Of Weft and Weave (Dica Series Book 2)
Page 17
Nephril suspected he hid some shame or other, and so it turned out, in a fashion. “Don’t know where they’ve got to, or whether they’re still there, come to that. We’ve waited some ninety years now but are fast running out o’ time.”
“Out of time?”
Despite being little of the encasing man, Storbanther now did look genuinely worried. “The Certain Power ain’t long fer this world … we ain’t long. Maybe a few more years, but after that, well, after that Nouwelm and Dica will be forever apart, and t’Repository lost forevermore.”
“But if Nouwelm has failed to come to us then surely it be plain we must go to them?”
Nephril stopped, with ‘bated breath, and felt they’d somehow reached a crux. Slowly, he began to ask, “What need hath Leiyatel of me now, Storbanther the Shadow, eh, Storbanther the Patient Sentinel and Limb of Leiyfiantel? Why has thee called me back from a life near unto death?”
“Tha’s right, Lord Nephril. We do need to go north, but there we’ve a bit of a problem.”
He reminded Nephril of how far Nouwelm was from Dica; fifty leagues and some fifteen thousand feet of climb, through the Forest of Belforas, onto the Strawbac Hills and then over the heights of the Gray Mountains. A long walk and much time away from the realm, an absence Storbanther couldn’t countenance for his dependency on his greater body, on Leiyatel herself.
Nephril had listened quietly, his mind casting back to the time he’d made that very same journey himself, if only as far as the pass, but by now Storbanther was saying, “So, thee see, I’ve obviously got need of many more for the venture. I must ‘ave command of quite a few priests, and find someone to march at their head, you know, one wi’ enough authority, and who I can trust.”
Nephril purposefully set his jaw. “I am willing to assist Leiyatel in this task, in fact I see it as mine honour bound duty, true to mine own sworn oaths.”
Storbanther almost cackled. “Nay, trouble thesen not for I’d no intention of pressing thee into it, Lord Nephril. Nay, thee’d ne’er be stout enough for such a long journey. And anyway, like me, thee can’t go beyond Leiyfiantel’s gaze, not for long, not without detriment.”
Nephril reminded him, rather acidly, of the ninety years of enfolding wilderness he’d had to suffer before adding, “I cannot imagine a few weeks away would be so disabling as to risk the venture, but if thou had me not in mind then why draw me back?”
“Seems I’m building up quite a list o’ mistakes, but then I suppose the Stewards couldn’t really foresee everything.” Storbanther sighed. “Ninety years is too long really. It’s meant Galgaverre’s had a Guardian who’s lived her whole life not fully within Leiyatel’s gaze, one who’s blood’s not been kept truly in hand. And there’s the rub, for she’s the only one who’ll do, the only one who’s got real authority to ensure t’Repository is made open to us.”
Only now did Nephril see the real lie of the land. “So, if mine wrought wiles can still command thy recalcitrant Guardian, enlist her to lead an expedition to Nouwelm, then what use is its knowledge going to be without the ring? Come to that, what if Nouwelm itself be found deserted, eh? What of the wit needed to make sense of it all?”
Storbanther beamed at him. “Time’s yer answer, for both can be remedied wi’ enough of it.”
Storbanther leant in towards Nephril. “The knowledge be enough, can be the seed in its own right. All we need is enough time to grow the wit from the lessons it should teach.” His words, though, sadly seemed to affirm Nephril’s view that Storbanther was indeed a very simple soul.
Before Storbanther could get too carried away in his naivety, Nephril shook his head. “Nay, Storbanther, there be no need of thy want of time. Step outside thine own gate for once, and thou wouldst find enough wit there to shorten such learning by many a year, nigh on thirty at least.” Storbanther sat back and stared blankly at Nephril. “Thou must get out and about more, Master Storbanther. Galgaverre be far too stuffy a place for its own good.”
It took a lengthy and detailed description of all that had been happening in Yuhlm to bring even a flicker of comprehension to Storbanther’s eyes. By the time the full gamut of its industrious labours had finally been laid before him he was clearly shocked.
