Leiyatel's Embrace (Dica Series Book 1)

by Clive S. Johnson

  Storbanther again convincingly sighed. Was he learning? “Leiyatel has provided nearly all our needs for so long that yes, there is little wit left within Bazarral, and there was never much in Dica.”

  “So, there be two gifts from her suitor then, eh, Storbanther?”

  “Do try to let me keep pace, Nephril, if you would. I don’t know! You Dicans are far too fast. Yes, although they don’t yet know it, but our own blood of Nouwelm still retain their original sharp wit. They’ve had to, you see, isolated as they’ve been from Leiyatel’s embrace. They have the nature still, kept honed by conditions north of the mountains, but I suspect the Repository’s knowledge will have long passed from their memories.”

  “So, Storbanther, both knowledge and wit now sit without, from where this true blood cannot as yet be brought in? Thine need of me be but simple, I now see, to help bring in yon army, nay, but I wouldst go so far as to say thou needest me for its furtherance.”

  Nephril rose and stood before the fire, where he carefully warmed his backside. Eventually, he said, “Now I see thy purpose, and all about it be made clear, and ‘tis plainly right. Thou may hath been cack-handed about it, and so hurt mine remembrances gravely, but I can vouchsafe thy good intent. He offered his hand to Storbanther. “I see sense in thine plans, Storbanther, do see they are wise and timely for I have witnessed Leiyatel’s parlous state and feel her end be near. So, I do offer thee mine hand and swear oath to Leiyatel, and thou her servant limb, that I wilt aid thee both.”

  In a strangely expressionless way, Storbanther did look pleased and greatly relieved. It was more the way he rose to take Nephril’s hand, and how he shook it so firmly. Nephril tried to see something in his face, despite knowing it would only be contrived, but could see nothing.

  In the end he addressed Storbanther’s blank features. “I know our time be short. What I know not, though, is exactly how short, and how long the passage to Nouwelm be assured?”

  “Not long, Nephril, not long at all, perhaps no more than three or maybe four years.”

  “Then,” Nephril began, “we hadst better start at once. What aid can I give thee now?”

  Storbanther moved once more to the window. “It struck me how our problem with the gates meant there must be others with a greater desire for them to stay shut. When I saw how vigorous you’d become, Nephril, the answer became plain.”

  Nephril understood and smiled, for the first time since their meeting. “Thou want me to join thee in thy desire they be opened, and that I would now freely do but fear there be others nearby whose desires would thwart it.”

  Storbanther looked surprised, but then when he thought about it, realised he shouldn’t be. “You’re obviously here with others. May I ask who’s in your party and where they are now?”

  “We be housed in Layther Manse.”

  Nephril went on to list its occupants which brought yet more hints of animation from Storbanther. “Guardian Penolith! And Drax! I have to admit I’m surprised, but grateful they’re on hand, but I hadn’t thought you’d have so many notable people with you. Certainly Pettar and Falmeard, of course, I could‘ve guessed at them, but not Penolith, nor Drax come to that. I suspect it’s your more persuasive manner, hmm? Something my thin veneer of man has never really been up to, more’s the pity.”

  When Storbanther asked if he thought he’d have any problems convincing them, Nephril assured him not. “Thou art not a favourite of Penolith, not at present, but I know she wilt understand in time. Thou may still experience some frost for she sees thee in a poor light.”

  “I’m not sure why, but you’re more man than me and so I’ll take your word for it. Obviously, I’ve done something wrong in her eyes.”

  Nephril patted him on the arm. “I think thou hath fallen foul of thine insensitive nature and hath not realised the hurt thou hast done her. She thinks thou hath betrayed her, but I can make thine amends … I think.”

  They spent some time discussing events past and needs future, making Nephril realise how much progress had already been made. He was even more surprised, and somewhat alarmed, when he learnt they’d already agreed that the army would come in to the castle in two days’ time. “In that case,” Nephril concluded,” I need return now for there be little time for all I need to do.”

