It was into one of their lulls that she quietly drew herself up and pulled her chair forward, so she could rest her arms on the table, pushing aside her platter to make room. Slowly, with all eyes turning to her, she looked from one to the other, clear resolve and purpose bolstering her words. “I think it’s time we drew things together, my friends, time to gather our thoughts.”
They stayed silent and stared, all except Nephril who idly followed Falmeard’s hands as he absently played with a knife. “Much has been happening of late,” Penolith continued, “a lot of which I already knew of or have recently learnt, but this morning has brought more.”
She looked across at Nephril and half smiled. “Now that our valued friend, Lord Nephril here, seems so much improved, we’ve need to grasp the nettle. We’ve a lot to do if we’re to manage our own destinies.” Even Nephril took a keener interest. “Firstly, I’ve important findings to impart, something I’m sure you’ll agree is the crux of the matter.”
She described her meeting with Layostler, and his report of Storbanther’s activities, at which Pettar took an even keener interest as she explained, “I’d suspected his hidden purpose was aimed at our supposed invasion, but this morning’s news has removed the supposed and made it solid fact. It would appear the invasion is real, my friends, completely and solidly so. I’ve had further reports that a very real army has indeed come up against the Eastern Gate, and is encamped there even as we speak. This is serious in itself, I know, but there’s more, and certainly some intrigue. It seems that it was met by one of our own!”
At that their silence finally broke and they all started speaking at once. “Please, hold your tongues, dear friends, there’s more I need add, although it’s somewhat more towards conjecture.” Penolith gathered her thoughts for a moment. “It was described as a Dican force, but I believe it should more precisely be seen as Galgaverran!”
Pettar could hold his tongue no longer. “Of Galgaverre? Galgaverre? How can that be? We’ve no army! We’ve neither the lore nor the arms to furnish one, not that I know of. There’s not wit or nature in any of our people. I can’t believe it, you must be wrong, sister.”
She smiled, a little wryly. “You’re quite right, brother, I can’t deny you that. There’s not blood within Galgaverre for such a thing as a true army, no, nor aggression enough in our nature, but we have a great advantage, one that could so easily be put to use by someone who wasn’t truly of Galgaverre themselves.”
It only took Pettar a moment. “Storbanther!” He soon spat in disgust. “That man’s proving to be a riddle and a half, one I’ve often puzzled over. Who is he really, sister, do we know?”
It was Nephril’s voice that seeped into the room. “Storbanther doth know me well enough, although I know him not at all, as far as mine own recollection permits. I have felt such since first we arrived, and it…” his eyes brightened with the joy of returned memories, “…it did perplex me some. I dearly wish I could place him, but I fear I cannot. This I do know, that this Storbanther be of some place other than Galgaverre, not just of Dica but of more specific place, that I am sure.”
As Pettar started to look annoyed, Penolith added, “He’s been a fixture of the place for longer than I care to remember, longer than most here can vouch, but it doesn’t mean to say he actually sprang from here.”
Nephril interrupted her. “Perhaps it matters little from whence he came, and then perhaps not, but dost show him agent enough to marshal thine priests, for after all, that be their very fashioning.”
Falmeard was already falling behind, as he feared he would, with Pettar not much further ahead. Penolith, though, said, “Nephril speaks true, a truth I’ve only recently come to see myself. Yes, and it makes sense now, explains how things have come about the way they have.”
She then watched Pettar very carefully as she said, “Galgaverrans were wrought to be slaves, slaves unto the Certain Power, unto Leiyatel, and were wrought well to be those wheels within her elaborate engine.” Pettar’s eyes were widening, so she quickly added, “But any engine, be it to draw up a portcullis or water, or to nurture a great power, has to have guidance, must have reason applied.”
“The truth of our own nature has come slowly to me,” Pettar exclaimed. “I knew it already, but it’s new clarity makes me fear your answer, although I have to ask. Please, please tell me our head has not been Storbanther. For Leiyatel’s sake, it’s not his mind that’s given reason to our body, surely not?”
