Ibryen [A sequel to the Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  Without knowing why, she laid a hand on the man's head. He flinched and she felt him trembling as he struggled to remain still. This time the confusion of emotions effectively paralysed her.

  It was the Ennerhald that released her. Be silent, she thought. Within the Citadel at least, it could be that the Lord Counsellor's uniform was as effective as any shield wall, but the place was still unbelievably dangerous. She must say nothing—to anyone. She must watch and listen and learn.

  Besides, she realized, she was far from certain that she wanted to escape from the Citadel. Where would she go? To the Ennerhald again? A bleak and unlovely prospect after even these few days of luxury, and how empty it would be without Assh and Frey. She could always try to reach the Count in the mountains but, the practicalities of the journey aside, what purpose would that serve? No more now than it had ever done. In the Ennerhald she had been near the source of all her distress—now she was within dagger's reach.

  The last thought brought a sudden purpose into her meandering. She must use this freedom, whatever its cause, to obtain a weapon for use against either herself or her enemy, as circumstances dictated.

  She abandoned the kneeling figure and also her stealthy progress through the shadows, and continued along the corridor. When she reached the corner she slipped behind a shrouded statue and looked back. After a moment, the clerk glanced about nervously, then clambered to his feet and scurried off one hand stroking his hair repeatedly as if trying to dispel her touch.

  Not minutes before, Jeyan had considered seeking his help, now she watched him leaving with scorn. It was these cravens and their ilk that sustained the Gevethen in power; they deserved no pity.

  Turning from the retreating clerk she made to set off again. Closed doors lined the short gloomy corridor that she had turned into and a panelled wall sealed it. She hesitated. Guilt and painful memory filled her as, for a moment, she was back in the blind alley where she had been captured and the dogs slain. She was about to turn around and return the way she had come when a dark vertical line split the centre of the panelled wall and it began to move. The image made her catch her breath and threatened to disorient her until she realized that the end of the corridor was not in fact a wall, but a pair of doors, and that one of them was being opened. She edged back into the shadows again. Then someone was walking towards her. It was another clerk and he was engrossed in a sheaf of papers, holding them close to his face in an attempt to read them in the poor light. She let him pass unhindered and waited until he had gone from view before walking quickly to the double doors.

  Pushing one of them open, she found herself in a broad hallway, and the silent stillness of the corridors she had been walking along vanished instantly. Servants, messengers, clerks, officials of all kinds were bustling around in great agitation.

  Briefly she considered closing the door and fleeing back to her room, then the anger that had begun with the kneeling clerk, boiled up to fill her. Dancing attendance on your masters, are you? she thought bitterly as she looked out over the scene. Scurrying about like ants, keeping them secure in their power. Fearful for your little lives. I'll teach you fear. I'll grind your nest into dust.

  She straightened up and entered the hallway.

  The weaving streams and tides shifted and changed sharply as she entered, and the rumbling hubbub became sibilant with the whispered hiss of her name.

  'The Lord Counsellor!'

  Those farthest away quickened their pace while those nearby stopped and fell to their knees. None met her gaze, which was as well, for they would have seen their worst fears reflected in it. Jeyan drew in the effect she was causing as though it were air to a drowning man. It fed her condemnation of these people and she relished it.

  As her initial exultation faded however, she began to feel concerned by all the activity. It was not normal, she was sure. Even allowing for her presence, there was an unusual alarm and urgency in almost every face she looked at. And, excitement, she decided, puzzled. It must have something to do with the Gevethen's encounter with Ibryen and their precipitate departure from her room—but what? She cast about for some semblance of a pattern in the movement, but nothing was immediately apparent, though she noted that a table at the far side of the hallway seemed to be some kind of a focal point. Slowly, and with wilful casualness, she moved towards it. It was manned by four obviously senior officials and, as she drew nearer, she noticed with pleasure the signs of distress and confusion amongst them. They were all abandoning their work and about to start pushing back their chairs prior to kneeling when a door behind them opened and a Guards’ officer emerged. It was Helsarn.

