by Roger Taylor
Jeyan looked down at the prisoner; his battered face was a mixture of anger and fear which gave it a sulky appearance. His manner invoked no sympathy. The man shouldn't have got himself in this predicament. Her mind was racing. What was she being asked? She knew nothing of such proceedings, still less what she was doing here. What grotesque farce was being played out as part of her punishment?
'He betrayed the usurper Count.'
'Now he betrays us.'
'He is on the verge of betraying those same neighbours and friends whose goodwill he just referred us to.'
'What is the worth of such?'
'He and his kind betrayed your father.'
'Sentenced you to the Ennerhald.'
'Denied you your place at our side.'
'Should not the stable be cleansed, Lord Counsellor?'
'Made pure?'
The disdain in their voices chimed with the contempt that, despite her own fear and confusion, was still dominating her thoughts. They were right, she knew. It was the likes of the man before her who had rallied fearfully behind the Gevethen when they had seized power. Had they shown some spirit, some determination, some loyalty to the Count, then perhaps the Gevethen's coup would have foundered. But they hadn't. They had run before the sight of the disloyal Guards, then they had bent the knee, and the Gevethen, having once taken hold, assiduously tightened their grip daily.
What did it matter if this wretch was disposed of? Left to linger in a dungeon somewhere. He was not the first, nor would he be the last, whether she was there, masquerading as Lord Counsellor, or not. The thought of the death pits passed suddenly through her mind, but she turned away from it. It wasn't relevant. Whatever she said, this man had done nothing that would warrant execution, surely?
Her thoughts hardened and her contempt for the prisoner merged into that which she had for the Gevethen. Whatever else happened, she must keep the privileged position that they in their arrogance, or folly, or rank madness, had thrust her into. Sooner or later, an opportunity would present itself for her to destroy them.
The Gevethen were leaning towards her, staring intently. Once again their words returned to Jeyan. 'As you judge, so shall you be judged.'
'What is your will, Lord Counsellor...?'
'... Lord Counsellor?'
Jeyan hesitated, uncertain what she should say, then, almost as if someone else were speaking, she said coldly, ‘Betrayal cannot go unpunished, Excellencies. Nor can defiance.'
'Ah!'
The two moon faces swam away from her as the Gevethen sat back in their chairs again.
'Guilty,' they said. 'Send him to the Questioners to discover the extent of his betrayal then bring him before us again.'
Jeyan felt a coldness inside her at the word, ‘Questioners', but she steeled herself. The Gevethen would do what they wanted to do and nothing she said or did would make any difference except to cost her her new-found advantage.
The two Guards closed about the man and marched him away. Just as they passed out of sight, Jeyan saw him stumble and to the sound of the marching was added that of feet being dragged over the close-timbered floor. She closed her ears to it.
* * * *
Several hours later, Jeyan was back in her room sitting dully in front of a lavishly spread table. The Gevethen had accompanied her there in a formal train.
'You have learned much, Lord Counsellor.'
'You will be a worthy successor.'
'Eat.'
'Rest.'
'More are to be judged tomorrow.'
As she sat motionless, the happenings of the day passed relentlessly through her mind, over and over. An endless line of prisoners paraded before her. She could feel their eyes on her still: expectant, contemptuous, angry, a few full of hatred, most full of fear. As for her own part in the proceedings, she was still no wiser. There had been some sadistic toying with each prisoner by the Gevethen, ably assisted by the clerks and the Guards, then she had been turned to for 'her will'. Each time she had intoned to herself, ‘As you judge, so shall you be judged,’ and then uttered the condemnation that she knew was expected. And each time the Gevethen had passed sentence as though they had been enlightened by her in some way.
Alone in the silence of her room, other thoughts came to trouble her, for, more than once that day, she had found herself enjoying the tormenting of the prisoners, enjoying the revenge she was taking on the people who had betrayed her and her family and the old Nesdiryn, and who now found the new Nesdiryn betraying them in their turn. She could not avoid relishing the idea that from where she now was, vengeance could be taken on more than the Gevethen.
