by Roger Taylor
They came at last to the wide corridor that led to what had once been the Count’s Audience Chamber. Elaborately decorated, with its arched ceiling lit by daylight brought along the Citadel’s many mirrorways, it had once been as welcoming and open as the Count himself. Now the mirrorways had been sealed and the decorations draped with dark cloths, and the effect was of a descent into darkness. Count Ibryen’s Audience Chamber had become the Gevethen’s Watching Chamber.
Helsarn was relieved to see Commander Gidlon waiting by the tall doors at the far end, but his relief became concern when he realized that, apart from the door Guards, he was alone. Where were the other Commanders? He cursed inwardly and began preparing a list of names should punishment be called for. What had his men been playing at? He was not assured as he reached Gidlon. His Commander was pale and trembling, and very agitated. Quickly, he said, ‘I sent men to find the other Commanders, sir. They should have been here some time ago.’
Gidlon scowled, as if he were being pestered by an irritating child. ‘They’re organizing the purging,’ he replied off-handedly as he acknowledged Harik. ‘Their Excellencies wish you to enter, Physician.’ He nodded to the rigid Guards. They opened the doors and Harik entered.
Helsarn was about to relax a little in anticipation of a long wait in the gloomy corridor while whatever the Gevethen wished to transact with Harik was completed, but Gidlon urgently motioned him to accompany the Physician. The order disconcerted him momentarily, but using another salute to disguise any outward sign that might betray his alarm, he strode after Harik.
Like the greater part of the rest of the Citadel, the Audience Chamber had been transformed into the opposite of what it used to be. Where there had been light and openness, there was now darkness and oppression. The low dais where the Count had sat on formal occasions, and the few gentle steps by which it could be reached were no more. They had been replaced by a high throne platform, bounded by sheer curving sides, on which the Gevethen could stand aloof overseeing all and quite unapproachable.
The windows having been curtained and the mirrorways sealed, such light as there was came from a host of small lanterns. These hung at many levels from the ceiling, rested in niches and alcoves, swung from brackets which jutted, spiky and gibbet-like, from the walls, and stood also on slender, twisted columns which grew at random from the floor like so many storm-blasted trees. The lanterns burned with a cold, unwelcoming light, which heightened shadows rather than brought illumination, and they flickered from time to time, though no draught of air could find its way into the place. They also tainted the air with a fine, throat-catching smoke.
Multiplying the images of these lanterns were mirrors. Like the lanterns they reflected, many were hung from the ceiling and the walls while others leaned crookedly against one another in balanced arrays around the floor, some reaching up into the hazy ceiling. There were mirrors of all sizes, set at many angles, but they brought only further confusion to the scene.
Helsarn did as he always did when he entered the Watching Chamber; he tried to focus on the Gevethen – to concentrate on the heart of all that flickered about the hall. For even when the Gevethen themselves were motionless – which was rarely – the mirror-bearers continued their elaborate ballet about them so that the images of Nesdiryn’s new Lords moved constantly. And all movement in this unsettling gloaming flew from mirror to mirror, deep into their flat and glistening depths before returning, unchanged, save that left had become right and right, left.
Helsarn’s eyes thus moved automatically upwards to the top of the high throne platform. It stood dark and empty however, and for an instant the confusion of the hall threatened to disorientate him. Then he saw that the Gevethen were at the foot of the platform, as were his men, though they were no longer carrying Hagen’s body. Keeping a discreet distance behind, Helsarn followed Harik, his eyes fixed on the group ahead, trying to make out what was happening. As ever, there were other figures standing about the hall. These were yet more mirror-bearers, and some of the strange servants who tended the Gevethen. What function they fulfilled no one knew, and, like the mirror-bearers, their seemingly soulless manner disturbed all who had contact with them. Helsarn found their current inaction particularly unsettling. How could they not be drawn to what was happening?