Nephril’s innocent and almost half-witted smile gave some salve for Pettar’s worries, but it was his words that proved tonic. “Nay, t’was not Storbanther, no, not he who was fashioned as head to Galgaverre’s body. Nay, was not he for t’was I.”
He was obviously overjoyed by the sudden flood of yet more returned memories, something that also pleased Penolith when she saw it. She reached across and placed a hand on his arm. “It’s certainly so. Nephril is indeed our ancient and wise head, and for that I’m truly glad.”
Pettar was taken aback, looked from her to Nephril and back. “But … but if … if Nephril’s our head then why’s he been absent for so long?”
That really did stump Nephril, and even Penolith seemed no keener to answer, her face a mixture of anxiety and uncertainty. It was, therefore, quite a while before Nephril pulled himself from the sea in which his thoughts were now floundering. “I must be honest with thee all, for thou art each in thine own ways deserving of that. It be honesty with mine self, though, that be the hardest for I know not the true answer. It is as though I have awoken from a dream only to find mine self wandering in the wilderness. Why I did forsake Galgaverre I have no memory of. Perhaps, perhaps that be the simple answer.”
He looked imploringly at Penolith who then said, “I would hazard our friend’s been prey to his failing memory for some time. Something, I suspect, brought on by Leiyatel’s steady weakening and his own despair at its inevitability.” She paused, as she held Nephril’s eyes in hers. “Is that not so, Lord Nephril?”
As they looked at each other, Penolith saw the text of the legends float between them, meaning leaping from here and there: In that place can no man but one attend, the needs and wants to harvest dividend, chosen for wisdom with eternal end, guardian and keeper fore’er forswears, all but cherishing of fair tree’s years.
Although she felt the weight of its words, it was the next text to come to mind that really saddened her, and explained so much more: Thus did Auldus suffer in place of Nephhryl for the great hurt that was believed brought unto Leiyfiantel by him and with it great peril unto the realm. And Nephhryl was far distant in the northern lands and knew not of it.
When she spoke it was only with an echo on her lips. “Was far distant … and knew not of it!” There was pain in her eyes, a shared pain. “Yet it was your duty, wasn’t it, Lord Nephril, forever to foreswear all but Leiyatel’s cherishing, and here, here in Galgaverre, not from afar?”
She felt the hurt of her words but they had to be said. “You knew you’d failed, in your service to the Certain Power, knew then how inevitable the end had become, knew then you’d … you’d been … been tricked, as I suspect so many have since.”
Nephril’s eyes welled with tears that then began trickling down his dry cheeks. Their wetness, however, revealed renewed vigour and confidence, stemming from more memories that then tumbled out as words. “I knew then, yes, but not by whom.”
‘An agent unknown!’ Penolith thought as Nephril bowed his head.
“I knew I had been tricked and sent afar, upon pretext, yes, I knew that then but alas too late. Oh, but that I had kept mine eyes open to politic, had not been of arrogant high birth.”
He struck the table, making Falmeard jump. “Had I seen what swilled about me then, perchance I would have held fast to mine oath. I should not have left slip to another’s holding, should not have let fear and pride take hold … should not have borne death unto mine very own nephew.”
Penolith rose, quickly went to his s
ide and let him weep against her comfort. Falmeard leant across, took Nephril’s hands in his own, and through them delivered a singular tonic. “Fear not Nephril. Maybe all’s not yet lost. Although I understand little, it seems to me your return’s been for some good reason, surely it was meant to be, eh, somehow.”
Penolith looked across at Pettar. “You must be away, brother, and as soon as you can. You’ve important work before you.” When he looked uncertain, she added, “Don’t you see now? Haven’t you yet found his name in it all?”
When Pettar still looked blank, she almost spitted, “It was Storbanther, Pettar, Storbanther! He it was who sent Nephril away, sent him far enough that he could then be supplanted, the rot then started that finally prised Nephril out and into the wilderness.”
A dark cloud came across Pettar’s face and he set his jaw hard. When he turned to Nephril, he saw there only the ancient damage done. Penolith words soon drew him again. “We must know what he’s up to, Pettar, must gain ground in the hope we can get at least one step ahead. Do you see now, my brother?”
