Jepaul

by Katy Winter

CHAPTER THIRTY

  It was when they were east of Castelus again that events began to occur quickly. The Red Council of Arrain-Toh asked Harnath for the key of the Ariel. When Harnath found it gone, he was well-nigh choleric and almost frothed with impotent fury. Even this long after Belika, he was still unable to enjoy his previous pleasures and had to get them from forcing others to perform in lewd ways his perverted mind devised, his own member now flaccid and useless. His cruelty was unremitting. He dreamed of the revenge he’d visit on Belika.

  The Red Council was more than disturbed. When a synthesis was formed, all the Red Councils now understood that not only was the key gone, but the one who led them to it had disappeared as had the Varen sent to pursue him. They also heard how Adon’s son was taken hostage and though unwilling to blame Adon outright, they felt his going out beyond the palace to hunt foolhardy. It had weakened the grip on the Cynas, though the synthesis said Adon behaved as desired and increased useful military strength. The Red Councils were now in a heightened state of suspicion and alarm. The swishing robes and hissing voices expressed deep anger.

  “We need the key to come and go.”

  “Sh’Bane will call us.”

  “We cannot answer.”

  “That will arouse him.”

  “Where is the key?”

  “Harnath doesn’t know.”

  “Does he think it was the Varen Knellen or the woman?”

  “He believes neither.”

  “Then who betrays their Cynas in this way?”

  “Other Varen?”

  “They will be questioned. Those remaining have writhlings inserted, something done at the time of the travellers, so it’s doubtful.”

  “Whoever stole the key must have known about Silklip.”

  “How could they?”

  “Harnath says he has told no one.”

  “Why else has Silklip been found and taken then?”

  “Purely in the hope of questioning him as an acolyte of Dom Ashken?”

  “That’s feasible. Whoever seeks the keeper of the key and/or the key itself, would start with a senior acolyte they would assume could direct them.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “So whoever took Silklip doesn’t necessarily know where the key is.”

  “No.”

  “Nor have they necessarily got it.”

  “No.”

  “So we have to find the key by ourselves.”

  “It seems so.”

  “How safe is it beyond city gates?”

  “That’s an unknown.”

  “So we need to ponder deeply.”

  “We do,” came a wheezing accord.

  There was a long silence broken only by breathy hissing from all the Red Councils before the synthesis was broken. The Red Councils needed time to think.

 

  At the time the Red Council enjoyed their synthesis, the travellers were startled, one afternoon, to see a large body of people coming in a direct line with them. They were camped in central Shalah as they had been for some time. Knellen had his hands full with constant arrivals of small groups of Varen escaping writhlings as these creatures were now being inserted in nearly all Varen other than those of Clariane, Strame-Helt and Wrandal. Varen from all states grouped together as they desperately tried to escape their fates and with their hunting skills sought out any signs of the travellers. Once they found them, they turned to Knellen for help.

  The Doms watched the swelling number of Varen with interest. They all, unlike Varen from the past, submitted themselves to Knellen as one who could ensure their safety from their vengeful masters, the Red Councils. Barok and Rule, the Cynases of Strame/Helt and Wrandal, struggled to hold off the insertion of writhlings in their Varen. Some, unwilling to wait and find their compliance enforced, fled. The order of the city-states was disrupted. What fascinated the Doms and the Companions was that the Varen didn’t try to reach the Mythlin and they wondered why.

  So when the travellers saw the approach of yet others they assumed it was more Varen. That was until the head of a very long line drew closer and Jepaul, standing with Quon, gasped out,

  “Look! Just look!”

  “I am, Jepaul,” uttered Quon, before he began to laugh. “Demons! How long has it taken them to get here from Dawn-Saith?”

  It was an army of sorts that finally reached the travellers. To everyone’s astonishment, warrior women sat astride mimoses. Warrior Grohols from all over Shalah were accompanied by ordinary Grohols and there were also the fisherfolk among many others: pugnacious men and women were armed in whatever fashion they could find. There was a great deal of talking and laughing in greeting before anyone could even start to discover what had brought such a gathering to central Shalah; Quon had a shrewd guess that the Venes had a great deal to do with it. The priority was to get everyone settled into what was now beginning to resemble a sizeable army. The Doms had been thinking that for some time. Now it looked a reality. Forces gathered on Shalah.

  The Maenades simply returned to their Companion or Dom. It was Saracen who told the others about the Venes; their agitation and belief the Huyuks did indeed show increased signs of restlessness was such that they believed it was time to act. The fisherfolk, still drawn to Quon, explained that they felt their way of life was no longer safe because the Maekwies were so active. They felt they had to leave their home of hundreds of syns simply to survive. Saddened and alarmed, Quon assured them of their welcome, women and children included. The fisherfolk admitted they’d not known where to go. They had fallen foul of the Cefors, but said they lost few and escaped. It was simply fortuitous they’d met up with the warrior women for whom they seemed to have great admiration.

