by Roger Taylor
'Please!'
And then, more horrible by far, he saw into the eyes. Eyes that showed him the true depths of terror. Eyes that cried many times louder than the voice. ‘Let me go! Let me run away! Leave me be! Let me live.’ Young eyes. like his own!
Forgotten emotions began to stir inside him. The face's primitive terror reached into him and found his own cowering soul.
He mustn't...
But the revelation added its own frantic fury to the irresistible killing momentum, and the weighted club with its sweet whistling song rose unbidden to erase this ghastly discord.
Yet its last blow struck down not only the face with its drivelling terror, but also himself as it shattered his own sense of the rightness of events. The sound it made, dull and awful now, echoed through and through him, bringing to full wakefulness those burgeoning restraints and reproaches that had been too late and too feeble to prevent the deed.
The club slipped from his hand and a cry formed within him. A cry that he tried not to utter for fear of those about him. But the cry struggled and fought. It was a live thing. He seized it and pressed down on it with his whole weight, his heart pounding. But a whimper slipped around his grip. It sounded through the flickering flamelight like a clarion. And all was suddenly silent. In his weakness, he had revealed himself as the enemy. Black, red-sashed shadows paused from their threshing and their unseen eyes focused on him, seeing into his true self. They began to close upon him.
He shrank and shrank until he became the gaping mouth and terrified eyes that he had just crushed.
Vredech was torn into wakefulness by the sudden ending of the dream. He gasped as he awoke, but the sound that filled his ears was of a despairing cry. Through his sleep-blurred eyes he saw Nertha bending forward over Iryn, talking, comforting. Vredech made to rise. He had to tell Nertha what had just happened.
But something turned the soft-lit image of Nertha and her charge into a stillness, like a distant picture, subject unknown, painter unknown. He blinked as he looked at it. When his eyes opened they were filled with a bright, flickering light. He closed them again quickly, bringing his hand up for protection. Then he re-opened them slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light.
He was standing in a forest. It was a bright sunny day, but a strong wind was buffeting the treetops, turning them into an iridescent shimmer. Rich forest scents assailed him, borne on that part of the wind that was exploring the lower reaches of the trees. He looked down at his hands, turning them over and touching his arms with them to confirm what he already knew: once again he was in two places at the same time. He was both asleep by the fire in his Meeting House, and here, wherever that might be. He stepped forward. Long fallen twigs cracked under his feet.
As he moved away from the tree under which he was standing, he saw a familiar figure sitting on a log. He was apparently asleep, his head drooping and his arms folded across his flute as he leaned back against a tree trunk.
Vredech waited.
There was no sound, but the breath of the wind and the forest.
Slowly, the Whistler looked up at him.
* * *
Chapter 33
After leaving Vredech and the others, Skynner had galloped to the Keeperage. Years as a Keeper had given him a cold and sceptical eye, and he had seen more than a few tricksters in his time effecting ‘miracles’ that, in the end, usually only effected a miraculous emptying of the pockets, or coffers on occasions, of anyone foolish enough to believe them.
What Cassraw had done at the summit must be yet another piece of trickery ... surely? In common with most people, Skynner accepted without question such miracles as the turn of the seasons, the rising and setting of the sun, the growing of seed into tree and flower, even the arbitrary comings and goings of the wind and the rain. These were ‘natural'. But all else, he knew, was determined by an inexorable and conspicuous law of cause and effect. What cause Cassraw had evoked to create that particular effect was beyond him, but that was no doubt Cassraw's intention and he, Serjeant Keeper, was not going to waste time being distracted by it. The artifice would come to light sooner or later and, in any event, was irrelevant. He had a duty to cut through to the heart of Cassraw's intentions, or as nearly as he could, because even though he could not see what they were, he could see enough to know that they were not in the interests of the public safety and the peace. And whatever game he was playing at, Cassraw's call for the levying of the militia was unequivocally illegal. Skynner would have been within his rights to arrest him there and then, but it needed no great sensitivity to the mood of the crowd to realize that that would have been a foolish, perhaps even potentially fatal thing to attempt. He would have to advise his superiors and let them choose the time for taking a step as serious as arresting a Chapter Brother.