  Jeyan recognized him immediately. The murderous killing fever that had been in full flow when she was captured rose undiminished, like hot bile, to mingle with the anger already swirling within her. Though she managed to keep her features motionless, her eyes betrayed her feelings and the officials dropped to their knees in an undignified scramble. Helsarn's insides tightened into a freezing knot as Jeyan's gaze struck him, but training and long-established habit carried him through the moment. He saluted smartly, then dropped down on to one knee and lowered his head in the formal obeisance adopted by the Guards.

  It was some time before Jeyan could trust herself to speak. The upsurge of violent emotion had taken her completely unawares and she knew she must control it. Nothing was to be gained by going for the throat of this man in a blind fury.

  'Stand up, Commander,’ she said.

  Helsarn rose up before her, stiff and unyielding. Being considerably taller it was an easy matter for him to keep his gaze from hers. He was glad of it for he was genuinely afraid. He had seen Jeyan at the heart of a terrible death struggle when he first encountered her and the subsequent knowledge that she had been a woman had frozen the memory in his mind. In common with anyone appointed to maintain civil order he knew that women, pushed beyond a certain point, were far more dangerous than men.

  'My knife, Commander,’ she said. ‘Return it.’ She spoke softly because her throat was so dry she was afraid her voice would crack. The effect however, was to make her presence even more menacing.

  A memory of the gaping wound she had inflicted on the soldier who had captured her returned vividly to Helsarn. Others, ill-formed and vague, featuring the soldier's lost companions hovered about it but he refused to pursue them. He clung to the simplest. What did she want her knife for? Hagen had never carried one, nor any personal weapon for that matter. The one answered the other. Hagen had died at her hands in front of hundreds of witnesses and she had been rewarded with his office; she obviously had no intention of suffering the same fate herself. But there were other problems. She had access to the Gevethen and she was patently unhinged. What if she turned the knife against them and it became known that he had given it to her? Yet he could not disobey a direct order. He prevaricated.

  'As you command, Lord Counsellor,’ he said. ‘But the mobilization? I can't leave my post here. Their Excellencies have ordered that nothing is to impede the full levying of the army and the Guards—not even our sleep.’ He risked a rapid but significant movement of his eyes towards the officials cringing behind the table.

  Full levying of the army and the Guards! The news struck her like a plunge into cold water, and the fiery rage that had carried her this far vanished to become a renewed concern for the Count. This surely boded no good for him. She had to force herself not to respond. Change was afoot. Rapid change, full of opportunity. She must find out what was happening, and as quickly as possible before the leash she was stretching pulled her back.

  She deliberately ignored Helsarn's mute appeal on behalf of the officials but silently motioned him back to the door through which he had just come. He held it open for her. It revealed a scene not very different from the one in the hallway, though the room was smaller and here the scurrying figures were all army and Guards officers except for a few who were obviously messengers. She hesitated, her faith in the new-found power of her office fa
ltering before the experience of years of avoiding soldiers and Guards on the streets of Dirynhald when she was scavenging for food. The room had become suddenly still, as everyone present stopped their work and saluted.

  Helsarn's words came back to her. ‘Nothing is to impede ...’ She had a vision of the Gevethen suddenly appearing and striking her down for this interference with their orders.

  'Continue,’ she said brusquely, as if annoyed that they had stopped.

  There was a momentary hesitation then the room was bustling again. She turned to Helsarn. ‘My knife, Commander. Send an underling—now. Then return to your duties.'

  Helsarn saluted again then sought out one of the messengers and spoke to him urgently. The man cast a quick glance at Jeyan before running from the room at great speed.

  Jeyan looked around coldly. Unusually for the Citadel, the room was quite well-lit, the light coming from lanterns placed on tables and hung about in an obviously makeshift fashion. It awoke ambivalent feelings in her. The light would protect her from the Gevethen, but too, it might expose her for what she was.

  She moved from table to table. On some, documents were being received and studied and dispatched—sometimes out of the room, sometimes just to another table. Around others, groups of men were poring over maps and plans. These meant little to her though she caught occasional phrases which confirmed for her the general feeling of alarm which seemed to be pervading the room as it had the hallway outside.