When he reached the foot of the throne platform, he saw that four of the mirror-bearers were crouching on the floor. They were carrying their mirrors on their backs, to form an uneasy table on which was laid Hagen’s body. The Gevethen, hands clenched in front of them, were swaying back and forth slightly. Helsarn kept some way away from the scene, suddenly superstitiously fearful of what he might see reflected in that smooth and shining bier.
‘He is gone, Physician, is he not?’
‘Our right arm has been hacked from us?’
‘The Lord Counsellor is dead,’ Harik said flatly.
Hands floated towards him, beckoning.
‘You cannot draw him back?’
‘Quicken those dead eyes?’
‘Make supple these stiffening limbs?’
‘He is dead,’ Harik repeated. ‘He would have died from those injuries had I been at his side when they were struck.’
‘By his side. Ah!’
‘Ah!’
Briefly all the images turned to Helsarn. He stiffened.
Then they were gone and a score of images of the Gevethen were peering up out of the mirrors on which Hagen rested, as though they were waiting to receive him. There was a long silence. Helsarn became aware that the dark figures about the hall were slowly gravitating towards the scene.
Innumerable pale faces turned to one another and spoke in hoarse whispers.
‘Shall we go after him, brother? Into the darkness. Beyond.’
‘Those Ways are tangled and broken, brother. We would be lost.’
‘He tests us yet.’
‘He tests us yet.’
‘We must have faith…’
‘… faith.’
‘Nothing can be done, but to lay the Lord Counsellor to rest.’ Harik cut across the hissing dialogue. The images were gone and a myriad grey eyes were focused on the Physician.
‘How can he rest? His work here scarce started. So many promises unfulfilled.’
Fingertips touched the harsh face. They lingered.
‘Will you not bring him back?’
‘I cannot,’ Harik said. ‘Nor could any that I have known, wiser than I by far.’
Though Harik’s manner was unchanged, and his voice still flat and without any semblance of emotion, Helsarn sensed a battle of wills being fought. Not for the first time he felt almost as frightened of Harik as he did of the Gevethen. What was there in this man that he could stand against these two when even the strongest and most ruthless quailed?
He glanced around the hall discreetly. As ever, lights and shadows were moving and changing at the will, or the whim, of the mirror-bearers. All that appeared to be motionless were the dark and silent shapes of the servants. Yet, though he saw no movement amongst them, Helsarn knew they were drawing closer.
The Gevethen were muttering softly to each other – or were they singing?
Then, whatever tension there was between Harik and the Gevethen was gone and the two figures were bending over Hagen’s body again.
‘He is truly going.’
‘Leaving us.’
‘We must delay no further.’
And the mirrors were alive with beckoning hands urgently drawing the spectators forward.
‘Come!’
‘Come!’
‘All of you…
‘… of you.’
‘Pay your respects…’
‘… respects.’
‘The Lord Counsellor must enter the Ways before his spirit is lost.’
‘Grieve not.’
‘His wisdom will guide us still.’
Then, scarcely knowing how he came there, Helsarn found himself in a line moving slowly past the body: mirror-bearers, u
nfolding from around the Gevethen then returning to them, the Guards who had carried Hagen from the carriage, and all the others in the Hall who had at last silently come together. Only the Gevethen and Harik did not move, standing respectively at the head and the foot of the dead Counsellor. As each person passed, Helsarn noticed that they laid a hand on Hagen’s forehead and the Gevethen mirrored the gesture. It was no Nesdiryn ritual and Helsarn had not noticed who began it, but he felt constrained to do the same. It took him a considerable effort of will. Not because Hagen was dead – he had handled plenty of corpses in his time – but because, even in death, he was frightening. Yet even as he looked, he saw raindrops, caught in the cold lantern-light and resting whole and undisturbed on the dead face. They looked like tears and they added, for Helsarn, an unexpected and almost incongruous poignancy to the scene.