Nevertheless, though she drank a little water, she ate nothing and she spent a restless night.
The following day was no different, though this time several of the prisoners had been to the Questioners and were being returned for sentencing. They were in an appalling physical condition and Jeyan wilfully gazed past many of them rather than risk meeting their gaze. Each one however, freely admitted a raft of crimes against the Gevethen and bowed when they were sentenced.
It came to Jeyan during that second day that whatever else they were doing, the Gevethen were showing her one of her own possible destinies. It strengthened her resolve to retain her present position at any cost.
That night she ate, and she slept more quietly.
* * * *
It was before dawn when she was awakened. The servants were moving about the room with unusual urgency and she was dressed before she was fully awake.
'What's happening?’ she managed to ask eventually.
Even as she asked the question however, the Gevethen were in the room. Though their round, pale faces were expressionless, there was an agitation about them that she had not seen before, and indeed, the mirror-bearers were transforming them into a trembling crowd.
Fearfully she dropped on to one knee and bowed her head.
'Lord Counsellor, you have judged well ...'
'... judged well.'
'But there is a lack.'
'A vision is missing.'
'Hagen has not taught you well enough.'
Memories returned of falling through the darkness with Hagen's spirit all about her. But what were they talking about? Though Hagen's presence had undeniably been there, he had communicated nothing to her. He had simply been there.
And so too, in whatever passed for distance in that strange world, had been Assh and Frey—hunting. Though she could not understand what had happened, the idea began to form that in some way the Gevethen's intentions in taking her into the world beyond had been thwarted, and they were not aware of it.
Not yet! The realization brought her fully awake. ‘Excellencies, have I failed you?’ she asked. ‘My wish is only to serve.'
There was an agonizing pause during which Jeyan saw herself being dragged to the Questioners and returning to confess in the Judgement Hall, looking up at the Gevethen and admitting to any crimes that were put to her.
'Hagen must complete his work. We will hold Vigil, now. Come, rise.'
As Jeyan stood, the Gevethen moved to her side, and the two large mirrors came together in front of her.
* * *
Chapter 25
'What do you mean, gone?’ Ibryen growled bad-temperedly as he pushed the Traveller's hand away and made to roll over.
'Gone, as in, not here any more, left, departed,’ the Traveller retorted, scarcely more sweetly. The words shook Ibryen fully conscious. As he reluctantly disentangled himself from his blanket the faint light enabled him to see the Traveller trying to waken Rachyl. This proved to be only marginally less hazardous than waking Ibryen for, with a throaty chuckle, she rolled over and, seizing him with a powerfully affectionate arm, pinned him down by her side.
It took him some effort to free himself, during which time Rachyl came to full and dangerously indignant wakefulness. Holding her at arm's length he blurted out his news very quickly.
Then, with the aid of a lantern, the
three of them were examining where the Dryenwr had lain and speculating as to why he had chosen to leave silently.
'It'll be for some honourable reason,’ the Traveller told them. ‘He's Warrior Caste, and a Soarer.'
'He's also in a world he knows nothing about,’ Ibryen said. ‘Warrior or not, honourable or not, he'll not survive long without our help. We must find him.'
The Traveller agreed. Rachyl, stretching and rubbing her eyes, looked up at the sky. ‘We might as well wait until the light's better,’ she said. ‘The terrain's difficult for him. He won't have gone very far.'
Though it was the correct decision, neither Ibryen nor the Traveller found the waiting particularly easy.
'Sit down, the pair of you,’ Rachyl ordered eventually. ‘Pacing about like that you'll destroy whatever tracks he's left.’ She looked pointedly at the Traveller and flicked her ears. ‘Wouldn't you be better employed listening for him?'
'I've done that,’ he said testily. ‘There's nothing to be heard.'
'Which means?’ Ibryen asked.
The Traveller thought for a moment, then frowned. ‘Which means he's either a long way away or ...'
'He's not moving.’ Rachyl finished his reply. She levered herself to her feet and swore. ‘I knew I'd end up carrying someone back off this trip. Well, poor light or not, we'd better start looking for him. You two stay where you are until I pick up his track. Pass me the lantern.'
