by Roger Taylor
From deep within, a primitive fear rose up to fill him. Had he been slain in that panic-filled gorge and sent to some ominous netherworld for Judgement? He started trembling uncontrollably. With an effort he levered himself into a kneeling position. In the distance he could make out a pool of garish light. It seemed to be pulsating, resonating to his pounding heart. He shook his head to clear his vision completely.
As his eyes came properly into focus, his trembling began to ease. The light was the main army far below. For a moment he was tempted to run towards it and safety, but even as the impulse came to him, other considerations made themselves felt. He picked up a still-burning torch and looked around. Not only was there no sign of any triumphant army about him, such bodies as he could see were all either soldiers or Guards. He felt suddenly cold. Ibryen’s men had never charged! They had unleashed their arrow storm, thrown up a great shout and… Helsarn’s grip tightened about the torch in rage… fled into the darkness. Most of the damage he was standing in had been self-inflicted.
Almost immediately, a newer fear rose to displace the fading remains of the superstitious one that had just possessed him. It was no less awful. Whatever had happened here, it was a direct consequence of the disordered way the whole expedition had been mounted, but he would be blamed for it unless he could find a demonstrably plausible explanation.
A movement nearby startled him. Drawing his sword, he spun around. Holding both sword and torch in front of him he saw one of his Guards, arm raised to shade his eyes against the light. He was bloodstained and barely able to stand. The idea of deserting to avoid retribution had been forming in Helsarn’s mind, but the sight of the Guard brought another one.
‘Where’s your sword?’ he demanded.
The Guard looked at him vacantly
‘Where’s your sword, man?’ Helsarn shouted.
‘I… I think I dropped it,’ the man stammered.
Helsarn sheathed his own and, taking the man’s arm, shook him powerfully. ‘Find another, quickly. Get a torch and get everyone on their feet who can stand. Do you understand? We must re-form the line and get to the top of the slope.’
Then, in an act of genuine leadership, Helsarn was moving through the carnage, dragging to their feet all who were capable of standing, and filling the shocked and wounded with his determination. Vintre, also only bruised and winded, was retrieved from under the body of a large soldier behind whom he had sheltered when he heard the second arrow storm being released.
‘We withstood the enemy’s charge, counter-attacked and beat them back,’ Helsarn told him urgently. ‘We stopped at the top to regroup and to prevent the advancing army from being ambushed.’ The message was passed rapidly to the others – few were naive enough to question it. Most understood the Gevethen well enough to know that the choice facing them was that of being wounded heroes or executed cowards. The knowledge proved a better goad by far than any cursing, and Helsarn and Vintre soon found themselves herding their rump command up the slope like willing sheep.
On the way, Helsarn paused by a body to smear his sword and face with blood. As he did so he looked back down at the lights of the main army. Something was moving there but, not being able to make it out clearly, he turned and pressed on upwards.
The top was deserted as he had surmised. He had his ‘gallant survivors’ spread out a picket of torches then withdrew some way behind it. There could still be solitary archers out in the darkness and there was no point in taking unnecessary risks.
‘Swords drawn, eyes front,’ he ordered.
He and Vintre exchanged glances. The line of exhausted and wounded men looked good. That, and their story might do much more than save their necks.
Helsarn looked back but the lights of the army were no longer visible due to the curve of the slope. He wondered how far the panic had spread, and what appalling damage had been done by the mass flight down the rocks. What a mess. What had possessed the Gevethen to mount this insane expedition?
He glanced back again.
The primitive fear that had seized him when he first recovered, returned in full terrifying force. Shapeless, shifting, and blacker than the night itself, a huge shadow was moving towards him.
Chapter 34
Helsarn’s shaking grip tightened about his sword as the apparition drew nearer, but his knees served him better – they began to buckle. Thus when the Gevethen and their myriad images appeared at the heart of the approaching shadow, he was already almost kneeling. He was also almost pathetically relieved to find himself facing a known fear rather than an unknown one. Even so, the sight before him was profoundly disorienting and it took him some time to realize what he was looking at. What he had perceived as a shadow was a huge canopy supported on long, black poles. These were being carried by servants who moved with the same silent and blank-eyed purpose as the mirror-bearers, though it was hard to distinguish them in the darkness. Other servants carried the edge of the canopy, like a grotesque bridal gown, where it drooped to the ground. In its shade within shade were the Gevethen and the mirror-bearers and yet more servants, these latter carrying lanterns, albeit they seemed to deepen the darkness rather than throw light. Also there was Jeyan, her face unreadable and her uniform mud and blood-spattered from the journey. Helsarn had a fleeting vision of countless bodies covering the lower part of the slope. The Gevethen and their entourage must have simply walked over them.
The canopy passed over Helsarn and Vintre like an ominous cloud and the atmosphere about them became like that of the Watching Chamber. Helsarn quickly gathered his wits.
‘Excellencies,’ he said urgently. ‘I must ask you to take care. There may well be archers nearby.’
‘We are protected,’came the reply, voices colder than ever.‘None may approach.’ A long line of Gevethen tapered into the distance, then became a circling crowd.