The duty Serjeant looked up in surprise as Skynner strode noisily into the Keeperage, but reading Skynner's expression, he bit back the jocular remark he was about to make, and simply pointed straight up with the comradely warning, ‘Careful, Chief's in.'
'Good,’ Skynner said grimly and headed for the stairs.
As he drew near to the Chief Keeper's office, he reached the carpeted area of the building and the change in the sound of his footfalls set in motion long-imbued habits of discipline. He flattened his hair, straightened out his tunic, and began to marshal his words. Going straight to the Chief instead of through his Captain and High Captain was not something to be done lightly, but it was urgent, and as the Chief fortuitously happened to be there...
Two or three paces gave him a handful of excuses for his directness. Once he had made those he'd have no trouble holding the Chief's attention. He gave his uniform a final twitch outside the door, then knocked briskly.
'Come in.'
There was a middle-of-the-day wakefulness in the voice that made Skynner pause. As he reached for the door handle, he asked himself for the first time what had happened to bring the Chief in at this time of night.
He opened the door quickly and stepped into the office.
Someone else was there as well as the Chief Keeper. Someone sitting not across the desk from him, but in one of the comfortable chairs by the fireplace. The Chief Keeper was sitting opposite him and lying dolefully between them was a dull red and grey fire.
Skynner recognized the Chief's companion immediately as Toom Drommel. So that's why he's here, he thought. Want the old beggar on a Keeper matter and he's nowhere to be found. Let some politician snap his fingers and he abandons home and hearth in the middle of the night to make reassuring noises.
Well, this politician's business could wait.
'I'm sorry for disturbing you, sir,’ he said, ‘but an extremely serious matter's come to light. I need to ...’ he was about to say discuss but changed it quickly, ‘... report it immediately.'
The Chief pointed to a chair. ‘Bring that over here and sit down, Haron,’ he said.
Skynner's every instinct leapt on to the defensive. The Chief using his given name like that was not a good sign. Something difficult was about to be brought up. Nevertheless, and trying not to look as tense as he felt, he did as he was told.
The Chief addressed Drommel as Skynner sat down stiffly between them. ‘This is Haron Skynner,’ he said. ‘Our most senior Serjeant.’ He became avuncular. ‘Should be a Captain by rights, but he insists he prefers footwork to paperwork and he's not to be persuaded to higher ambitions.’ He nodded sagely. ‘I think perhaps he's wiser than we know. I must confess, there's been many a time when I've sat here and wished devoutly that I could be out there with my men, doing what we're trained for, and best at.'
With commendable restraint Skynner remained silent, confining himself to a self-deprecating but knowing smile.
'I've seen Serjeant Skynner many a time on duty at the PlasHein,’ Drommel said, endeavouring to ape the Chief's informality but still having a little difficulty with his statesman's voice. He nodded creakily towards Skynner then gave the Chief a significant look.
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The Chief nodded. ‘Serjeant Skynner's one of my best men, if not the best. There's nothing I'd not trust him with, and he's very sound in practical matters. A street Keeper to his boots.'
If only that didn't sound like an insult, Skynner thought.
'And what we have to deal with is nothing if not practical, is it?'
Skynner was watching the two men carefully, waiting for an opportunity to commence his account of Cassraw's actions. Gradually, however, he became aware of an undertow of excitement between them.
The word ‘conspiracy’ came to him unbidden.
Drommel gave a sign of acquiescence. ‘I trust your judgement implicitly, Chief,’ he said. ‘I can see it will be important that the Serjeant and his colleagues be aware of what's going to happen and why.'
