by Roger Taylor
Hynard looked doubtful. ‘Put like that it all seems innocuous enough. But I’m not happy about you wandering the mountains on your own. It’s been a long time since you did any serious mountain work. With all due respect to our… guest… good climber he might be, but can he carry you on his back for any distance if need arises?’
Marris’s nodding did nothing to prevent Ibryen’s indignation mounting at this slur, but Rachyl intervened before he could give it voice.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said to Hynard. ‘I’ll be going with them.’
Ibryen’s mouth dropped. ‘I think not,’ he said with massive authority. Rachyl’s gaze fixed him. There was a strength in it that he had never known before.
Change reforges. The thought came to him unbidden.
‘This isn’t a matter for debate, Cousin,’ she said. She waved an arm around the small gathering. ‘This is as it was when we were in the Shippen this morning. This is family. It’s imperative that we all agree. But it’s also got to be accepted by the Company Commanders – by every one of our people here, if it’s not going to do anything other than shatter morale.’ She looked at Marris then Ibryen. ‘I presume you’ve given some thought to what you’ll be telling them?’
Marris made no reply and, after considering improvising, Ibryen told the truth. ‘Not fully,’ he admitted. ‘We wanted to know what you thought first.’
‘You mean you wanted to see how we’d react,’ Rachyl translated.
This time Ibryen did not reply. Rachyl grunted significantly. ‘Well,’ she went on, ‘this is what we’ve all agreed here. You, the Traveller and myself go in search of this mysterious whatever it is that’s calling you into the mountains, while the valley contents itself with watching and waiting under Marris’s command.’ It was a summary, not an opening argument, but before Ibryen could say anything he was once again the focus of Rachyl’s attention. ‘All that remains is how long this business is supposed to continue, and what’s to be told to the others, because you can’t tell them what you’re really doing.’
Marris and Hynard turned to Ibryen expectantly.
Suddenly defensive, he said, ‘I can’t lie.’
‘You can’t tell the truth either,’ Rachyl said bluntly. ‘Not and hope to retain any sense of authority. Loyalty can go only so far. It’s been hard enough for us who’ve known you all our lives, and I’m trusting you rather than understanding. You can’t ask it of anyone else, it’s too much.’
Before Ibryen could reply, Hynard had taken up the challenge. ‘We’ll have no trouble in announcing that the Traveller’s from the south. In fact, we’ll have to. The others will have spread it all over the valley by now, so we haven’t got much longer before the Hall’s full to bursting.’
‘I asked you to say nothing about all this,’ Ibryen said angrily.
Hynard retorted in similar vein. ‘You asked us to say nothing about the discussion in the Shippen, and we didn’t, in spite of some considerable pressing. But there were six of us went up on the ridge – the duty stand-by team and us – and the sight of those footsteps across the Hummock couldn’t have been kept quiet for any length of time no matter what we, or for that matter, you said.’
For a moment the two men held one another’s gaze, then Ibryen broke the contact with an irritable wave. ‘Finish what you were going to say.’
Hynard pressed on. ‘I think all we can say is that the Traveller is what he says he is – a traveller, journeying from Girnlant in the south to…’ He shrugged. ‘… some place – his home perhaps – in the north. We can say he’s an expert mountaineer – also true, and witnessed by others. And we can say he’s offered to help us find a way through the mountains that’ll help us to come at the Gevethen from some unexpected direction. Again true, after a fashion.’ He looked at Ibryen for approval but received only a cautious nod. ‘Rachyl going with you will reassure everyone who might have doubts about the Traveller’s real intentions. As for a change in tactics, a policy of watch and wait following Hagen’s assassination and pending your return shouldn’t present any problems. In fact, using nothing as a means of further disturbing the Gevethen is quite brilliant.’ Ibryen tilted his head on one side and searched Hynard’s voice for any signs of irony but he found none, and Hynard did not seem to notice the scrutiny though he was a little hesitant about his next words. ‘All this you can say without lying. But I agree with Rachyl that you should make no mention whatsoever of the Traveller’s strange powers and this… call… you’ve heard. Nor should we mention anything about the Culmadryen. I’ll trust you…’ He glanced at Rachyl and received some form of assent. ‘We’ll trust you absolutely, but in the name of pity, take care – in every way. Keep your feet on the ground because it’ll all come to edges, points and physical courage in the end, and we need you here, clear-headed and clear-sighted, directing events from the centre.’