  'They can't all be brought together so quickly ...'

  'They'll be too exhausted for anything ...'

  'They'll be strung out from here to the mountains ...'

  'The logistics are impossible ...'

  Even once, the word ‘Suicide ...’ though this was hastily curtailed as Jeyan turned round to see who had said it.

  'A bold and imaginative stroke,’ she said to Helsarn, moving to his side as he bent over a table studying something.

  'Indeed, Lord Counsellor,’ Helsarn replied. It unsettled him to have her singling him out. Not only did he not want to become conspicuous to the other Commanders as a possible favourite, he was far from certain about what manic thoughts lay behind that stern face. It seemed to him that she was even beginning to look like Hagen. Still, it was pointless hoping to avoid her, and it would be folly to do anything that might be construed as a rebuff. His safest course would probably be to ingratiate himself somehow. He expanded his terse acknowledgement.

  'It'll be costly in lives, but the outlaw Ibryen's been a thorn in their Excellencies’ side for too long. The men will be glad to die gloriously for the greater good.'

  Not most of the men I ever knew, Jeyan thought, though she confined herself to a clipped, ‘Yes,’ as she peered at what Helsarn had been studying. It was a model of the mountains. She recognized the river and some of the larger peaks.

  'Where is the outlaw Ibryen believed to be?’ she asked.

  Helsarn waved a hand vaguely over the model, encompassing several valleys. ‘We don't know exactly,’ he replied. ‘We have look-outs here, and here, but they rarely see anything and they're frequently murdered. I've often thought that a major offensive such as this, however costly, is the only way to deal with the problem. Their Excellencies must be freed to lead us out beyond the confines of this land.'

  There was an uncertain inflection in his voice. ‘But?’ Jeyan prompted.

  Helsarn looked at her awkwardly then turned away, still reluctant to meet her gaze. ‘It concerns me that their Excellencies themselves intend to come with the army.'

  'You fear for them?'

  'Ibryen's people know the terrain intimately and use it well. They're ambushers to a man. And there are places where only narrow columns can pass, where only a small group of men can be brought to bear. Even closely guarded I fear they could be in great danger.’ He shrugged anxiously. ‘Ibryen will surely strike at them if he discovers they're with us.'

  Opportunities indeed, Jeyan thought. The Gevethen had brought her to the heart of their world, now they were exposing themselves to Ibryen. They must surely be destroyed by one or the other. Even as the thought occurred to her however, so did its dark converse. If they were not destroyed now, then perhaps they would never be. She felt suddenly afraid. What had that evil pair learned when they had come so strangely upon Ibryen and his companion? Without intending to, she spoke her thoughts. ‘The Gevethen see ways which are denied to others.'

  Helsarn stiffened, misunderstanding the remark and taking it as a rebuke. ‘I meant no disrespect, Lord Counsellor,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I merely voiced a concern for their Excellencies.'

  He was spared any further awkwardness by the arrival of the messenger with Jeyan's knife. The man was kneeling beside her and holding out the knife, still in its crude leather sheath. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. ‘My apologies for the delay, Lord Counsellor,’ he panted. ‘The Under Questioner had taken it for his own use.'

  Jeyan took the knife without comment, drew it, tested the edge, then re-sheathing it, pushed it into her belt inside her tunic. As she turned her attention back to the model, Helsarn saw again the face he had seen trying to strangle the life out of the bleeding soldier in the Ennerhald. He was wise to be afraid of this one, he thought. The Gevethen had an uncanny knack of picking their own kind.

  'Where will you attack first?’ Jeyan was asking.

  Helsarn showed her. It needed no military training on Jeyan's part to see that large numbers of men would be required to mount an attack on so many valleys simultaneously, though she was careful to avoid asking direct questions.

  'At least that's what the army Commanders have decided so far,’ Helsarn elaborated, risking a little disdain. ‘Though they keep changing it as information about troop arrivals comes in.'

