsarn to his watch and start questioning his own contacts amongst the servants.

  'They took the assassin with them,’ Helsarn added, after a significant pause. ‘She's currently in Lord Counsellor Hagen's quarters.'

  'She!’ Gidlon broke free from Helsarn's grip and turned to face him, his expression disbelieving.

  'She,’ confirmed Helsarn with some relish. ‘The Lord Counsellor was done to death by a woman—a slip of a girl almost.'

  Gidlon made no attempt to disguise his surprise. ‘But who?’ he managed after a while.

  Helsarn shrugged. ‘Some creature out of the Ennerhald. A wild creature, I might add. Hagen's not the only one she and her dogs killed.'

  Helsarn's pacing had carried them some way from the door to the Watching Chamber and the Guards. Unexpectedly, Gidlon smirked. ‘The puritanical old devil must have been prescient,’ he said, very softly. ‘No wonder he never went near women. He must've known one of them would be the end of him.’ He gave a brief, strangled chuckle then, as he turned Helsarn about and began strolling back to the door, his face became alarmed.

  'You left their Excellencies alone with an assassin?’ he exclaimed.

  'Their Excellencies ordered it,’ Helsarn replied, slightly unsettled by Gidlon's brief display of mirth. ‘Just like they ordered me to wait here. I doubt they're in any danger from her. She made a dash for it on the way up from the dungeons, but those mirror-bearers ...'

  'I know about the mirror-bearers,’ Gidlon interrupted uneasily. He gave a hasty disclaiming wave as if anxious to get away from the subject. ‘Well, if their Excellencies ordered you to wait, then wait you must. Many privileges come to a Commander, but disobeying orders isn't one of them.’ He laid a hand on Helsarn's arm, genuinely friendly this time. ‘It's nearly time for their Night Vigil, the normal duty Guards will take over then.’ His voice fell. ‘When you're free, come to my quarters. There's a lot we need to talk about.'

  The sound of a door closing echoed along the passage before Helsarn could reply. ‘They're coming back,’ he said, signalling quickly to the Guards who came immediately to attention.

  'I wonder what they've done to her,’ Gidlon said out of the corner of his mouth. The question had been occurring to Helsarn continually since the Gevethen and Jeyan had disappeared into the Watching Chamber, but he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the bend in the passage and remained silent.

  Then the passage was suddenly much longer and the Gevethen, surrounded by the fluttering attentions of the mirror-bearers, were approaching along its narrow perspective. Slowly, Helsarn and Gidlon sank to their knees and lowered their heads. The procession halted as it drew alongside them.

  The two voices spoke. 'Commander Helsarn, you are one of the blessed few, for He has chosen to smile upon you. To you He gave the honour of seeking out and bringing forth our new Lord Counsellor.'

  Helsarn's mind raced. What were t
hey talking about? He resorted to a time-proven formula. ‘It is honour enough that I serve your Excellencies,’ he said.

  'Your humility becomes you, Commander, and your service is recognized, but know that we are all here to do only His will.'

  Helsarn's every instinct was to remain silent, but there was a quality in their voices that seemed to be demanding a reply. He resorted to the truth.

  'Forgive me, Excellencies. I'm just a simple soldier, I don't understand.'

  'Nor should you seek to, Commander. Obedience is all ...'

  '... Obedience is all.'

  'Remain here ...'

  '... Remain here.'

  'Commander Gidlon, dismiss these men. Commander Helsarn will guard our Vigil.'

  And they were gone.

  As the procession passed through the doors of the Watching Chamber, both Helsarn and Gidlon looked up. For an instant they saw a row of slim figures, each like a young Hagen, then the image was gone and they were looking at a wavering row of themselves receding into the distance, gaping.