He rose, knocking cutlery to the floor unheeded. “I do, sister, I do. Fear not. I’ll track him down and find out what he’s up to. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of days at most.”
She nodded. “Take some of our priests, Pettar, you can’t go alone. You should be up to handling a few Galgaverrans by now. I’ll get Layostler to arrange things. Are there any you’d particularly want with you?”
It took him only a moment to consider. “Drax, sister, Sentinar Drax.”
She looked surprised. “Drax doesn’t like you at all, Pettar, you know that, so why choose him?”
“Exactly because he doesn’t, and by it shows he’s more than just a wheel. I’ll have need of good, critical counsel, not merely numbers.”
She considered it for a moment. “Very well, get Layostler to attend me, so I can declare your authority, and so he can start gathering those you choose.”
“I’ll trust to Drax. He’ll know the choices better than me. He’s obviously a fine judge of character, after all, he’s judged mine well enough over the years.”
Whilst they were arranging things, and were in and out of the chamber, Falmeard kept Nephril company. He’d sat close by, offering reassurance and friendship. Although Nephril had recovered his composure, and was now what Falmeard better recognised as his old self, there was still an air of melancholy about him. It had kept Falmeard’s hand unselfconsciously on Nephril’s arm, somehow seeming to help.
In a quiet moment, and when they were for a short while alone, Nephril had thanked him for his friendship, which had saddened Falmeard. He’d seen in it an admission of an embarrassing failure, saw pain at the open knowing of how he’d forsaken Galgaverre. It wasn’t Leiyatel, but his own dereliction of duty to her people that seemed to weigh the most. It was as though he felt he’d deserted his own children.
Falmeard cast about to find some comfort for him. “My friend? It seems to me, if I’ve understood aright, that you took something from Leiyatel that might save her. Maybe that’s why you’ve been brought back to Galgaverre. Maybe our task is to find it again and then use it to save her.”
“Were that it were still possible, Falmeard, were that it was so.”
Nephril sighed, as he uncovered yet more memories. “Although I cannot see what it was I took, I do remember cherishing it well and long. Long, until tricked from me unto Auldus, mine own nephew.”
“But, if it didn’t leave here then surely it can still be found?”
“No, Falmeard, I fear not. It hath, thou see, fallen to where no man can go. No … no … I was too late thou see, too late to save Auldus, and with him the slip. I did … I did see him fall from the wall, aye, with mine very own eyes did I see his end.”
Penolith hadn’t long returned and was now sitting close by, catching some of what they’d said. Falmeard was still pressing Nephril. “But, surely, it must still lie there for the finding?”
Nephril caught Penolith’s eye and she answered for him. “No, Falmeard, it can’t be. You see, they both fell to the Garden of the Forgotten.”
At Falmeard’s blank look, Nephril explained, “It be a garden in name only, for in verity it be but a deep pit, a seemingly bottomless abyss within the flank of Mount Esnadac.” He placed a hand on Falmeard’s, there where it still rested on his own arm. “’Tis a sheer drop of many leagues into the mountain’s fiery belly. An apt place to depart for Dican bodies that must, like their honour, be effaced.”
Penolith found herself quoting: “And as he fell he was seen to conjoin hands and there he did vanish and did not find the garden below.”
Falmeard looked at her, mystified, but was then drawn to Nephril as he began chuckling. “Ha, as is oft the way with legends, ’tis but romancing and garnish to furnish a gloss. No, the world is not made of magic. Mine nephew did not simply vanish into thin air, he fell and is no more, and that be the end of it.”
When Falmeard wouldn’t let it rest, and pressed Nephril as to whether he’d actually seen his nephew’s death, he admitted, “No. No. To be strict in the remembrance, ‘tis truth be told that I saw not his fall beyond the wall’s top. By mine happening to its edge, he was long gone.” They were silent for a moment until Nephril added, “I am afraid we must seek other means if we are to put anything of the matter to rights.”
They then expectantly stared at him. “Please, forgive me, mine friends. I did not mean to imply I knew where our path must lie, for like thee I am uncertain and without chart, cast out in the quicksand. It is one thing to know where soft sand be, but yet another to know of firm ground.”
