by Roger Taylor
He nodded as if completing an internal conversation and, wherever his thoughts had been, they returned immediately to his confessional discourse with Vellain, still sitting silently opposite him.
Her blunt response to his problem with Thyrn had been refreshing. As ever, it had been shrewdly judged. He was particularly taken by the opportunity she had seen to discredit the Caddoran Congress. That, he had missed. Not for the first time, she had shifted his view of events, and now she had jolted him out of the bunkered unease into which he had settled. Nevertheless, he decided, she had not been right to dismiss the problem of Thyrn so casually. Then, of course, she could hardly be criticized for that. She was necessarily unaware of the complexity of the many intricate details that locked together the structure of pending events and of which he was the sustaining force. Two simple facts clearly condemned Thyrn. No matter where he was, he could not be allowed to wander free knowing what he knew, especially as, by now, he would surely have passed it on to Hyrald and the others. And as for his reaching out and entering his mind again… that was wholly unacceptable! Vashnar shrank away from what he could remember of the anonymous nothingness he had become and rooted his decision in more solid ground. The incident had been random and uncontrollable, and the effect of another occurring in a more public venue than this afternoon – of his collapsing like a clumsy schoolboy, his nose bleeding incongruously – could not be calculated. Other ideas began to form and when he spoke to his wife it was as if no silence, no taper-bearing servants, had intruded in their conversation.
‘But Bowlott can be troublesome and matters are at a delicate stage; it would be politic to keep him unsettled. And having Thyrn and the others wandering abroad is too dangerous, no matter where they are. We can’t risk some random coincidence of events jeopardizing everything at this stage – a tale told to a wandering tinker, an inn-keeper, anything.’
Vellain noted her husband’s tone. Her eyes narrowed and she craned her head forward slightly, anxious not to miss some nuance.
‘I agree with you that perhaps Thyrn’s ability to enter my mind is something I should not preoccupy myself with, but it is still too dangerous.’
He fell silent, making no mention of the terror that the encounter had inspired in him. Faint household sounds drifted reassuringly into the room as the servants pursued their prescribed duties. Vellain waited.
‘I think several ends will be served at once if we send the Tervaidin after them.’
Chapter 10
In the Beginning was the Burning of the Great Light, though there are those who say that this was not the true beginning but a Shaping again of that which had gone before. Be that as it may, from this terrible incandescence four figures emerged, bright beyond imagining, and such was their joy at being that for time without measure they danced and sang and used the Power that was the essence of the Great Light to Shape the world and fill it with wondrous things beyond number. Then they rested and looked on the wonders they had created and it came upon them that others should share their joy of being. Thus it was that they sang and danced again and wove from the mysterious fabric of nothingness their greatest creation, forming it in their own image and calling it life. And great was the rejoicing of all things that lived.
Yet in what they had done, Those who Shaped came to see a mystery beyond their understanding, for they found that the depth of the nature of life was without end. And they asked themselves how this might have come to pass. But no answer came save a silence, deep and profound. And so they searched, even into the heart of their own natures. But there they found only a greater question: how had they themselves come to be?
Knowing then that they were ignorant, they resolved to Shape no more until they had answered this question. And seeing that all about them was good and that all things knew the joy of being, they moved into the place which lay beyond and between the essence of this world, where floated the shifting dreams of unknowing and where neither time nor place was. All save one, the greatest of them, who remained in this world, deep in contemplation, to seek another way.
And knowledge of them faded from the minds of many, though the wisest amongst all creatures remembered them and revered their memory, rejoicing always in the gift of life which had been bestowed by them.
But in the fading of the Burning of the Great Light, other, lesser figures had emerged also, red and awful, carrying with them only the will to corrupt and destroy. And one among them was powerful indeed, equalling in His vision and will, Those who Shaped. But He remained still and silent, brooding daily as Those who Shaped worked their mysteries and celebrated the Shaping of the world and all things in it; for He both feared them and their greatness, and despised their work, deeming it flawed and imperfect, especially that which was called life, though in that which was called man He saw the instrument of His own intent.
And thus it was until Those who Shaped, save the one, passed from this world.
Thence, free from all fear, He took on the form of man. And making Himself fair of face, and with great stealth and cunning, He moved amongst them, slowly corrupting with false words and filling them with His own malice until the joy of being slipped from them, like water through a grasping hand. And as they fell under His sway so He taught them envy and greed and, as He grew yet stronger, He taught them also war and its unending forms of treachery and cruelty.
For Those who Shaped, knowing not the unfathomable depths of the nature of life, and of man especially, had made it curious and eternally questioning. And men above all proved the most apt and thorough pupils, amazing even Him.
But some saw beyond His words and His fairness of face and knew Him for what He was. And they spoke out, denouncing Him and His way. But those whom He had corrupted knew no restraint and put in thrall and to the sword all those who so spoke, making even greater His sway. Yet though enslaved, those who saw the truth would not yield to Him but began also to study His teaching, seeing, to their dismay, that in it lay their only salvation. And there came about the Wars of the First Coming and the world was dark with the fires of degradation and destruction and the air was filled with cries of despair and lamentation.
