Ibryen

by Roger Taylor

‘Ah. you’re back.’ It was the Traveller, silhouetted in the greying entrance. ‘I thought you were all going to try for a ten year sleep the way you were snoring.’ Rachyl glowered but he pressed on. ‘Sun’ll be up soon. Come on, there’s food here.’

  ‘Food?’ Ibryen queried. Rachyl sniffed noisily.

  ‘It’s only your supplies, I’m afraid. Nothing lavish,’ the Traveller said. ‘There’s nothing up here that you’d want to eat unless you were really hungry. I went down for it. Didn’t feel like sleeping and I thought perhaps it was a little churlish of me to make free with the poor man’s stomach rumblings, even though they were interesting.’

  ‘You’re a man of rare sensibility,’ Ibryen conceded.

  ‘It’s been noticed before,’ the Traveller said blandly. He motioned them outside. The smell of cooking was stronger here but, looking round, they saw no sign of a fire. The Traveller lifted a flat slab to reveal slices of meat crackling on a softly glowing bed in a hollow between two boulders. He flicked them over gingerly and, after blowing on his fingers, dropped the slab back. ‘Wake our guest,’ he said.

  Ibryen went back into the cave.

  ‘That’s a peculiar fire,’ Rachyl said. ‘Where did you get the firewood from?’

  The Traveller gave her a long look. ‘I wasn’t going to go that far down the mountain,’ he said, mildly indignant. He eased the slab up again and peered under it. ‘These are just a couple of my sunstones. I don’t normally use them for cooking, but I thought it was a bit unkind to ask our guest to trek back to the camp before…’

  ‘Sunstones?’

  He smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘They won’t lose much with this slab over them.’

  ‘But what…’

  Ibryen emerged with Isgyrn before she could pursue her inquiry. The Dryenwr had folded the Culmaren in an elaborate fashion and it was draped about his shoulders like a cape. He was about the same height as Ibryen but, in so far as could be judged under the Culmaren, bulkier, although he seemed to be very light on his feet.

  He looked up at the steep walls of the cleft uneasily. ‘This is a disturbing place,’ he said.

  The Traveller followed his gaze. ‘We’ll be away in a moment,’ he said sympathetically. ‘You’ll soon have open sky above you. Do you have a knife to go with that sword?’ He held out his hand. Isgyrn checked about himself uncertainly then produced a long knife that he handed, hilt first, to the Traveller. Like his sword, the edge was hacked.

  Nimbly, the Traveller skewered three pieces of the meat and handed the knife back to him. ‘Your first meal in the middle depths, Arnar Isgyrn. Simple, I’m afraid, but sufficient to carry you as far as your next one. Take care, it’s hot.’

  The Dryenwr seized the knife hastily then, with a conspicuous effort, paused. ‘Thank you,’ he said apologetically, glancing significantly at Rachyl and Ibryen.

  ‘Eat,’ the Traveller said briskly, handing the others the rest of the meat. ‘There’s plenty for everyone.’ As Rachyl and Ibryen were struggling to control the hot food, he produced a cloth and, reaching down between the two boulders with it, picked up the four glowing rocks that formed the bed on which the meat had been cooking. Unhurriedly, but with practised deftness he wrapped them in the cloth and put them in his pack. Rachyl, her mouth full, waved her arms in alarm.

  ‘Don’t concern yourself, my dear,’ the Traveller said, catching the gesture. ‘They’re good stones. Cooking these bits and pieces used hardly anything. They’ve got days left in them.’

  ‘You could’ve burned yourself. And you’ll burn your pack,’ she spluttered.

  The Traveller looked at her uncertainly then turned to Ibryen with a look of mildly surprised realization. ‘You don’t use sunstones round here, do you?’ he said. ‘I thought you were just being thrifty with your oil lantern and the firewood – perhaps a bit low at the end of winter… having to eke out your resources.’ He shook his head. ‘I should have realized, they didn’t use them in Girnlant either. Sorry to be so obtuse – I misunderstood. Anyway, we can talk about that later. Come on, there’s no point delaying, this place is upsetting Isgyrn more than he’s prepared to say. Let’s get back to your tent and below the snow before we decide what to do next.’

  He was moving away before anyone could question him further.