Helsarn prepared to account for what had happened, but the question that came was not what he had been expecting.‘Is the traitor Ibryen found yet?’
‘No, Excellencies,’ Helsarn stammered. Then, such dependence had he placed in the tale he was to tell, that part of it blurted out anyway. ‘His men fled when we held their charge and counter-attacked, and we were too depleted to follow them.’
‘Advance!’
Helsarn and Vintre had almost to leap out of the way as the Gevethen suddenly moved forward. Helsarn had just enough time to shout a command to his makeshift line to open before the Gevethen walked over them also.
In the absence of any orders, he took up a position at the front of the canopy and to one side. As he did so, he saw for the first time the long ragged crowd of Guards and soldiers struggling up the slope.
* * * *
Hynard paused and, screwing up his eyes, peered into the distance. It took him some time to make sense of what he was looking at, and when he did, he could scarcely believe it. He could not see the Gevethen themselves, shaded as they were by their dark canopy, but the torches of the following army were spreading out across the valley floor like a glowing river.
It was a severe shock. After the panic-stricken rout he had witnessed, he had not expected any pursuit for several hours, and then perhaps only by a small force.
What he was watching did not seem possible.
For a moment, he considered leaving a few men to mount a harassing action, but he knew it would be a pointless gesture against such a force. However this recovery had come about, all he could do was make the most of such time as he and his men had gained, and follow after Marris and the others. It wasn’t possible that this vast army could move across the ridges with such speed.
He was thus still quite optimistic as he pressed on back to the village.
The first blow to this optimism came with an unexpected challenge at the outer perimeter. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded of the woman occupying the post.
‘Everyone’s still here,’ she replied. ‘They didn’t think you’d be able to stop the army. And with Ibryen gone they de
cided to stay and fight to the end rather than scatter into the mountains with all of you dead.’
Hynard felt the cold mountain air filling him to choking point and, for a moment, he could not speak.
‘Did Marris have nothing to say about this?’ he asked through clenched teeth when he had recovered.
‘He was quite angry,’ came the reply.
Hynard took another deep breath and out of the desperate confusion suddenly thundering through his head, snatched one simple, dangerous order. ‘Strike your lanterns, but keep them low, and double after me as fast as you can.’
As he ran through the night, Hynard’s mind sped over countless alternatives, chief amongst which was the hope that by the time they reached the village, Marris would have managed to talk some sense into the others and get them under way.
It was not so. They were greeted by a Marris who was verging on the distraught. Like most practical men, he did not bear helplessness well. ‘I could do nothing,’ he said, at once furious and almost tearful. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with them. They just set their minds to staying. Perhaps too much has happened too quickly.’ Even as he was talking though, he was shaking off the mood, and Hynard was given no opportunity either to reproach or to console.
‘Still, we can go now,’ Marris announced.
It was too late however. The time that Hynard had won was lost as the villagers began the slow trek towards the ridges, and their vanguard was barely up the lower slopes when the army swept into the valley, the Gevethen’s black canopy billowing ahead of them like a great bat.
As the army circled about them, all those villagers who were armed formed an inner circle around the old and the young. Arrows nocked, swords, axes, pikes ready, they waited. As did the army.
‘Why aren’t they attacking?’ Hynard hissed to Marris.
An opening appeared in the ranks of the army and the Gevethen’s eerie chamber floated into it. As the Gevethen themselves came into view, several of the villagers raised their bows.
The soldiers facing them did the same.
‘No!’ Marris shouted to the villagers.
‘Where is the traitor Ibryen?’Colder and more inhuman than even he remembered them, the Gevethen’s voices made Marris’s flesh crawl. No preamble, no bargaining, he noted. Everything now would be balanced on the finest of edges. And all he had was the truth.
‘He’s not here,’ he replied. ‘He’s been gone for several days. He…’
There was a sharp command, then the sound of a single arrow. An agonized cry followed by others, full of pain and rage, came from the crowd of villagers. Marris’s voice tragically over-topped them all as again he restrained his archers.
Jeyan, standing by the Gevethen, flinched despite her control. It seemed that the Gevethen were becoming increasingly unstable as they neared their goal. The journey up from the base camp had been a nightmare; trampling over dead and dying bodies, the mirror-bearers still somehow performing their bizarre duties sure-footedly over both flesh and rocks, and the black canopy flapping like a funeral flag. Now this. She pressed her hand against the knife secreted under her tunic, but still she could feel the unseen force that restrained her when she came too near the Gevethen.
The question came again.‘Where is the traitor Ibryen?’ Marris made no effort to keep the desperation from his voice.
‘I tell you, he’s not here. He’d be standing where I am if he were. You know that.’
There was another sharp command, then:
‘HOLD!’
Ibryen’s voice rolled like a thunderclap out of the darkness.