Ibryen’s residual anger at their confrontation faded before the unexpected power of Hynard’s exposition and he felt more than a little ashamed of his behaviour. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘It seems that change is truly in the air,’ he said, managing a smile to cover his awkwardness. ‘I’ve never heard you string so many words together before. Certainly not to such effect.’
‘I don’t think you’ll fault them either,’ Marris said.
‘I think you’re right,’ Ibryen agreed, then to Rachyl and Hynard he said simply, ‘Good. Very good. Thank you both,’ before turning to the Traveller. ‘Does any of this give you offence?’
The reply was unexpectedly sour. ‘The whole thing gives me offence, Count. I belong in the cold high peaks, alone with my thoughts and carving the sounds I find there. If you remember, I told you the tale from the Great Gate about the defeat of the Ancient Corrupter, and how even in the very moment of defeat He knew victory, for He saw that His lessons had been spread both wide and deep throughout humanity.’ He looked down into his hand which was curling first into a claw and then into a fist. ‘He’s here now, as if those arrows and spears had never brought Him down. He’s here, standing sweet-tongued at our shoulders, turning the rich skills of fine people towards a myriad forms of hurt and deceit when they should be celebrating just being – just being.’ He looked up from his hand and round at each person in turn. ‘But I’m as much one of you as I’m not, and I’ll help you as I’ve promised. At least you too are offended by what you do and you’ll turn from it as soon as you can.’
There was a discreet knocking at the door. Ibryen, the nearest, stood up and opened it. A man was standing there, his manner at once respectful and determined. Behind him, the Council Hall, its arched roof lit by dozens of lanterns, was full of silent people, also waiting.
Chapter 15
By an irony that she would not have appreciated, it was fear of the Gevethen’s all-pervading power, and the ambition of their servants that fed upon it, that saved Jeyan’s life again that day. Citadel Guard Captain Aram Helsarn, routinely supervising part of the purging, intercepted the army company withdrawing from the Ennerhald with their dead and injured and their wild tale about death-pit dogs lurking in one of the buildings. ‘I left three men on guard, just in case there was anyone about,’ the captain confided shrewdly to demonstrate that it was not only the Guards who were adept at dealing with city-spawned events. But Helsarn had affected a patronizing indifference to the incident and parted from him with a cursory nod of sympathy for his losses which verged on the insulting.
When the column had moved on however, Helsarn uttered a prayer of thanks for the idiocy of his army compatriot and, taking a dozen of his best men, headed rapidly for the Ennerhald and the five-towered building. The reputation of death-pit dogs was coloured by their undoubted ferocity but was disproportionate to their real threat. Helsarn knew, as did most who had ever had to enter the Ennerhald, that while a pack might occasionally attack a lone individual, they would not attack a large group, nor would they wait in pairs to ambush people. And they certainly wouldn’t linger about on the upper f
loors of buildings! A will far more purposeful than brute hunting instinct was behind the attack or he was a mirror-bearer.
The destruction wrought by Assh and Frey was easily found, and Helsarn could scarcely keep the excitement from his face when the trail of the three soldiers was also located. He actually glanced casually away for fear of what would be seen in his eyes when he heard, ‘There’s someone with them, Captain.’
They had someone captive and they were going for the assassin! An inveterate schemer, an account quickly formed in his mind of Hagen’s murderer overpowered by the Citadel Guards who, sadly, arrived just too late to save the three brave soldiers left by the army captain. Due honour could be given to the army provided that due reward went to him – and his men.