And so great was the clamour that the greatest of Those who Shaped was awakened from his contemplation and, looking about him, he was filled with both horror and shame, despairing of what he saw and fearing that this had come about through the darkness of his own ignorance. Yet he saw too, that His hand was there, for he knew Him and the knowledge greatly troubled him. And taking the form of man himself he rallied the failing armies of those who still remembered him and after many and terrible battles, drove Him to an awful fastness in the north. And there, in the ninth hour of the Last Battle, faltering under the burden of His sins, He fell to the arrows and spears of men. Though with His final cast he slew the greatest of Those who Shaped.
Yet, some say that neither were truly slain, but were translated into another place and that He may come again should He be forgotten and the vigilance of good men fail.
Thus went the story of the Beginning and the Wars of the First Coming.
There are a myriad lesser tales of that time.
One such tells of a noble people, the Arvensfolk, who, cruelly dispossessed and dispersed for opposing His will, joined the many and fearful wanderings of peoples seeking respite from the Wars of the First Coming. Of the fate of the greater part of the Arvensfolk, nothing is known, but a weary remnant found refuge in the land that was to become Arvenstaat. Yet even here they were persecuted and enslaved by other peoples in that land who, though having been persecuted and driven from their homes themselves, were more numerous and greatly tainted by His teaching.
But the Arvensfolk would not yield and withstood the torments of their enemies, as they had stood against Him, until when it seemed all hope was gone, a great leader arose amongst them and, filling them with his strength, he led them against their oppressors, overthrowing them and sweeping them from the land.
* * * *
So g
oes the most common of the legends of the founding of Arvenstaat, though other versions add that, in gaining victory, the Arvensfolk became so like their oppressors that the man – or some say, woman – who led them, walked into the mountains, grieving, and was never seen again.
Written testimony, such as it is, tells a more prosaic, less creditable tale, though in many ways similar in essence: a fugitive people given shelter who rose up under a brutal and shrewd leader to overwhelm and enslave their hosts and seize their lands and properties.
By tradition, no name is ever given to this leader, but from him – or her, for even in the written testimony this is still not known – came the rule of the Dictators. What had been the evil necessity of war became the commonplace of peace and the will of the Dictator came to be accepted as absolute. For while the first Dictator ruled with great brutality, he was nevertheless both respected and held in awe by his subjects, and his excesses were not seen as such. However, it is in the nature of power that it corrupts, and in the nature of leadership that it is a random not a hereditary quality, and while subsequent Dictators emulated the brutality of the first, they lacked his subtle understanding of the mood of his people who, in their turn, knew ever less of the benefits that he had brought to the Arvensfolk. Thus, to maintain the obedience of their subjects, the Dictators were obliged to resort increasingly to the use of armed force, gathering about them a body of guards who were given privileged positions in society and ever-increasing power and authority – the Tervaidin.
As is invariably the case with such guardians, the Tervaidin gathered so much power to themselves that in time they became the effective rulers of Arvenstaat, appointing and unseating Dictators as the whim took them. Ironically, because they too became corrupted and weakened by power, their final choice of Dictator, Koron Marab, was able to divide them amongst themselves and very effectively reduce their authority. Yet by a further irony, this triumph was short-lived, for it was this same division that enabled Akharim to enlist sufficient of the Tervaidin to act as passive witnesses to his own rise to power. Only when he had killed Marab did the Tervaidin fully realize that Akharim, in affecting to rule through the Moot, had judged the mood of the people very finely, and had left them no opportunity to deal with him as they had done with his predecessors. Following their honoured tradition of self-interested opportunism they therefore swore allegiance to him. Thence, over generations, they were gradually transformed into the force that became the Wardens.
Long before the time of Akharim, the Wars of the First Coming had faded into legend, and, no further cataclysms shaking the world, its many peoples went their own ways – some would say degenerating into surly mediocrity, others would say moving inexorably, if unsteadily forward to ever quieter, more peaceful times. Whatever the truth, it was indisputably the case that the Arvens knew little real tyranny and still less menace from beyond their borders for many generations and, in the course of reaching their present condition, they came to regard the times of both Marab and Akharim as colourful and romantic – a gloss made possible only by virtue of the distance of the brutal reality of those times. Thus in those discussions concerning the repairing of the perceived faults of governance which featured regularly in taverns and hostelries throughout the land, voices could often be heard declaiming the virtues of the ‘good old days of the Dictators’.
Caught also in the spurious glow from this distant time, the Tervaidin too were usually seen indistinctly, invariably being represented as a disinterested professional elite, full of soldierly virtues and working only for the good of the people. Many fine and stirring stories had been written about their valiant adventures. That they had never been this and had fallen progressively further from even their original state was well documented but ignored in popular culture. Almost certainly, this rainbow view started with Akharim’s manipulations to ensure that he retained both the protection of the Tervaidin and control over them, he knowing full well that myth can be far more potent than reality, not least for those being mythologized. Whatever the reason, the name rang well in the ears of the modern Arvens and thus Vashnar chose it for his own guards. It was more appropriate than he would have cared to admit for he intended them to fulfil the functions of the original Tervaidin and, like them, they were a mixture of thugs, opportunists and fanatics.