  When he rose to leave, something caught his eye. Storbanther followed his gaze but wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Partly hidden on a shelf was a tall and thin glass phial that Nephril then asked about. “Oh, that. Commander Leadernac’s good will token. Bit useless really, but it’s the thought that counts.”

  “Dost thou know what it be, Storbanther?”

  Storbanther went to the shelf and took it down. “It’s an unusual lamp, but rather ineffectual. When Commander Leadernac revealed that only he of Nouwelm knew of the Repository, he made mention of this, said he’d found it there. He had it brought to him and then presented it to me. He thought it an appropriate token, given our interest.”

  “He did, did he?”

  “Yes. He brought it with him only because he thought it might be useful on their journey here, but I can’t imagine why. It gives a terrible light.” He twisted its metal base and the phial flickered with a pale grey glow.

  He passed it to Nephril. “Maybe it worked once, when it was placed there, but I think time’s not done it any favours.”

  “Would you mind if I borrowed it, Storbanther? Pettar hath gained a recent fascination for lamps, he may be intrigued by it.”

  “By all means. I’ve no use for it. It’s not a patch on a torch or candle.”

  41 Many Hands

  Although Nephril’s nature had truly been greatly altered over his long life, much of it amongst those who certainly weren’t Dican, that bloodline still had a distinct presence. It should prove effective, he hoped, when it came to handling his companions settled there in Layther Manse.

  All but Falmeard were of Galgaverran stock and thereby amenable to his coercion, by the very nature of their blood, so he felt confident he could convince them all of his newfound allegiance. As for Falmeard? Well, he’d always deferred to Nephril anyway, by dint of his own singular nature.

  There’d been great relief at Nephril’s safe return, but after a hearty welcome, they’d all in their own ways recognised a change in him. For the most part it seemed he was more relaxed and warm, but it was Penolith who suspected it hid a deeper and more sinister experience.

  It was late into the afternoon before he could even think of pursuing things with them. Everybody was fairly relaxed by then, lounging on the sparse furniture they’d found lying about the manse. Drax and Falmeard sat within the tattered remains of a moth-eaten couch, with Phaylan propped on its arm, all deep in discussion. Across from them, Endran, Tunsen and Braygar were pouring out yet more of the fine wine they’d procured from a not too distant vineyard, earlier that day.

  Their talk was subdued, and so when Nephril coughed, they all immediately turned to look. He then asked them to take close heed of what he was about to tell them. It wasn’t an easy task for there were so many raw memories, so many revealed failings and false beliefs to negotiate. Nephril had to weave between all the complexities, to find simple ways to explain what Storbanther was about and what his aims were. He made clear how the stick of a man was nothing more than a part of Leiyatel, and therefore set only on her own salvation.

  Penolith had shown a lot of scepticism which hadn’t surprised Nephril. “You seem to be so trusting of Stor’, Nephril? Are you sure you can have faith in him, that he’s being plain with you?” When he assured her, and despite placing his own certainty in her mind, she still looked unconvinced.

  It was Pettar, though, who really surprised him. He suddenly stood up, hands on hips. “I can’t believe it, I’m afraid. I respect you, and have heard your words, Nephril, but they seem to me somehow hollow.”

  When Nephril tried to answer, Pettar almost shouted him down. “We’ve all learnt of his deeds and it’s done nothing but bolster
our belief that he’s an untrustworthy schemer, bent on no good. Now you come back telling us he’s our best friend! I think not.” There was no pleading in his voice, only an outraged hurt that broached no argument. It shook Nephril’s own ground, not so much in his belief but in his assumption of an easy persuasion.

  Nephril had felt smooth progress with Penolith and could see her mind coming around to his views, but it seemed to have blinkered him to Pettar’s mutant blood and freer mind. Worse still, Pettar’s outburst seemed to be undoing all his good work. Before long it looked as though mutiny was brewing, and so he soon accepted that argument was fast losing the day.

  When they then fell to bolstering each other’s doubts, Nephril finally lost patience. “Enough!” he shouted, and the salon instantly fell silent as they all stared at him. “Time be far too short. We have important work to do. Hold thine discontent and follow me.”

