by Roger Taylor
Vashnar gave a curt nod then slowly extended a forefinger towards the door. ‘My aide signs… papers. See that you deliver my reply quickly and accurately.’
When the two Pages had scurried out, Vashnar took The Commentaries from the bookshelf and laid it carefully on the desk as he sat down. He did not open it, but laid his hand on it as though he were about to take an oath. He often sat thus when he was angry or unsettled. It brought the supporting shade of his grandfather to him, carrying him past that of his weak and despised father. It was one of his few regrets that he had never met the old man, though this did not stop him from forming a clear impression of him.
And, although no sign of it showed other than his hand on The Commentaries, he was both angry and unsettled now. Angry at Bowlott’s thoughtless and pompous, By Order, and unsettled by his being driven to the point of seeking an interview with him. It did not help that he knew it was his own fault that this had come about.
He drummed a brief tattoo on The Commentaries. He did not need to read his grandfather’s comments on the Death Cry. He knew that his actions had been in accordance with established tradition and that no reference to the Moot was needed, but…
But what had possessed him to do it? What demon had reached into him and persuaded him to this deed which might undo the years of steady progress he had been making in consolidating power to himself? He ran his thumb gently over the inside of the ring that graced the second finger of his right hand. The ring was his only needless decoration and touching it was his only nervous mannerism. Both were very discreet.
With no other outward sign of the turmoil within, he cursed Thyrn. It was not a new curse. Indeed, it was one that was almost constantly in his mind. And, as it was apt to do, it spiralled out into a curse against all the Caddoran. Damned freaks. Why couldn’t some other way be found to…?
Here the anger turned on itself. Vashnar was not given to railing against what could not be altered and it angered him further that he could not restrain himself from doing just that. The Caddoran had been an integral part of Arvenstaat’s culture since before the state had existed as such, their origins rolling back into the ancient tribal times and thence into myth where they played elaborate roles of confidants, go-betweens and manipulators to the peculiar gods of the old Arvenwern. Even now, though notionally they were only message carriers, they were in fact much more. Routinely, any Caddoran could memorize a spoken message almost instantaneously and retain it for as long as the sender required. Masters of the art, however, could carry subtleties of intonation, gesture and expression – could convey the true meaning of a communication in a manner not remotely possible by written word, or even rote recitation. Myths notwithstanding, the origin of the art was obscure, though there was little doubt that it developed from a battlefield skill. Amongst the Caddoran, being able to trace a line of descent in the general direction of some famous hero was a matter of great pride. Only a few generations ago, in less civilized times, that same kudos would have been gained by tracing the line back to some more legendary figure.
Yet the art was deeply strange. Though training was required, it was pointless unless a strong natural aptitude was present, and while this tended to run in families, it was wildly erratic, sometimes skipping several generations then producing two or three at once, sometimes jumping from the male to the female line. Then the talent would appear spontaneously in a family with no history of it. Thyrn had been one such. Though many theories had been offered, the progress of this necessary trait through the generations defied all analysis.
Thyrn proved to be more than just another unexplained example of the appearance of the talent. He had been exceptional, showing such aptitude that he was accepted for training by the Caddoran Congress while only five years old, instead of the normal twelve. Subsequently, at the age of fifteen, he had become a White Master, the highest possible grade and one which many Caddoran could not even aspire to. Prior to Thyrn, the youngest White Master had been twenty-seven. Not only did he have a gift for memorizing and reproducing messages which awed his superiors, he seemed to sense intuitively what the message sender wanted to say at such a deep level that on transmitting his message, the recipient would feel himself in the presence of the actual sender. Inevitably he became the personal Caddoran to the Wardens’ Senior Commander.
Yet, in many ways, he was still a child. It was as if his talent took so much of him that the remainder could not fully develop.