Falmeard felt disappointed, felt there’d been enough of talk and far too little action. He’d spent most of the past few days out of his depth, confused and feeling useless. What he really needed now was to be doing something, to be up and about, anything. He sprang to his feet and quickly paced before them, until he finally stopped and pleaded, “Well? What do we do now?”
Nephril’s uncharacteristic laughter began to fill the chamber, and he rocked back and forth in his seat. Eventually, his laughter broke into coughing and he quickly ground to a halt, red-faced and wheezing. He still held a broad grin, as he managed to chortle, “Oh, oh dear, Falmeard. Oh … oh, dear me … dear me, mine old fish, but please … excuse mine laughter … Oh dear.”
He stopped, mopped the sweat from his brow and then settled himself before their startled faces. “Ha, but thee do bring back sense when it be needed, that I wilt say for thee. Of course thou art right, Falmeard, quite right. We have need of a plan, but I am afeared thy need of action be but a little pre-empt, alas for thy boredom’s sake.”
He turned to Penolith. “Although I do not have a full plan, not writ yet in mine mind, I do know that such be there, somewhere, and what place might unlock it.”
“I have waited on your request, Lord Nephril,” Penolith quietly began, “waited long for its coming, but am afraid of the answer.”
“Yea, thou art right to be afeared, for it be an onerous task. It is, though, one that must be done.”
Penolith didn’t say another word, only rose to her feet and pressed the panel by the fireplace. Without turning, she told Nephril, “You know I can’t attend you?”
“I do.”
“You’ll be alone and beyond our help.”
“Fear not, mine Lady, ‘tis a thing I have done afore, many times, and always I have returned.”
When she turned back to him, she looked unconvinced. “But Baradcar was made ready then. That I know from my own duties, although I’ve never had need of them, not ‘til now. Now it’ll be unprepared, and we can’t even guess what’ll happen to you.”
Falmeard’s feathers were obviously ruffled once more. “You’ve lost me again! Why do you do that? What’re you both talking about, and why am I getting worried about Nephril?”
Nephril took pity on him. “I am sorry, Falmeard, do forgive us. Thou see, the time hath come for me to fill important g
aps in mine memories, gaps that no amount of books or legends or discussion, or indeed action will fill.”
He reached over, held Falmeard’s wrist surprisingly firmly, and in that simple action alone felt strangely invigorated. “There are walls in mine mind, as thou knowest. Some small and easily thrown down, but most needing much graft to topple. There be but one way I know of to breach them.”
“But what are you intending to DO?”
Nephril again chortled, but then answered with a glint in his eye, “Do? Do? But go a calling on Leiyatel of course, go visit the Tree.”
25 To a Lofty Tryst
The sheer mass of the castle, as it clothed the almost vertical face of the mountain, pressed down on the Eyeswin Vale as though supporting the heavens above. It seemed to bear the very weight of the sun, of the moon and all the heavenly bodies put together as it pushed down upon the great wall leaning so heavily against its base. There, there were no flat lands to till or give over to parkland, no open spaces in which to wander, just balcony heaped upon balcony.
Each joined the next by arches and steps, by long staircases and ramps, all fashioned from the same granite rock of the Gray Mountains. It all overflowed with damp moss, with lichen, fern and bracken, and ran with rivulets of clear water or cascades of glittering spume, either dangerous to the foot or drenching to the head.
Rising hundreds of feet, and off every balcony, there were countless rooms, a warren of halls and offices, of stores and dormitories. In fact, there were all the amenities expected of a crowded and bustling city district, but now they were all quite empty.
Earlier in the day, well before his arduous climb, Pettar had made good progress through the gently rolling fields and pastures of the Esnadales, far below and to the south. He’d stridden along well tended lanes and roads, and crossed many a stout stone bridge.
He’d been steadily making his way north, towards the rearing castle heights, stopping occasionally for cheese and bread at this farm or that cottage. He’d often passed the time of day as though his journey were but a casual walk on a lazy summer’s day. However, despite an apparently leisurely gait, his stamina and purpose had ineluctably carried him beyond the comforting byways, with their homely farms and gentle folk, and on into the narrow confines of the Scarra.
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