  * * * *

  Jeyan cast about her. She had been too bewildered and frightened to pay any great heed to the Watching Chamber when she first entered, but now she must try to stay calm and look for doors, windows, anything that might prove useful should an opportunity for flight present itself. Despite the uncertain impression she had had of the place however, with its eerie lighting and innumerable shadows and reflections, it seemed to her that it was different now. Its intrinsic confusion was different though she could not have said in what way. Surely these precarious towers of mirrors could not have been moved? Nor the twisted lantern trees that seemed to be rooted deep into the floor? She tried to recall the Hall as it had been when it was the Count's Audience Chamber but she had only been there once or twice when she was young and the memories did not help. Nor was she given much time in which to make her survey, for the mirror-bearers were hustling her forward urgently, moving now to the left, to the right, turning about.

  Finally they stopped, somewhere near the middle of the Hall, Jeyan judged, looking up into the lantern-tinged gloom above. Nothing was to be gained by looking around, for the mirror-bearers were all about her, surrounding her with a bizarre assembly of the Gevethen and herself.

  The crowd stirred uneasily then parted. Two mirrors moved through the gap. They were larger than the largest of those carried by the mirror-bearers and were being held in such a way that they reflected only the high lanterns that lit the Chamber. It was as though night itself, black and starlit, was intruding into the gathering. Jeyan did not move, curiosity briefly setting aside the fear and anger that was sustaining her.

  The mirrors stopped in front of two of the many Gevethen and as their reflections appeared, so all the others slowly turned away and were gone. Jeyan screwed up her eyes. Was this the first time she had seen so few of her captors?

  All movement stopped, save for the two mirrors, which came together until they touched. The line of their joining, sharp and black, slowly shrank and disappeared.

  The two pairs of figures stood like a quartet of statues, staring fixedly at one another for what seemed to Jeyan to be an interminable time. Their stillness seeped into her and though her mind told her she might now be able to flee, she knew that her body would not respond.

  'Lord Counsellor.' The voices raked through her. She stepped forward, feeling peculiarly exposed without the crowd of her own likenesses to support her. Tentatively her reflection emerged from behind the two motionless images of the Gevethen. For a moment she faltered, as she saw again a youthful Hagen arising sternly out of the darkness to stand by the side of his masters. The figure grimaced at her as she forced the thought from her mind. She was who she was. The image of Hagen had been that of the uniform, not the face, but it had burned into her mind with such intensity as she had steeled herself for the assassination that she could not now easily dissociate the clothes from the wearer.

  The Gevethen moved apart and motioned her forward so that she stood between and slightly in front of them. Hands touched the broken rings which hung about the Gevethen's necks then floated up to come to rest on Jeyan's shoulders. There was a fearful symmetry about the three figures that stood in front of her. Though she could not see it, she sensed that the edge of the two mirrors passed vertically through her image and a momentary panic ran through her that should the mirrors move apart, she would be split in two.

  There was another long silence, then, 'What do you see, Lord Counsellor?'

  The young Hagen swallowed. Its throat was dry.

  'I see reflections of myself and your Excellencies,’ Jeyan replied. ‘And the lights behind.'

  'Reflections.'

  'Ah!'

  The Gevethen moved forward, easing Jeyan ahead of them until she was so close to her reflection that she could see little more than its eyes. Still she could see no sign of the line where the two mirrors joined and, still with her, was the fear of what would happen if they moved apart. Warm breath struck her face. It must be her own, she reasoned, standing so close to the mirror. But there was not even a hint of mistiness on the smooth surface. There was only Jeyan, staring at herself.

  'What do you see, Lord Counsellor?' The question came again.

  Despite her every endeavour, Jeyan began to tremble again. The hands tightened about her shoulders, coldly supporting her. The trembling ceased. ‘I see myself, Excellencies,’ she managed to say. ‘My reflection.'

  'But which is yourself and which the reflection, Lord Counsellor?'

  'I don't understand, Excellencies.'

  'Close your eyes, child.'

  'But ...'

  'Close your eyes.'

  Briefly the idea of struggling free returned to her, but the hands on her shoulders forbade all movement. She closed her eyes.