The Chief nodded briskly and stood up. Skynner made to rise, but the Chief waved him airily back down on to his seat. He took up an authoritative stance with his back to the fire and his legs planted solid and wide. ‘Serjeant,’ he began, as though addressing a parade. ‘You know that, as Keepers, we avoid getting involved in politics. We're executive officers of the state and it's our job to do as the law-makers decree, not decide what should and should not be the law. We advise occasionally, of course, but purely to lay before them the benefits of our experience for their guidance.’ Skynner began to feel uneasy. The Chief rocked forward. ‘However, it needs no great political insight to realize that, for various reasons, the country's currently facing serious difficulties. Difficulties that will need a strong head and a strong hand to see us through.'
Skynner nodded tentatively as the Chief seemed to be awaiting some response, though he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
'The situation is this, Skynner. The Castellan Party is in complete disarray. They've no one else of the calibre of their present leader and he, frankly, is ... unwell.’ He made a drinking gesture. ‘I have it on good authority that he'll probably resign very shortly. That'll leave us with the Ploughers in charge.’ He puffed out his cheeks in dismay. ‘They, unfortunately, are almost as disunited as the Castellans. And in any case, they've always been more theoretical in their thinking than practical, and under their present leader—a worthy soul as you know but hardly a driving force—they're not remotely capable of standing firm in the face of what's likely to happen after the routing of the Felden army. Frankly, I can't see this present Heindral lasting the week. Then we'll be facing an Acclamation. An Acclamation, Skynner. Two months leaderless with Tirfelden undoubtedly preparing to send another army against us.’ He shook his head. ‘Suicide, man. National suicide.'
Skynner was uncertain how to respond. He was about to tell the Chief that the situation was even worse than he envisaged, and that Cassraw was arbitrarily levying the militia, when the Chief forestalled him. ‘Fortunately, we have at least two strong men in positions of responsibility who can act to save us from this predicament. One is Heinder Drommel here, who has consistently tried to embolden the Heindral to take firm action against Tirfelden. The other is Brother Cassraw, who for months now has been decrying the moral decay in the country and who, with his Knights of Ishryth, has saved us from the first thrust of the Felden assault while our ostensible leaders dithered and appeased.'
Skynner had faced many difficult situations in his time and had considerable skill in separating his inner reactions from his outward responses. It was strained to the limit by this revelation of the Chief's thinking, however. All that saved him from denouncing the remarks as ridiculous, was the realization that what had been said about the Heindral and the country's position was correct. Further, he began to realize, if the Chief and Drommel and perhaps Cassraw were playing some political game together, then others would be involved. Others whose names, whose power and influence, he did not know. It behoved him, he reminded himself, to remember that he was only a Serjeant, and whatever he thought about what was happening, such power as he had to affect it could be removed from him with little more than a snap of the fingers by the man addressing him. Nevertheless, he could not stay silent.
'Brother Cassraw is a remarkable man, beyond doubt, sir,’ he said carefully. ‘But he's causing great controversy within the Church, which may see him losing the Haven Parish. And I'll confess I'm uncomfortable about members of the Church becoming involved in lay matters. It confuses people. And I'm afraid that some of the young men he's recruited for his Knights of Ishryth are not exactly desirable—a bunch of thugs and louts with whom we're all too familiar. And his own behaviour is unusual, to say the least. He almost started a riot at the summit of the Ervrin Mallos with a trick he played there, and the consequences could have been serious. That's one of the things I came to see you about.'
He was aware of the two men watching him very closely ... judging him.
'We know,’ the Chief said. ‘But no actual harm was done, was it? You see, Haron, Brother Cassraw has a true gift for handling people.’ He leaned forward and Skynner felt the scrutiny intensifying. ‘And I think there's little doubt that he has indeed been chosen for some great mission.'
Still Skynner managed to give no outward sign of the shock he felt at this further revelation, but inwardly he was reeling. The Chief's words resounded in his head like tolling funeral bells. They had had someone on the mountain! They knew what had happened! The ranting sermon, the trick with the rain, the call to levy the militia ... and they were content to do nothing about it! Frighteningly, the conclusion formed that they might actually have been party to it.
And that the Chief should think Cassraw was some kind of chosen prophet...
He did not want to pursue that idea.