Throughout this eerie wake, the mirror-bearers moved constantly, transforming the motley handful of mourners now into a throng, now into a line that spiralled off into a lantern-lit infinity. Then, abruptly, they were still and their mirrors turned about. For a moment the Hall was suffused only with the light of the lanterns that were truly there. Individuals were individuals again, with no gliding reflection moving independently. Only the Gevethen, side by side, white-faced and watery eyes glistening, seemed like reflections. The sudden cessation of all movement, and the disappearance of the milling images twisted a spasm of panic inside Helsarn.
‘Know then our trial’
‘… our trial.’
And the movement began again. The group of eerie servants and mirror-bearers about the body began to disperse as silently as it had gathered. Helsarn could feel the eyes of the stretcher party looking at him, waiting desperately for him to make some move that would enable them to leave this place. The Gevethen were talking softly to one another again.
When they fell silent, he ventured cautiously, ‘What do you wish to be done with the Lord Counsellor’s body, Excellencies?’
‘Leave us, Captain,’came the simultaneous reply from both of them.‘All that can be done here has been done. Now the Lord Counsellor must enter the Ways.’
Questions formed in Helsarn’s mind, but he did not voice them. ‘As you command, Excellencies,’ he replied.
The eyes turned towards him, as did rank upon rank of others, motionless and staring.‘It was pertinent that you who bore the awful burden of finding the Lord should attend these obsequies. That your tongue did not swell and choke you rather than bring such news to us speaks well of your courage and loyalty. We will question you later, Captain. And your men. And too, those others of our children who were present. Culprits must be found. Retribution administered as he would have wished. The disease that was the way of the Count Ibryen survives still, despite our blessed rule, and we must be ever vigilant in seeking it out. The perfection and order of true justice that Nesdiryn, and beyond, require, will elude us for ever while this corruption remains amongst us.’
Then the eyes were gone, and a limp hand was waving him away. The stretcher party needed no urging and, at his soft-spoken order, they formed up and marched from the Hall. Harik looked at the Gevethen then at Hagen’s body, then turned and left without waiting for a more formal dismissal.
The light in the corridor beyond the Hall, though dull, was almost dazzling after the oppressive gloom of the Watching Chamber, and it took Helsarn a few moments to adjust to his vision being free of the endless, shifting images.
Uncharacteristically, he dismissed the stretcher party with congratulations for their conduct in the Hall, albeit he ordered them to return to their quarters immediately, pending further orders.
Gidlon, pacing anxiously in the background, strode up to him as they left, but Helsarn turned first to Harik, just emerging from the Hall. Behind the Physician he could see the Gevethen and the mirror-bearers forming a tight circle about the corpse.
‘What about the body?’ he asked. ‘It can’t just be left there.’
Harik looked past him. ‘I know no more than you,’ he said coldly. ‘Doubtless if we’re required for anything we’ll be called.’
‘But… ’
Harik shrugged and strode off without comment. It seemed to Helsarn, staring after him, that the Physician’s stride was more urgent than usual. Whatever relationship he had with the Gevethen, he wanted to be away from this place as quickly as possible.
‘Captain!’ Gidlon’s hissed command ended Helsarn’s reverie. ‘What happened in there?’
Helsarn cast a quick glance at the door Guards and, motioning Gidlon to follow him, began walking back along the corridor. As they gradually moved towards the light, Helsarn told Gidlon all that had happened. When the tale was finished. Gidlon’s immediate comment was the same as Helsarn’s. ‘What about the body? It can’t be left there.’
And Helsarn’s reply was largely the same as Harik’s. He shrugged, as respectfully as he dared. ‘We’ll just have to wait Their Excellencies’ pleasure.’ He changed the subject; he had no desire to dwell further on what had happened in the Watching Chamber. ‘What orders did they give about the purging?’ he asked, seeking refuge in matters practical.
‘Full curfew with immediate effect. Although from what I’ve heard, there’s hardly anyone on the streets even now… everyone’s run for cover. And we’re to purge from that street as far as the Ennerhald.’
‘Do you want my Company out?’
Gidlon shook his head. ‘They might be needed for questioning. I don’t want them scattered all over the city when they’re asked for.’