This, however, merely made him odd company when not on duty. It in no way lessened his value to Vashnar who, though he schooled himself obsessively in self-reliance, made the mistake he was now ruing, of growing to be too dependent on him for the carrying of his many sensitive and confidential messages. Nor did it concern Thyrn’s parents who basked in the glory of their son’s high employment and who, though he lived in the Moot Palace now, still ‘advised’ him on the disposition of his not insubstantial remuneration. It did concern his father’s brother, Nordath, though, whose family pride in the young man was far outweighed by his affection for him and concern for the pain that he could feel emanating from him. In Thyrn he sensed the Caddoran that he had nearly been, and for some reason he could not avoid a feeling of guilt that he had been spared the burden.
‘He needs friends of his own age. Ordinary friends. He’s too different to get on with even the other Caddoran novices,’ he had frequently told his brother. ‘He needs friends he can talk to, wrestle with, get into trouble with.’
But it had been to no avail. Thyrn’s parents had drawn a protective curtain about him; there was no saying what corrosive influence other children might have on their son’s precious – and lucrative – talent. The boy’s career had to be considered.
Despite their ‘protection’ Thyrn had returned Nordath’s affection and turned to him as friend and adviser.
Thus it was that Nordath had one day rushed to his door in response to a frantic hammering, to find Thyrn standing there, white-faced and shaking.
Chapter 5
‘What?’
The disbelieving cry came simultaneously from Rhavvan and Adren. Nordath and Thyrn looked at Hyrald in bewilderment.
‘Back to Arvenshelm?’ Rhavvan echoed. ‘Are you crazy?’ He thrust a finger in the direction that Oudrence and Endryk had taken. ‘There could be scores of Wardens out looking for us. Those two who came with Oudrence won’t be the only ones looking to catch Vashnar’s eye, and if they found us, others can. And what are we going to do when… if… we manage to reach Arvenshelm alive? The crowds might have gone for now, but they’ll come back soon enough.’
‘I know, I know,’ Hyrald replied defensively. ‘But what are we going to do anyway? Think about what Endryk said last night. How are we going to be able to get the Death Cry rescinded if we’re in some foreign land? Think about it now, he said, and he was right. We’ve been so busy running, hiding, surviving, we haven’t stopped to think what we’re doing, or why. Not once.’
‘But…’
‘But nothing. It’s true. You know it.’ Hyrald began pacing up and down, talking as much to himself as to the others as he struggled to clarify his thoughts. ‘We’re Wardens, for mercy’s sake. The service isn’t perfect, god knows, but on the whole we keep the peace, we’re respected men. And we’ve got – we had – good lives. So what are we doing here at the back end of nowhere, off the edge of any map I’ve ever seen, running like frightened dogs – and having to kill our own?’ He put his hands to his temples. ‘I can’t believe we did that – right or wrong. And look what happened on the shore. We know the streets, the people, but out here? We’re lost. The way that tide came in!’ He closed his eyes and blew out an unsteady breath as, for an instant, he was crashing across the raging stream again. ‘So fast! Faster than we could gallop, for pity’s sake. I can feel it pulling at my horse right now. It’s the purest chance that we’d got horses, that Endryk was there and that we weren’t all killed.’
He became emphatic. ‘And if we get across th
e sea, who knows what kind of people we’ll find out there?’
‘People are the same everywhere, Endryk said.’
Nordath put a restraining hand on Thyrn’s arm, but Hyrald merely dismissed the remark, albeit with a sneer.
‘Yes, they are,’ he said simply. ‘They’re dangerous.’
Thyrn persisted despite Nordath’s silent plea. ‘We must go on. Away from here. Away from Vashnar. There’s a great city up there – everyone’s heard about it – so big you can’t see all of it no matter how high a building you climb. We’ll be safe there. We can hide, we can…’
His voice faded as Hyrald stopped pacing and turned a searching look on him. When he spoke however, it was softly and slowly. ‘We don’t even know why we’re here. We don’t know why Vashnar called the Death Cry, and we don’t even know why he wanted you in the first place.’
‘It’s a Caddoran matter,’ Nordath said, edging forward to stand by Thyrn.
Hyrald’s hand gently paddled the air, motioning him to silence. The gesture was both placating and menacing. ‘You’ve said that before,’ he replied, without taking his eyes off Thyrn. ‘But it’s not enough now.’ He turned to Adren and Rhavvan. ‘We’ve known one another for ever. We trust one another. We’ve been in some difficult places together keeping Arvenshelm’s good citizens safe in their beds and on the streets, but this is beyond anything we’ve ever known. It’s time to stop running before we run out of luck. Time to think. Time to find out the why? of all this.’