'I'm not exactly without experience in tracking, you know,’ Ibryen said, mildly irritated by Rachyl's manner.
'True, but you're not as good as I am, and you're still half-asleep or you wouldn't be debating the point with me,’ Rachyl replied brutally as she began slowly and steadily circling the place where Isgyrn had slept. ‘Here,’ she said after a little while, though her face was puzzled. ‘He seems to be very light on his feet for someone his size.’ Then she shrugged and became practical. ‘It looks as though he's gone uphill. We might as well break camp, take everything with us. I'll go first. Ibryen, will you keep close behind and confirm sign with me? I don't want to go lumbering past anything.'
'I'll stay at the back and keep listening,’ the Traveller said, anticipating his orders.
Progress was very slow at first, Rachyl moving with great caution in the poor light. As the sky brightened, they began to move more quickly.
'At least he's made no attempt to disguise his tracks,’ Rachyl said.
'I doubt he'd know how to down here,’ Ibryen replied. ‘It must be as strange for him as being underwater would be for us.'
'I told you. He's not gone for any dishonourable reason. It wouldn't occur to him to hide,’ the Traveller said. ‘He probably thinks he's a burden to us. Being independent and self-sufficient is important to the Dryenvolk.'
Isgyrn's trail led them steadily upwards through the forest and they pressed on in silence for some time. It was fully daylight when they came to the upper edge of the forest, but the sky was grey and overcast and threatening rain. Rachyl stopped and looked at the Traveller expectantly. He shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Wherever he is, he isn't moving.'
Rachyl grimaced. ‘His tracks are faint enough here,’ she said. ‘Once we get to the rocks it's going to be really hard to find them. Not to say impossible.’ She cast a sour look upwards. ‘And if it starts to rain ...’ She left the conclusion unspoken. They set off again.
After a while they left the forest completely and all sign of the Dryenwr's tracks disappeared as they found themselves facing sheets of tumbled boulders and the choice of routes they had faced two days previously—a mountain on either side. The Traveller was about to speak when Rachyl raised a hand for silence. Ibryen nodded a confirmation to him. Rachyl stood for a long time, slowly looking from side to side, like an animal wary of a hiding predator. It started to rain, but still Rachyl did not move. Then she pointed. ‘This way, I think,’ she said. The Traveller looked at Ibryen for an explanation but received none.
A few minutes later Rachyl, with a combination of triumph and relief; showed them a small skid-mark in the moss lining a boulder. ‘He's heading back up towards where we found him,’ she announced.
'Why would he do that?’ Ibryen asked the Traveller.
The Traveller shook his head. ‘I doubt he is,’ he replied. ‘I doubt he'd want to go into that cleft again. He's probably just looking for a high place. Somewhere where there's more sky than land.'
Shortly after that they came to the ridge and, quite unspectacularly, found him. As the Traveller had said, he had made no attempt to conceal himself and he was visible for some time before they reached him. Indeed, he had not even made any attempt to shelter from the wind that was sweeping the rain horizontally over the ridge, and he was kneeling on the rocky ground, relaxed, but very straight, with the Culmaren about his shoulders.
'Isgyrn.’ Rachyl announced herself softly before she reached him, for fear of provoking a violent response with too hasty an approach. The Dryenwr did not reply however, and as she drew nearer she saw that his eyes were closed. Rain was running in wind-blown streams down his face. She spoke his name again, a little more loudly, tentatively laying a hand on his arm. Still he did not respond.
Ibryen and the Traveller reached her. ‘What's the matter with him?’ she asked anxiously.
Ibryen looked at the Dryenwr, then shook him gently. This had no effect either. He crouched down and touched Isgyrn's throat and forehead, then carefully checked his head. ‘His pulse is slow, but it's strong enough,’ he said. ‘And he's not feverish. He seems to be in some kind of a trance, but I can't find any sign of head injury.'
Rachyl lifted the Culmaren from Isgyrn's shoulders and draped it protectively over his head. ‘He might be fine now but if we leave him like this he won't be in a few hours,’ she said. ‘We'll have to get him to some kind of shelter while you two debate what's wrong with him.'