His elation began to wane as the trail became harder to follow through the twisting stone-paved streets, and he was beginning to consider alternative schemes such as waiting for the return of the three men and their prisoner, when sounds of a gasping struggle drifted to him through the Ennerhald silence.
It took four of the Guards to drag the manic Jeyan from her prey and contain her. Finally, already drained as she was, a single blow rendered her unconscious. She received several others before she hit the ground and Helsarn had to intervene to prevent further harm coming to his prize.
Descriptions of Hagen’s assassin had varied considerably, all the witnesses’ views being radically distorted by the significance of the event, but a substantial number had referred to him as being lightly built and nimble, and to his having a scruffy, unkempt appearance. Helsarn noted that the figure lying at his feet could fit such a description, but he was genuinely puzzled when he compared the youth’s slight frame with the bulk of the desperately wounded soldier. Then one of his men removed the crude bandage from the man’s arm only to be sprayed with pumping blood before hastily retying it. So it had been a lucky knife thrust that had evened the odds, had it? But where were his companions? They wouldn’t have abandoned him with such a prisoner, surely? Perhaps, seeing the worth of his captive, the soldier had killed them… that was more likely, that’s where the knife wound had come from. His conviction grew as the soldier gasped out, ‘My prisoner!’ as soon as he recovered his voice, but subsequently faltered as the saga of Jeyan’s capture was hastily revealed. Not least because the telling was frequently punctuated with an all too genuine. ‘Dangerous, very dangerous, not what he looks like. Be careful.’
Helsarn made reassuring noises. ‘We’ll have to get you back to the Citadel and proper help. That wound’s bad.’ He shared a professional joke with the fading man, patting his shoulder in a comradely manner. ‘We don’t bother carrying field dressings when we’re on purging duty, do we?’ His men laughed and the injured soldier smiled faintly.
Still, there’s no point in hurrying, Helsarn thought. If he received help soon enough, this man might survive and that would present political problems with the army about the prisoner which were best avoided. Responding thus to his thoughts rather than his words, he affected to ponder something for a while then crouched down and asked, ‘Where are your comrades? We should find them. They may not be dead after all, they could just be wounded, like you.’
The soldier waved his good arm about vaguely and began muttering incoherently. Helsarn bent low over him, as though listening carefully, until the man slipped into unconsciousness.
‘Shall we look for these others, Captain?’ one of the men asked him as he stood up.
Helsarn glanced around and gave a dismissive shake of his head. ‘They could be anywhere,’ he said. ‘It’s probably like he said, I doubt they’re in any better shape than he is, or they’d be here. We’ll get the army to look later. It’s their problem if they lose their own men anyway. Let’s get these two back to the Citadel.’ Indicating Jeyan’s body, he gave a grim warning to his troop. ‘This could be the one we’re after. Tie him up properly and watch him, but make sure he doesn’t get hurt any more. He’s the Gevethen’s. We deliver him to their table trussed and in good condition; how they carve him is their concern. We lose or damage him and…’ He drew his finger across his throat. ‘If we’re lucky.’
Thus, when Jeyan groaned out of black and fevered nightmare into black and icy consciousness the following morning, she had few more extra bruises about her than when she had fallen to the Guards – not that that lessened the pain that was throbbing through her. She did not move, however; she always lay still when she woke to darkness – it was a long developed habit. For some time, confused images and thoughts spilled through her mind to tumble wildly amid the jabbing rhythms of her pain, urging her to thrash and scream, but still she did not move.
As some semblance of true consciousness began to emerge, her hand groped cautiously for a small hooded lantern that she always kept near to wherever she was lying. Her hand fell on cold damp stones. Only as she flinched away did it come to her that she did not know where she was. And following this, without the mercy of even a pause, the events of the immediate past crashed in upon her with agonizing clarity. A sickening terror filled her. The trembling that had never been far from her since she struck down Hagen, returned in full vigour. So fierce was it now that all semblance of control was torn away from her on the instant. It was as though some desperate spirit within her was seeking to end its pain by rending her frame utterly.