‘It’s a Caddoran matter,’ Nordath said again, more forcefully.
Two birds flew over the group and disappeared into the trees beyond the shelter, their wings noisy and urgent. Hyrald shook his head.
‘Nordath, I’ve known you for a long time too. No more of this. Thyrn gossiping about Vashnar’s private messages is a Caddoran matter. Us unofficially tracking him down on Vashnar’s behalf is a Wardens’ matter. But Vashnar unearthing the Death Cry; us escaping from Arvenshelm by the skin of our teeth, thanks to some loyal friends and no small amount of luck; and us careening across the country, stealing food and hiding from village Watch patrols and would-be manhunters, killing our own, is a different matter altogether. Before we go anywhere, I… we… need to know what Thyrn’s done. I’ve no great affection for Vashnar, but I know him as well as anyone does and I respect him. And I’ve never known him do anything without a reason.’
Nordath cast an uncomfortable glance at Thyrn whose expression was becoming increasingly desperate.
‘It’s difficult,’ he said weakly.
‘These past weeks have been difficult,’ Hyrald retorted caustically. ‘Yesterday in particular.’
Abruptly, Nordath’s protective manner slipped away and uncertainty pervaded him. He turned unhappily to Thyrn and seemed to have to drag words from some great depth when he spoke. ‘You’ll have to tell them… us,’ he said. The last word was almost inaudible, but the three Wardens heard it.
‘Us?’ exclaimed Rhavvan. ‘You meanyou don’t know?’
A gesture from Hyrald silenced him. The sudden change in Nordath’s demeanour as Thyrn’s guardian was disconcerting in itself, but now he saw Thyrn’s eyes glazing over. For a moment he thought that the young man was going to collapse.
As did Nordath, who reached out to support him. Despite this change, Rhavvan pressed his question.
‘You mean, you don’t know what all this is about?’
Nordath, recovered now and looking intently into Thyrn’s face, tried a half-hearted negotiation. ‘No, I don’t,’ he admitted bluntly. ‘But the fact that Vashnar’s proclaimed the Death Cry against you is enough to tell you it’s something really bad he wants hidden, isn’t it?’
Adren intruded quickly between Rhavvan’s wide-eyed indignation and Hyrald’s scarcely veiled anger. ‘The seriousness isn’t in dispute, Nordath,’ she said quietly. ‘Hyrald’s right. We’re here through a mixture of good luck and sheer panic, but we can’t carry on like this, we need to know why we’re running if we’re ever going to be able to stop. You must tell us what Thyrn’s done, Caddoran matter or not. You’re not bound by any oath just because he might’ve broken his and told you something. If you want to help him, you’ll have to tell us.’
As she was speaking, she was helping Nordath to lower Thyrn into a seated position against the wall of Endryk’s shelter.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Rhavvan asked.
‘I don’t know.’ Nordath straightened up. ‘He goes like this sometimes – when things are too much for him. He usually just comes out of it after a while, as if nothing had happened.’
‘Running away, eh?’
Nordath turned on Rhavvan furiously, obliging the big man to take a step backwards. ‘You judge this lad when you’ve walked a mile in his shoes, Warden. Caddoran aren’t like ordinary people. They’re strange, special. Almost impossible for the likes of us to understand. And Thyrn’s special even amongst them. How do you think he got to work for Vashnar at his age?’ He slapped his hand on his chest. ‘I don’t know why, but I’m the only person he’s ever been able to turn to like an ordinary human being – a friend. His parents – my blessed brother and that shrew of a wife of his – just see him as a milch-cow. The other Caddoran of his age are too intimidated by his talent to treat him as an equal, while the older ones are for the most part either jealous of him or wanting to shine by reflection from him. And Vashnar cares for nothing and no one except his position and the power it brings him.’
Rhavvan recovered. ‘We still need to know what’s going on!’ he shouted.