It was not a conclusion that could be denied. Ibryen moved to lift him.
'No!'
The Dryenwr's voice was resolute but distant, as if he were having to turn from some other task to speak. Ibryen started violently. But there was no other response from Isgyrn. His face remained impassive, his eyes closed, and his posture unbent.
The Traveller took Ibryen's arm. ‘Leave him,’ he said, then, to Rachyl, ‘See if you can rig up your tent to give him some shelter.'
He led Ibryen a few paces away down-wind. ‘How do you feel?’ he asked.
'Fine,’ Ibryen replied with some surprise. He patted himself then, concerned, asked, ‘He hasn't got something catching, has he?'
The Traveller shook his head. ‘No, no, nothing like that. But how do you feel? The part of you that's ... somewhere else.'
'That's a bizarre question.'
'Answer it nevertheless.'
Ibryen hunched his shoulders against the blowing rain. ‘I'm not sure I can. The discomforts of this world are dominating my thoughts at the moment. Why the sudden interest?'
The Traveller bared his teeth impatiently then patently rebuked himself. ‘The Dryenwr aren't arbitrarily separated into their castes by birth as in some societies, they're separated by their aptitudes and abilities. But it's not a rigid separation ...'
'I've gathered that from our talk the other night,’ Ibryen interrupted. ‘It's an odd way to do things if you ask me, but what's it got to do with what's happened to Isgyrn?'
'It suits them,’ the Traveller declared, irritably dismissing Ibryen's digression. ‘Just listen. Not only is it not a rigid separation, they each tend to take a pride in whatever skills they have that lie outside those of their own caste.'
Ibryen fidgeted with the hood of his cape, which was flapping in the wind, and turned to Rachyl wrestling darkly with the tent. The Traveller drew him back. ‘One of the Dryenwr castes is that of the Hearers. Those who, like you, can reach into the worlds beyond—or at least that world in which the Culmaren's true nature lies.’ He glanced towards the still motionless form of Isgyrn. ‘I think perhaps Isgyrn ha
s drawn on whatever Hearing skills he has and is trying to reach out to contact the Culmaren.'
'Why?'
'He's lost, man!’ the Traveller exclaimed heatedly. ‘Lost in time, lost in place. From what he told us, he doesn't even know whether his homeland even exists today or whether it, and presumably his friends and kin, were destroyed fifteen, sixteen years ago in the cataclysm that threw him here, down to the middle depths.'
Ibryen held up his hands both to apologize and to subdue. ‘Why shouldn't he try to seek out the Culmaren, if he can?’ he asked.
'Because it's dangerous,’ the Traveller said with a heavy emphasis. ‘The gift of the Hearer is no light thing. Guides and Mentors are needed. Their lore is full of stories of Hearers who have gone beyond and never returned.'
Ibryen's eyes widened. ‘Dangerous! You never told me anything about that.'
The Traveller's reply held little comfort. ‘It wouldn't have made any difference, would it? There was nothing I could do about your ... talent. I've neither the knowledge nor the ability to help. You came, you went, all to some inner need of your own. Had you gone and not returned ... just left a comatose shell behind you,’ he nodded towards Isgyrn, ‘I'd not have been able to do anything for you.’ He seemed unhappy with this apparently ruthless abandonment of his companion. ‘You're part of my journey back to the Great Gate, Ibryen,’ he went on. ‘I'd no choice but to follow you. And you're much more.’ His voice fell and became almost awe-stricken. ‘Some deep instinct protects you. You are guarded by a great and ancient strength. Don't ask me what, because I've no measure of it, but it is so. I doubt even the finest of the Dryenvolk's Hearers move into the worlds beyond with the ease with which you do, still less carry a waking awareness of them as you seem to do.'
Ibryen looked at him unhappily. ‘All of which means what?'
The Traveller waved the question aside. ‘I don't know. Just tell me how ... what ... you feel in that other part of you now, Ibryen?’ he asked again.