The duration of such racking cannot be measured by the moving of the sun and the beating of hearts; without beginning or end it is beyond and outside the lumbering progress of such crude contrivances. Yet their inexorable momentum cannot be denied and eventually the awful, buffeting tide receded, leaving Jeyan abandoned and empty save for a faint but all-pervasive tremor.
Where was she?
What had happened to her?
There was a dank coldness all about her and she was lying on her side on a hard, uneven surface. Carefully, and finding new pains with each movement, she eased herself on to her back and stared up into the blackness. Slowly, a hazy greyness appeared above her. For a while it seemed to be moving and changing shape but, gradually, as her eyes adjusted, it became still. It was a door grille.
Even as she stared at it, the greyness started to brighten and yellow. She blinked to reassure herself that this was not just another trick of her eyes in the darkness. It became brighter still. Unsteady, swinging streaks of light began to slice between the bars and sweep across damp stone walls. Oozing fungal blossoms glistened briefly – gross, winking eyes. Shadows leapt frantically from side to side unable to escape from the hanging array of calcified skeleton fingers and cobwebbed tendrils that pinioned them to a low-arched ceiling.
And with the light came sounds – footsteps, voices, the clattering of… arms?
Keys!
Almost before she realized what was happening, the grille had swung away from her to be replaced by a tall and widening slash of light, unbearably bright after the almost complete darkness. She lifted a hand to her eyes for protection and thus had only a fleeting impression of the figures who had brought the light.
‘It’s awake. And it’s not manacled!’ The harsh voice was as intolerably loud as the light was bright. There was also a startled urgency in it and immediately a weight pinned Jeyan to the floor while something was clamped tightly about her wrists. Then she was being dragged to her feet. Her legs, shaking and unnerved, would not support her however, and she slumped painfully to her knees unbalancing her captors. A blow and an oath followed, knocking her to the floor. She sensed another blow pending.
‘That’s enough,’ said a stern voice. ‘Pick him up and carry him if he can’t stand.’
‘Prisoners are my responsibility, Captain.’ There was venom in the word, ‘Captain’.
The voice softened dangerously. ‘Indeed they are, Under Questioner,’ it said, emphasizing Under. ‘And it’ll be you who explains to the Gevethen why this very particular prisoner was damaged before they had a chance to interrogate him in person.’
There was a tense silence, followed
by some rebellious muttering then several hands dragged Jeyan to her feet once more. Of the journey that followed, she had only a vague, kaleidoscopic vision: her swinging manacled hands, her own stumbling feet between those of her escort, swaying lanterns and flickering torches, uneven stone steps, damp and lichened walls. And many doors, stout and studded with great bolts. And too, noises. People in pain. She shook her head so that the pounding in it would not let her hear.
Then she was gathering her faculties. Looking around she saw she was being marched along a passage which, though still oppressive and ill-lit, was wider than those she had just passed through. She was somewhere in the dungeons of the Citadel, she deduced; this conclusion only served to terrify her further.
The procession halted and there was a hiss of in-drawn breath and a nervous curse. The hands that had supported her so far now forced her down on to her knees. Those around her also knelt. She looked along the passage to see what had caused this sudden halt though she could make out nothing other than an eerie pattern of dancing lights and shadows some way ahead. As she tried to focus on them, a hand from behind forced her head down.
‘Don’t move, don’t speak unless you’re told to,’ the voice said fearfully. She had no urge to disobey, not least because the hands still gripping her were beginning to shake.
The shifting lights drew nearer, mottling and rippling across the stone floor like a moving mosaic. The hands holding her began to shake even more.
Then, two high-pitched, echoing voices spoke.
‘This is the one, Captain Helsarn…?’
‘… Captain Helsarn?’
‘I believe it could be, Excellencies, though I was not certain enough to disturb your Night Vigil. He and his two dogs killed and injured several soldiers in the Ennerhald and he is much stronger than his size indicates. We were bringing him to you now to know your pleasure.’
‘Pleasure?’ The two voices spoke at once – grating.