  Without looking back, he strode from the salon into the portrait gallery, down past all the kings and out into the corridor. Instead of carrying on to the entrance hall, he snatched open a door and swept into an unlit room.

  When they all traipsed in after him and began bumping into each other in the dark, Nephril brandished Leadernac’s lamp, which hardly helped much. It was even worse when he then asked that the door be closed. Pettar still seemed upset, though. “What’s this all about, Nephril?”

  “I have brought thee here to show thee this.” Nephril held the lamp aloft, its flickering glow barely lighting his hand. “This was brought here by Commander Leadernac from Nouwelm’s Repository, and given as a token to Storbanther.” Pettar began to grumble but Nephril ignored him. “It was placed there in the beginning, when the Stewards endowed the Repository with all knowing concerning Leiyatel, and so is nearly as ancient as I.”

  Falmeard asked, “How does an old worn-out lamp prove Storbanther’s not the charlatan we believe him to be, Nephril?”

  Pettar acidly added, “And that he’s actually somehow a part of Leiyatel, and we should now take him to our heart?”

  They could just make out a flickering grey resolve in Nephril’s face as he lowered the lamp past his head. They could see no more of him, though, when he then held it out before him. Its flickering light faintly danced around the floor, across the walls to either side and about the ceiling, but not on the wall directly before him. There, a slightly brighter grey spread of light seemed to waver like smoke.

  “Bring me that small table by thy side, wilt thee, Falmeard?”

  Falmeard did as bidden. Nephril took something from his robes and put it on the table, a tin plate by the sound of it, onto which he lowered the lamp. There was a sudden grating vibration as it touched, but once settled they could then hear a thin voice.

  They were still trying to understand its strange accent when Nephril swamped it with the sound of scraping legs as he slid the table towards the door and away from the wall’s grey cloud. When he’d finished, they took no more notice of the thin voice for their attention had been grabbed instead by the grey head and shoulders of a grey man, now hovering on the wall where the grey cloud had been.

  They all stared in wonder, except Nephril who’d already seen it once. The voice they’d heard was plainly the man’s, although still unintelligible. When Tunsen leant nearer and tried to touch a grey arm, not only did the grey man not flinch but the back of Tunsen’s hand actually carried his grey form. It made him pull back sharply, shaking his hand as though wet.

  Nephril explained, “Thou see before thee Steward Seth Belinger, who I remember well. He it was who very reluctantly gave permission, under great pressure from King Belforas, for mine instilment of Leiyatel’s weft and weave, and who granted me access to Leigarre Perfinn where the deed was done.”

  By then the only movement was the man’s grey lips, although his arm occasionally twitched, as though he were uncomfortable. When he stopped speaking and nodded his head slightly, he slowly began to fade to a flickering dark grey patch on the wall.

  Pettar was about to speak himself when the grey man reappeared and spoke once more. Nephril stared at Pettar’s shocked face but addressed them all. “I wilt give space for our guest, so thou might accustom thine ears to his ancient delivery, and so see if thou canst pull meaning from his arcane words.”

  They all strained to Steward Seth’s rattling voice, coming not from where he floated upon the wall but from the old tin plate on the table. It was only Falmeard who spoke, after a minute or two, and just before Seth once again faded to a dark cloud. “I can’t believe it! I’m sure I heard him say Storbanther’s name.”

  He turned at Nephril’s voice. “Nearly there, Falmeard. Listen again.”

  Steward Seth appeared once more. This time Falmeard had found a sharper ear, an old one certainly, although not quite the steward’s age, but good enough to find some meaning. “He’s just said something about entrusting it all to Storbanther Scaedwera… Of course!” His eyes would have lit up had it been light enough. “The book … sorry, Nephril, the folder I found, the one in Leigarre Perfinn, the one with his name written in.”

  “Indeed, Falmeard, Storbanther Scaedwera! I wilt now make it easier for those whose ears have never heard the old tongue. The steward be addressing those who might one day enter Nouwelm’s Repository. He is telling them to travel south at first sign of the pass becoming free of snow, and there to seek out Storbanther, to arrange for its stock of knowledge to be returned to him in Galgaverre.”