It was only when Nephril was some way through throwing light on Melkin’s crucial part in it all that some slight and stumbling words finally came from Storbanther. “Aye, now ... now I remember … now I remember him from afore, can see his purpose.”
Storbanther now regretted his intransigence. Had he only known back then what Melkin had been after, what he’d so single-mindedly been pursuing, the very thing Storbanther now had so much need of.
“So, Steward Melkin’s got an actual college going has he, a college of suitable wit. Well I never! Bugger me, but that’s last thing I’d ‘ave thought possible.”
Such a simple soul, Nephril thought, an uncomplicated appendage, but one that could therefore do anything with impunity, be it great good or indeed great evil.
Just now, though, Nephril reckoned it could actually be for the good, that Melkin might prove Storbanther’s salvation and thereby put an end in sight for his own recently reborn purpose.
“I’ve missed summat out there in t’realm, ‘aven’t I, eh, Lord Nephril?” Storbanther finally said, as though unwittingly affirming Nephril’s assessment.
For Nephril, the return of so many memories had brought with it new and far wider understanding. “There are many now about the realm, mine Shadow, who have, alike Penolith and Pettar, oddly benefited from Leiyatel’s withdrawing. Melkin be but a rare and special one.”
“And one I’d do best to keep near, eh, Lord Nephril? Is that what you’re saying? One I’d be remiss to throw out again?”
So much going on yet so little with which to fathom it, Nephril thought. “Melkin be rare indeed, more Bazarran of ancient than swaddled folk of late, much more akin to the Stewards of old, those who begat Leiyfiantel … and of course, who also begat thee.” With that simple surety, Nephril had once and for all set Melkin Mudark’s fate well and truly in hand.
17 Be the Blood but Bound
The laadnimana had proven unserviceable, nothing more than a certain death-trap, much to everyone’s relief but Storbanther’s. By now, though, it had only promised speed for they no longer had any need of its obscuring passage. Nephril had given it redundancy by readily offering his help, in light of Storbanther’s need.
Their way to the Guardian’s Residence could therefore now be made quite openly. Storbanther could brazen his way safe in the knowledge he had the sanction of the Guardian’s own superior. More importantly, a superior once more in near enough full command of both his senses and his memory.
It was in fact a vigorous and purposeful Lord Nephril who set a rapid pace through the strange ways of Galgaverre, winding along sinuous paths set between its strangely geometric design. Occasionally they’d take advantage of broad and straight ways, along oddly black and soft surfaces quite unmolested by time.
Storbanther had already explained to Nephril how Leiyatel’s hands, so to speak, had largely been tied by the Guardian’s intransigence, losing them much control over their latest principal. “We’d ‘ave set all in place earlier, when t’Certain Power’s binding o’ blood would’ve still been strong, had we thought, but we didn’t, more’s t’pity.”
Yet another error of omission, Nephril thought, before noting, “One cannot plan for all eventualities, Storbanther, especially not for those to come millennia in the future. It is therefore fortunate thou didst draw me back when thou did.”
There had certainly been a sea change in Storbanther, so much so that Melkin felt rather at sea himself at the sudden friendliness shown him, throwing bemused looks Pettar’s way each time. By now, though, not far from the Guardian’s Residence, Storbanther was almost ebullient, and grinned worryingly at each and every one of them, Drax included. It was only Phaylan who seemed to escape his interest and so remained more or less at ease.
Melkin hadn’t noticed a bell being rung or a knock made, but still, they all stood around as though there had. There was little to see from there, the square’s low boundary wall giving nothing away but the odd roof or pinnacle-topped spire, one or two columns and the occasional tower. Other than that, and the residence itself, only the wide sweep of perfectly aligned flags added much in the way of interest.
Everything Melkin had seen of Galgaverre that morning had seemed little more than a jumble of such less than noteworthy structures; mostly featureless boxes with umpteen thin towers rising between, each set with spars and cross members, here and there small domes or pyramids all laced together by pipes and roads, or paths and alleyways. Nothing about it spoke of the immense influence it had, nor of the almost mythic power it exuded.