Nordath nodded briefly, but his anger was spent and he sagged. ‘I know, I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I know none of us wants to be here. I realize we’re a burden to you. I’m grateful… we’re grateful.’ He fell silent and sat down wearily beside Thyrn.
Prompted by Adren, Hyrald crouched down in front of him. ‘Is Rhavvan right? Do you really not know what Thyrn’s done?’
Nordath did not reply immediately, but fidgeted nervously, rubbing the palm of one hand with his thumb. ‘No, I don’t,’ he replied eventually. ‘When he came to me he was frantic – hysterical. I couldn’t get two coherent words out of him. I’ve seen him in lots of moods, learned a lot about him over the years, even got some inkling about how he thinks, but I’ve never seen him like that before.’ He recalled the thunderous pounding on his door, and yanking it open to have the terrified lad tumble, white and shaking, into his arms.
‘It took me a long time just to get him quiet,’ he went on soberly, ‘and I soon learned that asking what had happened just set him back to where he’d started. I’ve never felt so helpless. Then, you three were there looking for him, and…’ A shrug encompassed the gasping Warden who had brought the news of the Death Cry, and the subsequent confusion and flight. ‘I haven’t asked him since – not that we’ve had a chance.’ He turned to the still distant Thyrn. ‘But in any case, I haven’t dared. Rightly too, by the look of him now.’ He levered himself up, reluctant to continue talking about Thyrn as though he were not there. He lowered his voice. ‘I don’t even know if he can hear what we’re saying when he’s like this. And you’re right, Rhavvan, he is running away, but what from, and where to…’ He shrugged again.
‘All of which leaves us where?’ Rhavvan asked, though his manner was softer.
‘No worse off, I suppose,’ Hyrald replied resignedly. ‘But, Nordath, we must try to find out what he’s done – you can see that. Can you speculate – guess at what might have happened?’
Nordath shook his head. ‘No. I told you, Caddoran think in different ways to the rest of us – especially Thyrn. You’ve seen how he is – nice to be with, more often than not, with an innocence about him and always wanting to know – like a child. Then other times he’s so serious and intense it gives you a headache just looking at him. All I got from him were odd words like “darkness” or “blood”. And he kept covering his eyes and curling up, as if he’d seen something he didn’t want
to.’
‘Touched him. Deep.’
It was Thyrn, his voice distant and strained. As the others looked down at him, he let out a long, hissing breath and folded his hands tightly over his head. Hyrald knelt down in front of him, bending low in an attempt to look into his face.
‘What did you say, Thyrn? We didn’t hear you.’
A slight whimper keened out of the young man’s tightly closed lips. Hyrald could feel the fear that prompted it rippling through him.
‘Don’t be afraid, you’re safe with us, here. You…’ He stopped with a startled cry as Thyrn’s hand shot out and seized his arm. It drew him forward until there was scarcely a hand’s width between their faces.
‘Everyone be afraid,’ Thyrn said, his voice soft and still strained. ‘No one’s safe. No one, anywhere. Darkness.’
Then the grip was gone and Thyrn’s hands were covering his face. Hyrald looked up at Nordath for advice.
‘I’ll make him talk,’ Rhavvan said grimly, before Nordath could speak.
‘I doubt it,’ Hyrald said. ‘I agree with Nordath. From the look of him I’d say he’s scared out of his wits.’
Rhavvan bent forward, clenching his fist menacingly. ‘Just another uncooperative witness. Make him more afraid of us than whoever else is frightening him.’
Hyrald noticed a slight twitch in Thyrn’s face at this remark.
Part of you is still here, then, he thought. Listening, learning, watching. What goes on in that Caddoran mind of yours?
Once again, almost as though Thyrn had reached out to him, he sensed the young man’s leaking terror.
He spoke directly into Thyrn’s face as he eased Rhavvan’s proffered fist aside. ‘Difficult to do that, I’d judge. A push too far from where he is and, like some of our witnesses, we’ll lose him completely.’ Besides, despite the lad’s irritating ways, as Nordath had claimed, he couldn’t help liking him, not to say feeling sorry for him. ‘I think right now he needs our help more than we need his.’ He put his hands on Thyrn’s shoulders.