  Jeyan snatched at a phrase she had heard earlier. ‘The logistics are difficult,’ she said.

  'They are, Lord Counsellor,’ Helsarn agreed. ‘Ordering virtually every army unit back to Dirynhald at the double and moving them to the mountains almost immediately presents serious problems. But we all regard their Excellencies’ commands as a great challenge which it is our honour to meet. Even now, units are marching to establish a base camp.'

  To his relief however, Jeyan was already walking away. She had heard and seen enough. The Gevethen were going to throw their entire resources against Ibryen.

  Now she must be with them!

  * * *

  Chapter 30

  'After the Great Heat, in the timeless time, the Shapers rejoiced at being and, in the dance and song of their rejoicing, formed all that is today: Theward shaping the mountains and the lands; Enastrion weaving the rivers and the lakes and the great oceans; Svara, the finest and most subtle Shaper of them all, soaring above all to make the boundless, shifting Ways that cannot be seen. Yet all were as one and their many talents were not separate, but resided one in another, bound together inextricably by the will of the greatest of the Shapers, Astrith. He it was who made all living things as they now are, though some say that their essence too came from the Great Heat and that he merely tended and guided. But that is beyond our knowing.

  'And as they surveyed their work and found it good, Svara said to Astrith, “Theward's mountains and rich lands are a delight for all to behold, in their magnificence. As too are Enastrion's silver, tumbling rivers and thundering oceans. But it saddens me that only we have the vision to know the Ways that I have woven, and that only we may take joy from them."

  'And the Shapers looked again at their work and saw that it was so. For while living things walked and rejoiced on Theward's lands, and swam and rejoiced in Enastrion's waters, few could follow Svara's Ways and none could follow those that rose beyond the highest of Theward's peaks.

  'Then Astrith thought on this, and, as in a dream, his greatest creation came to him. Waking, he travelled the dreamways between the heartbeats of the worlds until he came to that which was before and beyond all things. And in this, he willed the Culmaren to
be, breathing life into it and drawing it forth so that alone amongst his creations it could be known in this world and beyond. And he said to it, “You are the greatest and most mysterious of all my works. Rejoice that you now are, and tend the needs of those I shall bring you to."'

  Isgyrn smiled, almost mischievously. ‘Then Astrith chose the very finest of his people and gave them the sight to know the Ways of Svara and the skills to use the Culmaren. And he sent them forth to move along Svara's Ways, high above the lands and the waters, so that all the works of the Shapers should be known by men and rejoiced in.'

  He leaned forward and his face became thoughtful. ‘And as the Culmadryen rose into the high clouds, Astrith pondered the ways and the destiny of men saying, as to himself, “I have found in this creation, that which I did not put there, and their nature is deep and strange and many-leaved and defies all future knowing.” And he went from the world to think on this.'

  The tent became silent.

  'Ah,’ the Traveller said. ‘A sombre and mysterious note on which to end. How splendid.'

  'You tell a tale well, Isgyrn,’ Ibryen said.

  'A tale, Count? You'd deny the truth of our most ancient history?’ Isgyrn said, though his manner was easy and he put no challenge in the words.

  'A deep question,’ Ibryen replied, in like vein. ‘But who could deny or affirm the truth of a story so rooted in the mists of times gone and so well told?'

  Rachyl leaned over and peered out of the crowded tent. ‘It's raining as heavily as ever,’ she announced, glancing upwards. ‘And it's definitely in for the day.'

  Ibryen confirmed the decision they had made earlier. Being caught in such weather while travelling was one thing, but setting out in it was another. There was, after all, no urgency about their journey now. They were not expected back so soon and they had more than enough supplies to serve them for the two days or so that it would take them to get back to the village. More seriously, for Ibryen, though he made no mention of it, he was glad of an excuse to spend some time doing nothing so that he could think quietly about all that had happened and its implications for the future. Though he had affected an optimism about the changes they had all experienced, it concerned him greatly that he was indeed returning to the village with ‘only one more sword'. An awful foreboding was beginning to grow within him.