  Alone in the darkness she braced herself for some awful impact—some punishment at last for what she had done—some pain, some torment. But nothing happened. There was only the weight of the hands on her shoulders and the warm breath striking her face, a little more frequently now.

  Her ears began to fill with the sound of her breathing. The pressure on her shoulders began to pulse to its hastening rhythm. Then, before she realized what was happening, she was being moved forward.

  A soft hissing filled the Watching Chamber, like the release of a long-held breath, as the mirror-bearers moved forward to form a protective circle about the two mirrors made one. None gazed into it, but had they done so they would have seen the reflections of the Hall's many lanterns and, faintly, fading like ripples in water, the retreating backs of the Gevethen and their new Lord Counsellor.

  * * *

  Chapter 20

  'That way.'

  There was urgency in Ibryen's voice and, without reference to his companions, he set off up the hill. Rachyl and the Traveller watched him for a moment, then, when it seemed he had no intention of slowing down, they hurried after him.

  'What's the matter? Where are you going?’ Rachyl asked when she finally caught up with him.

  'This way,’ Ibryen said, pointing, but not stopping.

  Rachyl frowned. ‘We can't go much further,’ she protested. ‘This ground's treacherous enough. There's no saying what it'll be like up there. And the light'll be gone soon. We should camp here. Tackle this fresh in the morning.'

  Ibryen did not reply. Rachyl looked at the Traveller. He in his turn looked at Ibryen.

  'What have you heard, Count?’ he asked.

  'I don't know,’ Ibryen replied edgily, still ploughing forward. ‘But something's changing. Something's ...’ He shook his head. ‘... either beginning or ending, I don't know. But we mustn't delay. We must ...'

  'Must what?’ Rachyl burst out, seizing his arm and forcing him to a halt. ‘Break our necks going headlong up this slope in the dark?’ She started to shout. ‘Not that we need anyone to break a neck—an ankle will do out here. And it'll be me who has to carry you back to camp. What in pity's name are you doing?' />
  For a moment, Ibryen seemed set to tear free from her grip and start off again, then he looked from Rachyl's angry face to the Traveller. ‘Can't you hear it?’ he asked, almost plaintively.

  The Traveller shook his head. ‘It's getting fainter and fainter. Whatever it is. It is this way, but I doubt I'd have found it so easily if you hadn't pointed it out.’ He gave Rachyl an apologetic glance. ‘Something is happening. I don't think we have time on our side.'

  'We don't have light on our side either,’ Rachyl announced, through clenched teeth. ‘Nor terrain.’ She took Ibryen's other arm and only just stopped herself from shaking him violently. Without releasing him, she paused to calm herself. ‘Listen, Cousin,’ she said eventually, and speaking with great deliberation. ‘I don't know what's driving you, but I trust you and I'll back you up, you know that. But unless you're absolutely sure a dangerous night scramble up this mountainside is going to give us a definite strategic advantage against the Gevethen, then we should camp here, now.'

  She spoke not as to her Liege Lord and Commander, but as to an obdurate child. Her manner reached Ibryen. He cast an anxious look up towards the darkening mountain then closed his eyes resignedly.

  'Yes,’ he said fretfully. ‘I suppose you're right.'

  'Suppose doesn't come into it,’ Rachyl retorted, her anger slipping through.

  The Traveller intervened. ‘That's settled then. Let's find somewhere to camp before it's completely dark.’ He did not wait for any discussion but motioned his companions away from the broken edge of the forest. Ibryen moved after him and Rachyl followed, watching Ibryen warily.

  Within minutes the Traveller had found a small clearing and was busy lighting a fire. It flared up quickly and, with much noisy crackling, shrank the world to a flickering dome. The Traveller produced a pan from somewhere and was soon heating up a stew made out of the remains of the rabbit, some of the tubers on which they had breakfasted, and a variety of odds and ends that he had collected during their journey that day. The savoury smell that filled the firelit clearing took all minds away from their immediate concerns.