* * * *
High on the ridge, Ibryen, pale and shaking, stood overlooking the lake of lights surrounding his followers. By him stood the Traveller, Rachyl and Isgyrn. Talking, laughing, arguing in the spring sunshine, they had been pursuing a leisurely pace back to the village, when Marris’s runner had reached them. The remainder of the journey had been through the darkness. First the darkness that the news had spread over them, then the darkness of the night.
In the far distance, the sky was now beginning to grey.
‘Carry my voice to them again,’ Ibryen said to the Traveller.
The Traveller nodded, though he seemed weary.
‘Release my people and let them go on their way, and I shall come to you.’
The Gevethen’s heads moved from side to side as they peered into the darkness.
‘You hear us, Ibryen?’they asked.
‘I hear you.’
‘Come to us now or we shall kill your people one at a time.’
‘You can’t go,’ Rachyl said, seizing Ibryen’s arm. ‘They’ll kill you and everyone else.’
A faint cry floated up from the Valley. The Traveller clamped his hands to his ears. ‘They’ve shot someone else,’ he said, his voice full of horror and rage. Ibryen felt him tensing.
‘Do nothing,’ he said sternly. ‘Carry my voice down again.
‘But…’
‘Do it!’
Once again, his voice echoed across the valley. ‘Hurt no one else, I am coming. Be patient, it will take me some time.’
‘I’m coming with you.’ All three of his companions spoke at once. He turned to them. ‘Rachyl, I’d rather you didn’t, there’s a fine life for you somewhere else in this world, but I know you’ll follow me regardless. Just take care, Cousin. Sooner or later we’ll come within arm’s reach of our enemy.’ Then, to the others, almost formally:
‘Traveller, Dryenwr, it’s my wish that you bear witness to what happens here and that you go your own ways, taking the tale with you so that others can be forewarned.’
‘I can’t abandon you,’ Isgyrn said fiercely.
‘Isgyrn, don’t burden me further, this is no willing choice. You swore fealty to me, and this is my order. Bear witness, and carry the news. I thank you for your company and for the knowledge you’ve given me and I hope that my call to the Culmaren will bring your land to you one day.’ He laid a hand on the Traveller’s shoulder. ‘Traveller, my thanks to you also, for more than I can find words to express. Read your Great Gate carefully when you come to it. Add our tale to it if you can.’ Then he embraced them both. ‘Look to one another. Live well and light be with you.’
He turned to Rachyl. She flicked her head to one side. ‘After you.’
Ibryen turned up the lantern he was carrying and held it high. As he moved off down the steep slope, Rachyl took Isgyrn’s hand in both hers and shook it. Then she bent down and embraced the Traveller. Isgyrn looked away. By the light of Ibryen’s retreating lantern he could see tears in both their eyes. As she moved off, Rachyl let her arm swing behind her, holding the Traveller’s hand until the last. Neither the Traveller nor Isgyrn spoke for some time, keeping their eyes on the slowly moving lantern.
‘This is beyond tolerating, to stand idly by,’ Isgyrn said eventually. ‘What would I not give for a cohort of my Soarers.’
‘What would I not give for the skill of a true Sound Carver,’ the Traveller replied.
* * * *
Rachyl and Ibryen too, spoke little. ‘Remember, compliance with everything until we come within arm’s reach,’ Ibryen said. Rachyl nodded. It cut through all their many and complex concerns – focused the warrior in them on the only course that circumstances had left them. Perhaps this, after all, Ibryen thought, was the way that the Gevethen could not have imagined. Simple and direct. A knife through the heart. Yet something was disturbing him. He reached out and sensed the Ways to the other worlds that were about him. The disturbance was there but it eluded him. Something was closing them to him. Something awful. He forced his attention back to the dark hillside and Rachyl.
It took the two of them a long time to descend from the ridge and make their way to the surrounded villagers. Helsarn and Vintre intercepted them. Ibryen recognized them. He looked at their soiled uniforms. ‘Commander and Captain under your new masters, I see,’ he said. ‘It seems I was right to be rid of you from my service.’
‘We are protected. Bring him here!’The frantic impatience in the Gevethen’s voices made Helsarn start, and taking Ibryen’s arm he dragged him forward.
‘You can keep your sword too, for all the good it’ll do you, woman,’ Vintre said to Rachyl. ‘Just wait over there, you’ll probably be needed afterwards.’ He leered at her. ‘When the sport starts. I’ll look after you personally.’
Rachyl’s face was impassive.
As Ibryen approached the Gevethen, the mirror-bearers began to weave about him but he ignored the bewildering images that they made. Instead, he stared at the two large mirrors which were being brought together. As they drew closer, so the disturbance he had felt on the way down returned to him, but worse by far. It was as if the fabric of the worlds about him were being torn apart.
And these were the cause!
There were many things he had intended to say should he ever confront the Gevethen, but all he could do now was cry out as the mirrors finally came together.
‘Abomination! What foulness conceived of this… device?’
The mirror-bearers fluttered to and fro and the Gevethen became an angry, gesticulating crowd.
‘Take care, Ibryen, for you are going to open the Ways for us. His Ways. You are going to carry us to Him who made this miracle. You will not want such blasphemies on your lips when you look upon Him…’