  Pettar interrupted. “It must be a trick, Nephril. How can you be sure Storbanther’s not made this thing himself, to mislead you?”

  Nephril snatched up the strange lamp, removing Seth from the wall, and then brandished it at Pettar, bringing a silent grey mouth to his forehead.

  “These things I have seen afore, but only I now alive remember them. They were made in Leigarre Perfinn and kept there and nowhere else, except for this one it now seems. I remember them because I was a young man when I entered Perfinn’s central chamber, and saw their use, but Storbanther was born there, wrought in that very chamber. He came from it and into the world with a virgin mind. Even had he noticed them, they would have meant as little to him then as this one does to him now.”

  He slammed it back down onto the tin plate and Seth’s thin voice began mid-sentence. “…wanne eow der berg-culvergang snaaw-thawianed infinda thaenne…”

  Nephril gained the door and snatched it open. Before passing through, he turned back to them all, but to Pettar in particular. “Listen to Steward Seth ‘til thee see sense of his words … if thou canst fain find credence in mine,” and then slammed the door shut behind him.

  It wasn’t much later before Nephril heard footsteps coming back through the Portrait Gallery and then saw Pettar’s stout frame come into the salon, shoulders slumped. The others followed behind and gathered before Nephril, where he sat looking out at the great gates.

  “I’m sorry, Nephril,” Pettar began. “We’re all ashamed we didn’t believe you at first, and I reckon I’m really to blame.” Nephril didn’t answer or look at him. “You see, for me it was more personal. There’s been a long history between me and Storbanther, and I’ve let that come between me and the truth.”

  At last, Nephril turned to look him in the face. “The fault be mine, Pettar. I should have known thou wouldst find it too hard at first. Mine Dican arrogance hast made fools of us both. Perhaps enough hast already been said and we can now put it behind us?” Pettar held his hand out and Nephril carefully took and held it.

  He looked into each of their faces before saying, “We have an important task before us, one that we must start anon. It be a task that doth require, of thee all bar none, no more than thy belief, belief in thy hearts, that what I am about to tell thee be but the plain truth.”

  Pettar looked shamefaced but Nephril still held his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. When he was sure he’d got their full attention, he let Pettar’s hand slip free. “I have already explained what Storbanther be about, and why thi
s army of Nouwelm be so important. Thou all now know of the need to return Nouwelm’s secreted knowledge, and how crucial it be to the Certain Power, and so to us all.”

  No one said anything, although a few nodded their heads. “We have a part to play in that, a small part it may seem but one upon which the whole scheme hangs. The army must be brought in, so full course can be mapped and compact agreed, but there be a problem. Thou may think there be no part for thee each to play, but thou wouldst be wrong, very wrong. Some of thee wilt already know what guides the Certain Power’s fortune, but for those who know it not then I best explain.”

  For some his description of the influence of men’s minds upon the Certain Power was no more than reaffirming a known truth, but for others it was a revelation, a seeming magic trick. Nephril took great pains to fix that apparently wondrous working firmly within Nature’s own ways, and thereby ensure all gave it its due weight of credence.

  “The outcome of Leiyatel’s influence be the sum of the wishes of those minds within her domain. So, thou canst perhaps glean why Storbanther hath suffered intransigence at the gate. We have detracted from his own sum, unbalanced it with opposing desires. We must now reverse that, for there be little time left.”

  Falmeard then innocently asked. “How long’s that then, Nephril?”

  “The army need come in, mine practical friend, the day after the morrow.”

  “It seems strange to me,” Falmeard admitted, “that what we think can alter the outcome, and I’m not too sure I follow it all really, but if it’s just a case of us each wishing the gates to open then I’m sure we can do that. It doesn’t sound that hard, really.”

  Nephril smiled. “Put simply, as is thy habit, mine friend, thou hast boiled it down admirably. I would, though, urge thee all to do more than just wish it so. Thou must all believe, in thy heart of hearts, that thy wishes are more than mere whim, that they be real force. The more thou believe in the act, see it as real before thine eyes, then the more certain it will become.”