They had reached the main door. The sky was still overcast, but Helsarn still had to screw up his eyes against the light. Although the rain had stopped, the courtyard was full of the sound of overflowing gutters and gullies. As they moved to the top of the steps, the Dohrum Bell began to peal again. As before, it tolled nine times. The sound shook the ground under the two men’s feet, and shivering concentric circles of agitation formed in the many puddles littering the courtyard.
Chapter 9
Jeyan woke as she normally did – as soon as light began to appear. As usual, Assh and Frey were already awake. It had been a bad night, punctuated by periods of half-sleep, with her mind full of heart-wrenching memories of childhood and her parents. Fully awake, she would have fended off such visions as though they had been Citadel Guards, but caught thus, she was defenceless and was sorely hurt when morning came.
Throat tight, she lay for a while staring upwards, waiting for the pain to pass. In the low, early morning light, it was possible to make out marks on the ceiling that might be the remains of a painting – probably a cloudscape of some kind, she had decided once, though at times she thought she could also make out the lines of buildings and streets. In her sourer moments, she took them for stains caused by rainwater blown into the floors above through shattered windows.
Now, however, she saw nothing, for she was lingering still in her night thoughts, at once reluctant and desperate to leave, to close and bar again the door that separated her from her past.
As was often the case, the dogs determined the matter for her, Frey walking over and putting her muzzle wetly in her face. Jeyan swore at her and scrambled out of the disordered blankets. With a sudden rush, Frey pushed past her, plunging in search of a spider that had inadvertently scuttled out into the open during the disturbance. The impact tumbled Jeyan over on to her back and she swore again. Before she could sit up. Assh bounded over, tail wagging low along the floor. He stood looking down at her intently until she was obliged to wriggle out from under him. She had no sooner stood up however, than she flopped down on to a chair, her face wearily in her hands. She felt awful. A whirl of black humour came to her aid. Probably caught something off Hagen’s last breath, she thought. Someone as foul as him must surely be diseased through to his very heart. No normal person could do what he did without becoming so.
She looked down at her hands, half-expecting them to be stained where she had seized Hagen’s hair to yank his hea
d back, or where his blood had splashed on her. There was nothing to be seen however, and such blood as had struck her had either washed off in the rain, or merged into the dirt-mottled background of her clothes.
Yet she was still uneasy. Everything after the killing should have been a song of triumph, but there was a strained quality to her. There was no true sense of release, of freedom. It worried her that the trembling that had suffused her yesterday still lingered, fluttering deep within her – it wasn’t as if it was the first time she had killed someone. And from time to time her hand still twitched as she recalled the impact of the blows she had struck.
She took out her knife and looked at it. As she held it, she began to feel quieter. Hagen was dead. Dead! Andshe had done it! The world could not be other than better for such a deed. True, others would probably follow in his steps – her lip curled as she recalled the names of her father’s erstwhile friends who had bowed before the Gevethen, pleading to serve – but none would ever again pass through the streets of the city with the aura of invulnerability that Hagen had exuded.
She pressed the knife into the table slowly. ‘Invulnerable,’ she said, laughing viciously. ‘Not while you’re flesh and blood. Not while there’s a joint in your armour. Not while someone can get within arm’s length of you.’
The last remains of her uneasiness disappeared under the clarion cry that now filled her. She was herself again. Her momentary weakness had been caused by those treacherous wakings in the night that had tried to take her back to a world long gone, and beyond any recalling. She twisted the knife, gouging a piece from the table as she dashed aside even the recollection. She must not allow herself to be so undermined. She had faced real dangers in her time and doubtless would again, especially after what she had done – it was ludicrous that she should risk being felled by a mere memory. She needed all her wits to be firmly secured in the present. Perhaps one day, when the Gevethen were destroyed, gentler times would come again, but she dismissed these thoughts as she had dismissed the others. Times past and times to come were of no value to her if they impaired what was here and now.