* * * *
Vellain knew there would be no point in questioning her husband’s decision. His tone told her that it was final. Nevertheless she did allow her considerable surprise to show.
‘Earlier than you’d envisaged,’ she said.
Vashnar stood up and began methodically stretching himself again. He was unusually stiff. A frowning glance at a tall clock clucking darkly in the corner told him that he had been sitting in the chair for some hours – much longer than he had thought. It disturbed him a little. ‘You’ve delayed our meal,’ he said.
‘You needed time to think, without disturbance,’ Vellain replied, then she reached out and tugged on a bell-pull hanging by the fireplace. A distant tinkling was followed almost immediately by a marked change in the tenor of the household noises that discreetly pervaded the room.
‘And now I need to eat?’ Vashnar said.
Vellain smiled. ‘And now you need to eat,’ she confirmed, standing up and linking her arm in his. ‘And you need to answer my question.’
‘You haven’t asked one.’
She gave him a provocative glance. ‘My implicit question,’ she said, with heavy emphasis, leaning on him. ‘Earlier than you’d envisaged, I said – using the Tervaidin. Only a day or so ago, you said you were concerned they weren’t ready yet.’ She led him over to the window.
Vashnar yielded to her and gave a conceding nod. ‘I still am. But circumstances change and we must move with them. We’ve never had a precise schedule for the latter part of our plan. By definition, it was something we prepared for against the time when an appropriate moment would arise. As for deciding when it had come, that was always going to be a difficult judgement.’
‘And?’ Vellain prompted, catching the note in his voice.
‘And I think now that we might be much nearer than we realize. I think that perhaps we might even be able to engineer that moment.’
She squeezed his arm, pressing her question. ‘But the Tervaidin…’
‘Need to be tested. In the field. In action.’
‘But they’re all experienced Wardens. You picked them yourself, trained them.’
Vellain went to open the tall glass door that would lead them into the now darkened garden – they often walked there in the evening. But Vashnar stopped her. As she looked up she found herself the object of close scrutiny by her reflection in the night-backed window. The presence of this hollow image with the lamplit room in the background, like a mysterious identical world beyond, ever watching, unsettled her for some reason. She drew the curtains quickly.
Vashnar answered her question. ‘I’ve no serious doubts about them, but their role is crucial and it won’t be like anything they’ve done before. I need to test them in action. They need to test themselves in action.’ There was a hint almost of excitement in his voice. ‘And this is an ideal opportunity. We’ll find out how obedient they are, how effective working as a group, how reliable. And as well as testing them, mobilizing them now will serve other useful ends. We’ll see how they’re greeted on the streets, which is important – very important. And it’ll keep Bowlott quiet – stop him fretting about the Death Cry too much. He’ll probably be pleased actually – a new guard regiment for the Moot Palace, specially selected from our most experienced Wardens to protect the Senators should the rumours about Nesdiryn or the Morlider prove correct – or even from over-enthusiastic electors. It’ll pander to his inflated sense of his own importance.’
‘But Hyrald and the others are Wardens. Do you think your people will have any difficulty in…’ Vellain made a vague throat-cutting gesture. ‘… dealing with them?’
‘None at all,’ Vashnar said w
ithout hesitation. ‘That, I’ve no qualms about. They all know where we’re going and what it means to them, and they’ll not allow any misguided old loyalties to stand in the way.’
Vellain loved her husband.
There was a single sharp rap on the door and a servant entered to announce that their meal was ready.
‘I see no reason for delay,’ Vashnar went on as they walked down a long uncarpeted corridor, their footsteps softly martial. ‘The longer this business with Thyrn persists, the greater the risk. I’ll send for Aghrid first thing tomorrow. Twenty, mounted, should do. He can pick them. They should be on the road by late afternoon.’
‘Shouldn’t you speak to the others?’
‘I’ll tell them at the same time. I doubt they’ll disagree. The matter’s clear-cut. Thyrn’s got to be…’
‘You can’t tell them about Thyrn,’ Vellain said urgently.
Vashnar smiled slightly. ‘He was young, corruptible. Broke his Caddoran Oath. Discovered too much about our intentions. As you said yourself, he was probably spying for the Congress.’
Vellain reflected his smile back to him as he rehearsed his pending arguments.
They paused at the entrance to the dining room. ‘A long, strange and interesting day, wife,’ he said, routinely casting a critical eye over the formally laid table. ‘For the first time since this trouble with Thyrn began I feel as though I’m seeing the way ahead again, clear and decisive.’
Vellain laid a sustaining hand on his arm as she moved past him. Had she been looking at his face however, she would have seen a hint of fear in his eyes. For though he had told her the truth, he had not told her all of it. He had not told her that for all his regained clarity of vision, he could still sense some part of Thyrn in every dark part of his mind – persistent and clinging, like the dust-laden cobwebs in Bowlott’s office.