  Ibryen took Isgyrn’s arm. ‘Follow me,’ he said. ‘Rachyl will follow you. I can’t imagine what this place is like for you, and I’ve no knowledge of the ways of your people, but the only danger we face here is injury caused by our own carelessness. If you want to rest or feel the need for support, speak. If you don’t, you may endanger us all.’

  ‘I understand,’ Isgyrn said. ‘There are wild places in my lands also. I’ll do as you say.’

  The journey back to the tent took them some time. Isgyrn did not seem to be disturbed by the wind, which was still blowing strongly, but he found the snow-covered terrain very difficult, frequently slipping and having to be caught by Rachyl. On two occasions he called the party to a halt while he recovered his breath. When they stopped for the second time, Rachyl looked at him then voiced his complaint for him. ‘You may curse and swear, if you wish,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing more frustrating for a fighter than to be made dependent on others because of physical weakness.’

  Isgyrn, leaning back against a rock, smiled grimly. ‘I don’t think it would be a wise idea,’ he said, addressing them all. ‘Your kindness and patience remind me constantly that, for all we come from such different worlds, we’ve many things in common. But my mind’s awash with such confusion and questioning I don’t know what I might plunge into if I gave it free flight.’ He patted his chest. ‘That I can even breathe comfortably down here raises questions that I suspect would tax our finest Seekers. Perhaps indeed the Culmaren…’ He waved his arm dismissively then frowned. ‘Not the time or the place,’ he declared, adding with a nod of acknowledgement to Rachyl, ‘though I’ll concede I’m finding it difficult to stay calm when simply lifting my arm requires a deliberate effort.’

  He looked up. Light mist filled the valley below them but the sun was rising in a sky which was clear of clouds save for a few trailing wisps drawn out by the wind from some of the higher peaks. It needed little sensitivity on the part of his companions to understand his thoughts as he gazed around the empty sky.

  ‘First thing in the morning’s not my strongest time either, Isgyrn,’ Rachyl said, good-humouredly. ‘How I’d feel after a ten-year sleep I can’t imagine.’ She held out her arm. ‘Warrior’s way,’ she said. ‘All we need concern ourselves with is putting one foot in front of the other.’ Isgyrn took it gratefully to pull himself upright and they set off again.

  When they eventually reached the tent they rested for some time and ate again before breaking camp and beginning the descent back down to the forest. Away from the snow, Isgyrn became more sure-footed and, following the meal and the rest, he seemed a little stronger. Ibryen nonetheless made the Traveller maintain a leisurely pace and it was early evening by the time they reached the upper reaches of the forest and made camp.

  They spoke very little as they sat around the fire. Isgyrn kept dozing off until, at the prompting of the others, he made his excuses and, wrapping the Culmaren about him, lay down. ‘Is that going to be warm enough?’ Rachyl asked.

  ‘More than enough,’ Isgyrn said. There was a suggestion of both surprise and sadness in his voice. ‘Even dead, it would seem that the Culmaren has many… worthwhile attributes. Do you wish to share again?’ She smiled and shook her head. Isgyrn fell silent. Then, unexpectedly, as the others were turning back to the fire, ‘I did a little calculating on our way down, to keep my mind focused. It wasn’t easy, I haven’t the flair that makes a good Seeker but my head serves well enough.’ He was drifting in and out of sleep. ‘Perhaps fifteen years since… fifteen years… my family… people…’

  He was asleep. Ibryen watched him for a little while then turned to gaze into the fire.

  ‘Are you
easier with yourself now?’ It was the Traveller. Ibryen understood the question.

  ‘Yes and no,’ he replied. ‘I’ve no doubts about my sanity now. Though I’d be lying if I said I was anything other than bewildered by what’s happening.’ His voice fell. ‘And something’s happened to me.’ Both Rachyl and the Traveller watched him intently. He was almost talking to himself. ‘It’s nothing bad,’ he went on. ‘Just strange – very strange. Almost as if I’d just discovered I could hear like you do, or see things vast distances away. But it’s neither of those, nor anything like them.’ He frowned as he struggled to find the words. ‘A talent’s been awakened in me – a gift. But I don’t know what it is, or what it’s for.’ He was silent for a moment then shrugged and became prosaic. ‘But I’m no easier about the future. Now that the lure that pulled me out here has gone, my thoughts are turning back to the Gevethen and the problems we face back in the village. Part of me is sorely tempted to uproot everything and take our people further south. There must be other valleys where we can live in peace.’