The Chief was continuing. Skynner dragged his scattering thoughts together. ‘Apart from the many other signs we've been shown, Serjeant, is it not strange that poor Brother Mueran should pass on so suddenly and unexpectedly, thereby elevating Brother Cassraw to the position of Covenant Member?’ He leaned back on his heels and pontificated. ‘It's not for the likes of us to question the ways of Ishryth's providence, but to see where our duty to Him and the people lies, and to act accordingly.'
Skynner made a final cautious attempt at resistance. ‘As you say, sir. Not my province at all. But I'm uncertain about the legality of Brother Cassraw levying the militia, sir. It should properly be done through the Heindral.'
The Chief nodded understandingly. ‘We have no Heindral, Serjeant, except in name,’ he said forcefully. ‘And it's uncertainty and fretting about niceties that's brought us to this.’ He became comradely again. ‘I could go out of here and consult a dozen different lawyers on our constitutional position and come up with two dozen different opinions—as you know yourself. The fact is, there's never been a situation like this before. There are no precedents to guide us—nothing. So, humble servants of the state like you and me must put our faith in our duty to protect the people, and encourage them to protect themselves.'
'I couldn't argue with that, sir,’ Skynner said, determined now simply to watch events, and move as they dictated. A little humility wouldn't go amiss, he decided. ‘But, as you said, sir, I'm just a simple street Keeper; I'm not quite sure what part I have to play in these affairs. I just do my job and follow orders.'
The Chief and Drommel exchanged a satisfied glance and the Chief, though still holding his position in front of the dying fire, relaxed noticeably. ‘Heinder Drommel has been in consultation with Brother Cassraw today, as have I, many times of late. I find him most ... impressive. We both knew of his intention to call for a levying of the militia and we agreed with it, even though, technically, its legality is arguable. The exigencies of the times will acquit us, should it prove we've been over-zealous.’ His face became sombre. ‘Tomorrow, Heinder Drommel will put a motion before the Heindral calling for its dissolution and the institution of an emergency militia government pending the holding of an Acclamation.'
Skynner's brow furrowed as his mind stumbled back through the years to his basic training and the cursory instruction he h
ad received then in constitutional law. A rote-learned definition slowly emerged. ‘The vesting of all authority in the hands of a few appointed ministers and officials under a ...’ He clicked his fingers.
'High Commander,’ Drommel said, as Skynner struggled to remember the title.
Skynner nodded his thanks. ‘But it's never actually been done, has it?’ he said. ‘Isn't it a relic of the days of the Court of the Provers and earlier?'
'That's true,’ the Chief said. ‘But the provision is still there within our laws. And again, who can say what providence allowed it to remain there, for it's precisely what we need to deal with the situation we now find ourselves facing.'
The look of concern on Skynner's face was genuine, but he wilfully added confusion to it for the benefit of his watchers. ‘And my part in this?’ he asked, reverting to his previous question.
'Under militia government, the responsibilities of the Keepers are greatly increased, as are their powers. This is necessary because, sadly, not everyone has our sense of duty. Many will view the prospect of defending their country with sufficient distaste to take active steps towards avoiding it. Such individuals must be dealt with swiftly and severely by way of example before their actions spread resentment and opposition. Further, the requirements of a fully levied militia will disrupt normal social and business life greatly, and in such circumstances there are more opportunities than ever for the criminals amongst us to ply their various trades. Men of your experience will be essential for the efficient running of the state until such time as normal government can be restored.'
Under an impassive demeanour, Skynner was still struggling to come to terms with all that he had heard during the last few minutes. Having only dealt directly with the Chief a few times in the past, he had no way of accurately assessing his mood and temperament. The man was known to have political ambitions, but these were always regarded as a joke amongst the men. And what he had said was both accurate and appropriate. Though it took him an effort to form the words, Skynner accepted that the country was indeed ‘at war’ with Tirfelden. Perhaps diplomacy might resolve it, but perhaps not. If not, the consequences would be truly awful and strong leadership was essential. Yet there was a stridency in the Chief's tone which Skynner found deeply unsettling. He needed time to think.