The only part Melkin knew anything about was Baradcar, still some way further east, and then only enough to know that it just had to be more spectacular that what he’d already seen. He was about to ask Nephril when a loud clang rang out, followed by a series of metallic snaps before the door silently swung inwards.
Storbanther turned to Drax and nodded, a prearranged signal it appeared for without word he and Phaylan briefly tilted their heads before smartly stepping off along the square. Without waiting, Storbanther nimbly entered with Nephril close on his heels, but Melkin hung back, plainly unsure. It was only when Storbanther popped his head back out and chivvied, “Well, come on in will ya. Can’t have t’Guardian getting cold wi’ t’draught,” that he unfroze and followed them in.
The door slammed shut behind him and he found himself in a small vestibule of sorts. Around it were many cupboards and shelves, all stacked with boots and sandals, slippers, shoes, odd bits of rope and a number of open boxes containing keys and various tools. Near the door ran a row of coat hooks from which hung umpteen robes, some capes, a waterproof hat and many heavy aprons of a rich golden hue.
At the very centre, a metal spiral staircase started its ascent towards a hole in the ceiling. From its first step, where he’d now leapt, Storbanther beckoned them on, all quickly following his fast vanishing, scrawny legs. As Melkin climbed, his nose began to twitch at a familiar smell, but in all the novelty, he couldn’t quite place it.
The room that opened out above was large but warmly lit and extremely comfortable, its wide expanse of floor cleverly broken up into various intimate pools of soft, yellow light. Each was centred on different needs; a low table surrounded by comfortable armchairs here, a long sofa with footstools before it over there, a dining table with chairs drawn up and an enormous table stacked high with books. There were also, oddly enough, a few long but very low and narrow beds. Each golden pool spilled from an oil lantern hung from an elegant stand, their light playfully flickering as they occasionally sputtered.
The whole effect was extremely welcoming and drew them in to its cosy and intimate embrace, but above each of its walls there jutted a great gallery. A stout, glossy and deeply stained cherry wood parapet ran all the way around, holding back bank upon bank of dark wooden shelves. They sagged under the weight of innumerable books, of manuscripts, scrolls and folios. There, Melkin realised, was the source of that strangely familiar smell, and his pulse quickened.
Within that pleasantly musty, charming and warm chamber, and standing before its great open fire, stood the figure of a tall woman. Her iridescent blue and scarlet robes were gathered at the waist by a blue leather belt from which hung bunches of keys. Her shoulders were broad and square and her scarlet bodice’s neckline low yet modest. She had long brown hair, ornately gathered to a series of buns and tails, all tied with bone pins and shining oyster shell combs, lifting it clear of a pale and narrow face. A broad and round forehead, high cheekbones and a small, almost pointed chin framed her wide yet currently tense lips.
She had a book in her hand, loosely held open, but it was her countenance that drew their eyes. Her face appeared stern, although it seemed only her eyes that were hard, currently following Pettar as he circled the gentle pool of light within which she bathed.
“Back again are we, eh, Pettar, my wandering brother? Tired of the Ambecs already?” she teased, a little cruelly, not waiting for an answer before putting her book down and staring at Nephril. “I take it, from your wizened state, that you’re my ever-absent superior?”
Nephril started but quickly gathered his wits. “I am indeed Lord Nephril, Master of Ceremonies to the many kings of Dica, delinquent lord of this most cherished and guarded enclave, Lord of all Guardians who steer and preserve it and minister to the great good it nurtures.”
She let her gaze toy with his eyes for a moment before scoffing, “All very grand sounding, but what does it mean in practice, eh, Lord Nephril?” Her eyes narrowed, then flicked to Storbanther. “I suppose I ought to thank you for your warning, Stor’, what little there was of it, but beyond that I don’t think I need you here any longer. Lord Nephril and I can sort things out between us.”
She seemed to notice Melkin for the first time, so Nephril coughed. “Mine most respected Guardian, if I may introduce Steward Melkin of Yuhlm, a precinct of the fair city of Bazarral. He it is who hast been of great aid in mine arriving here.”