  Rachyl’s head jerked up. He held out a reassuring hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It was just an idle thought. It’s probably because we’ve been so free to move these last few days. We forget the values of such simple things. I know well enough that enemies like the Gevethen always have to be faced in the end and the only thing that keeps us all together as a community is our opposition to them.’

  ‘But how’s he going to be able to help us?’ Rachyl flicked a thumb towards the sleeping Dryenwr. The question crystallized Ibryen’s concerns.

  ‘He offered us his blade,’ he said.

  Rachyl pursed her lips. ‘One more’s better than nothing, I suppose. Even though he’s weak, he’s obviously been a commander of some kind and, judging from the state of his sword, he commands from the front. But tactically we’re still back where we started.’

  ‘Too premature a judgement,’ Ibryen said firmly, straightening up. ‘Who can say what kind of an avalanche might come of the dust that’s been stirred up these past few days?’

  Rachyl gave him an arch look. ‘I’d prefer dispositions and logistics to Marris’s poetry,’ she said caustically.

  ‘What happened fifteen years ago?’ The Traveller’s voice cut through their dying debate.

  Ibryen leaned back and yawned. ‘Nothing special, as far as I can recall,’ he said after a little thought. ‘The Gevethen were here. Very powerful already, though we didn’t realize it as they’d wormed their way into the workings of the court so quietly. They weren’t as openly crazed in their manner as they became later, with their mirror-bearers and everything, but they were beginning to become conspicuously odd.’

  The Traveller turned to Rachyl. ‘Fifteen years,’ she said pensively. ‘Such a long time ago. Several lifetimes at least.’ She smiled at some long-forgotten memory. ‘I was a burgeoning woman,’ she announced with heavy irony.

  ‘You were a ruffian,’ Ibryen interjected. ‘The terror of the Citadel. You were always up to some devilment.’

  ‘Probably as well,’ Rachyl said, briefly more sober, though the weight of happy memories made her smile again, almost immediately. ‘Do you remember those wretched little brown birds?’ she said. ‘Creepy little things with yellow eyes. They used to be all over the city. And they were always buzzing about inside the Citadel. There seemed to be more and more every year.’ She nodded to the Traveller. ‘We could’ve used your stone-throwing in those days. We tried all sorts to catch one but never managed it. And they flew so fast! We never even found where they nested. What was it we called them?’ Her teeth glinted in the firelight as she bared them.

  ‘Gevethen’s eyes,’ Ibryen said coldly. For some reason, the memory of the birds made him feel uncomfortable.

  Rachyl snapped her fingers. ‘They vanished suddenly, didn’t they? All of them.’

  Ibryen nodded. ‘Some change in the wind brought them and some change in the wind probably took them away,’ he said off-handedly. Even as he spoke however, the memory came to him again that he had had as he lay in the sun on the ridge before his encounter with the Traveller. It seemed to drop into place as part of a pattern that he could not fully identify. He voiced it. ‘It was about then that the Gevethen became more… exposed… for what they truly were. More open, or more clumsy in their manipulations, less subtly knowledgeable of events than they had been.’ The memory brought him no enlightenment, however.

  The Traveller rested his chin on his hands. ‘Birds, eh? Doesn’t seem to be of any great significance, does it?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I wish I’d read that Gate more carefully. There was something about birds on that, I’m sure.’

  Their conversation faded and shortly afterwards Rachyl and Ibryen emulated the Dryenwr and lay down to sleep. The Traveller sat staring into the fire for some time, then stood up and walked off into the forest.

  * * * *

  There was only the faintest hint of light in the eastern sky when an insistent hand shook Ibryen awake roughly. It was the Traveller.

  ‘Wake up,’ he was saying. ‘Isgyrn’s gone!’

  Chapter 24

  Jeyan did not sleep well that night. She had achieved a degree of inner quietness by her resolution to watch, listen and wait, and to take her strange new life moment by moment, heartbeat by heartbeat, but the Gevethen’s brief visit had shaken her badly. There had been such menace in the words.