“In which case, the Steward can accompany Stor’, who I’m sure will find him suitable accommodation.” The Guardian closely eyed Melkin as he was shown the way by Storbanther.
They were now alone, the Guardian and her newly met master. She breathed in deeply and towered above him. “I know that by statute you’re my superior here in Galgaverre, that I’m your subordinate - something Stor’s made perfectly clear already - but I think it only right we see eye to eye at the outset.” Nephril nodded. “Good,” she allowed in a slightly softer tone. “So, perhaps you’d like to tell me why you’ve finally deigned to visit, why, to my certain knowledge, you’ve not darkened Galgaverre’s door these past thirty years or more?”
He winced, drew a chair from beneath the dining table and implored her to sit with him. Although reticent, she found an odd lightness of her stomach soon drawing her forward, bringing her to the seat across the corner of the table from Nephril.
His voice drifted between them, made her feel as though she was afloat on a small boat drifting upon the swell of a slight sea. “Mine most respected Lady, I speak to thee as one who is likewise duty bound to Leiyatel’s providence, believe it or not. I assure you, we both have only her wellbeing in mind, a shared fealty, mine own part of which hast drawn me here today.”
Penolith looked suspicious. “It must be something quite onerous then.”
“Indeed, mine Guardian, indeed it is. Thou made wish we saw eye to eye, a laudable desire, indeed, and one that now charges me to reveal a great hurt done to the Certain Power, a hurt that brings Leiyatel’s end so fearfully near.”
She scoffed, “Ha, well, you’re obviously cracked, old man, quite plainly prey to delusion. Why should I believe such madness, eh, tell me that, why should I believe the words of a man who couldn’t even bring himself to live within these walls, not once in my entire lifetime?”
Nephril leant forward and placed a wizened hand gently on her clenched fist. “I have been remiss of mine duties here, and thou dost rightly decry me for it. I have berated mine self far more so, for it hast wounded me deeply, although I steal no discharge by such confession.” He firmly grasped her hand. “I have returned for a purpose, though, Guardian, summoned here by Leiyatel herself, and for a most dire reason.”
“I’m sure I can deal with any problems we may have here, my Lord. I don’t see why we should need you now, not after all these years.”
“Ah, mine dear, but much
has changed in Galgaverre, within Baradcar itself, things thou could never see from within. And what changes they have been; a mend to cast me from mine sworn duties here and make of thee something other than first thou were fashioned to be. We hath both been victims, Guardian Penolith.”
“What you say strangely enough seems to find some purchase in my mind, but I can’t for the life of me see why.”
“Leiyatel hath been shaped anew, Penolith, from before thee were born, shaped for a purpose most detrimental to our realm.”
“You speak of things I should already know, surely, things evident from our attendant procedure.”
“I am afraid not, Penolith. The knowing I now bear lives beyond such things. Thou could not have seen it, but the Certain Power is not long for this world.”
“Not long! How long?”
“A few years at most, mine dear, only a few.”
She sprang to her feet. “No! It can’t be. You lie, you must do? The few who know of Leiyatel’s decline know it to be far off.”
“Not as she now stands, Penolith, no. Only a few years at best, that is all she hath.”
Penolith stared at him and began to shake.
He grasped her wrists, stilling her. “Mine dear, listen, for there is still some hope, but only if thou hear mine words. Leiyatel’s salvation hangs on thy command, O Guardian of Galgaverre. Thou hast it within thy power to bring good fortune.” Although her face had become flushed, strands of hair loosened from their pins, the wildness in her eyes had now retreated.
He patiently awaited her answer, only just displacing the ever-present hum in the air when it came. “I’ve seen nothing but service to Leiyatel my whole life, nothing but that one service, yet…”
She gasped, stared into Nephril’s calming eyes and slowly smiled, her voice now trembling, thinly. “I have always felt there to be something other than my service, something that yearned for release, as though another much richer world passed by just beyond seeing.”