  ‘As you judge, so shall you be judged. Prepare yourself.’

  What did they mean?

  Was she to come to trial after all? Had the past two days been only the beginning of a punishment? Were they only taunting her with luxury and the promise of power? Raising her high so that her fall might be the harder?

  It did not help that her body made no demands upon her for rest. She had spent the day in enforced idleness where normally she would have been wandering the Ennerhald and the city, preoccupied with her next meal and the avoidance of the Citadel Guards. Thus she woke many times, each time forgetting the sleep she had just had.

  At one point, during the deepest part of the night, she found Meirah by her bedside; a dimmed lantern in one hand, a glass goblet in the other. She started violently, causing the woman to step back.

  ‘This will help you to sleep,’ Meirah said, offering the drink.

  Jeyan nearly knocked it from her hand in a spasm of anger, but she caught herself in time. ‘Did I wake you?’ she asked. Meirah shook her head and offered the goblet again. Jeyan thought for a moment. Was this a kindness or some kind of trick? Who could say what was in that drink, what consequences might flow from addling her brain with it?

  ‘Put it on the table,’ she said. ‘I may take it later.’

  And Meirah was gone.

  The visit did little to ease Jeyan’s mood. How had the woman come so close without waking her? No dogs, of course, came the sad answer immediately. She set it aside with a small moue of pain and the question was replaced with others. How did these servants know what she was doing all the time? Were they spying on her even now? She made a promise to herself to search the room carefully tomorrow for spy-holes. The thought of tomorrow however, merely served to remind her of the Gevethen’s words and she was soon tossing and turning fretfully again.

  She was thus jaded and weary when the servants woke her in the morning, at one stage even making a slight resistance to their endeavours. The ineffectiveness of this gesture brought her to her senses and she implemented the policy she had determined the previous day of saying what she did and did not want doing. It ensured her a marginally more private ablution, and made her feel that she had some semblance of control over events. It was the merest semblance however, she knew, and though her head relished the fine food that was placed before her, her stomach nervously protested otherwise.

  ‘What’s to happen today?’ she said casually, as though she had a whirl of social events before her. There was no reply. ‘You may speak,’ she added. ‘I should prefer it if you would.’ She risked a
little menace, to test her authority. ‘I do not like to be ignored when I ask questions.’

  There was a flutter of unease amongst the servants, but still no one answered. ‘What’s to happen today?’ she asked again.

  Silence.

  She caught Meirah’s eye but received no acknowledgement. She let the matter lie. The question had indeed given her a measure of her authority. She had very little. Speaking was not approved of by the Gevethen, and that was that.

  She forced herself to eat something.

  * * * *

  Jeyan was not the only nervous person that morning. Helsarn had been given the task of escorting the new Lord Counsellor. The euphoria following his sudden promotion was gradually beginning to wear off. Though no hint had been given, it must have caused considerable concern to the other Commanders, with its implications for the reduction of their own power, and to give the Commanders concern was to court mysterious and silent disappearance.

  Of course, the very suddenness of the promotion gave him the Gevethen’s implicit protection, but that could not be relied upon indefinitely; they were notoriously indifferent to the jockeying for position that went on in the Guards, providing that it did not impair their effectiveness. It was important that he did not appear as a threat to his new peers. He must make himself useful and relatively inconspicuous, at least until such time as he had increased the size of his loyal following amongst the men. He had little anxiety about those from his own company; he knew their various ambitions and characters well enough by now, and he had already taken the precaution of raising them up along with himself. They would thus have enhanced status as and when other companies were brought under his command.

  But more pressing concerns were troubling him that morning as he stood before the mirror and checked his uniform for the fourth time. He it was who had hauled the prisoner in and thrown her in the dungeon, and that was hardly likely to endear him to her now that she had become Lord Counsellor. He thanked his good fortune that that oaf of an Under Questioner hadn’t realized she was a woman, with all that would have meant, but the thanks dwindled into insignificance against his railing at the fate that had prompted the Gevethen to do such a thing. He had long ago learned that little was to be gained by trying to anticipate the Gevethen’s actions, but replacing Hagen with his murderer was unbelievable even by the standards of seeming arbitrariness that they set.