  Nor was it just fisherfolk who came with the Grohols and the Maenades. Inhabitants of settlements, big and small, were also under consistent and suddenly markedly increased attacks from Cefors and Maekwies. These creatures began to move much further south from northern Shalah which had been their usual haunt for aeons now. And there were many of these now homeless people. The Grohol warriors and the warrior women protected them all. One old man, weary from long travel and essentially a refugee, told Quon they’d even seen Cefors not that far removed from the state of Castelus. That made Quon very pensive. It seemed the natural order of Shalah became more distorted by the syn. He needed to talk to the Doms.

 

  It was Saneel who told Sapphire about the mimoses. Lying beside him, her hand playing through his beard, she admitted the meeting with the mimoses was interesting.

  “They stalked us,” she admitted. She nibbled on the beard. “We guessed what they were and trapped them, then we,” Saneel paused, “gave them such pleasure they didn’t want to leave us, you see.”

  “You gave them gatril.”

  “Oh, yes, over a very long period. They’re very malleable if you know how to handle them.” Saneel gave a gurgle. “And we hunted them down. It took a while, but we have nearly all the mimoses with us. They’re very physically powerful so could be helpful in any conflict. They now let us ride them, but that took time. The males are highly masculine and dominant and the females are equally as assertive and aggressive, so quite some persuasion was needed to bring them round to our suggestion. We’ve left only children and our men at home to care for them. All the tribes are here and they have asked me to be their spokeswoman.”

  “There are a lot of them, Saneel.”

  “Hundreds,” she agreed.

  “Why did you come to central Shalah?”

  “We all agreed that times to come are going to be hard, Sapphire, and that if conflict comes we must be part of it. It’s no time to stand back to wait for others to act. We all sensed that, very strongly. Our tribe also sensed something from Belika.” She glanced down at Sapphire as she rested back on an elbow. “Am I right?”

  “You had a strong instinct about this?”

  “Yes. We all did. It was a sudden mutual compulsion. And we also felt the mimoses may have a role to play
as well. When we came up with the mass of fisherfolk from all around the lagoons and swamps they spoke of you. They admitted they had no real hope of finding you, nor I suppose did we, but they needed support and protection so we offered that and company. It was mutual support and hope. Many of them gave us pleasure as well that helped pass the time.” Saneel gurgled. “Not, Dom, that there will be offspring. Now isn’t the time for infants.”

  “No. And all the other people we see here who accompanied you?”

  “They began to appear, in small groups at first, then so many of them, all driven from villages and towns by ones we learned they called shadow feeders and even Wraiths.” Saneel gave an uncharacteristic shiver that made Sapphire pull her closer.

  “The shadow feeders are Maekwies, Saneel. The Wraiths you recognise from Javen and Jepaul’s experiences. Do they roam freely?” Saneel gave this consideration then reluctantly nodded.

  “All these displaced folk simply fled, terrified, not knowing where to go, so the fisherfolk and all the tribeswomen decided they should join us. There’s a certain strength in numbers, Sapphire. They’d had encounters with those vile Cefors too, something we hadn’t until, with all these people, we reached further south where they’re now very active and aggressive. The mimoses, though, are singularly effective at dealing with them.”

  Sapphire, up on an elbow, looked enquiring.

  “How so?”

  “They simply bite them, then when they’re lying hurt the mimoses pick them up and shake them till they break their necks. It’s very satisfying to watch, especially when you think of the damage the little brutes do with raking claws and subsequent cannibalism.”

  Sapphire regarded Saneel with some amusement.

  “I see,” was all he said.

  “The Cefors,” went on Saneel meditatively, “are now wary and nervous of the mimoses and if they see them the creatures hurriedly scuttle for safety. It’s saved a lot of lives, Dom. We gather that the mimoses and Cefors are old foes.”

  “Then we can be thankful you brought the mimoses with you, my dear. And the Maekwies and Wraiths?”

  “They must be getting hungry by now, Sapphire. So many of their prey have fled south.”

  “So they follow you?”

  “We’re all a source of food, Dom. I imagine they’re closer than we might like to think. They pick off occasional victims.”

  “I see,” murmured Sapphire again, his brows knit in thought.

  “We can’t deal with them.”

  “No, Saneel my dear, you can’t. This is news to us.” Sapphire cogitated while Saneel watched him. “It’s clearly time we Doms had a concerted think about your news and about the situation in general. We have a growing army on the move at present and need to pause to fully reorganise and establish some sort of base.”

  “And Jepaul?”

  “He’s a Dom, Saneel, a fully fledged and rarely powerful one.”

  “So he’s an Elemental too.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “But Belika has never conceived.”

  “No,” agreed Sapphire quietly.

  “Will she?”

  “I don’t see that as part of Jepaul’s destiny, Saneel.”

  Sapphire’s voice was very gentle and understanding as was the expression in his eyes, but Saneel just sensed from what wasn’t said that the Dom knew more than he’d say. She’d begun, some time since, to wonder about Jepaul and what fate awaited such a very handsome, somehow truly beautiful, young man so unlike any male she’d seen on Shalah. There was a long pause while Saneel caressed the Dom, before she spoke again, musingly.

  “Belika has changed. She’s more than a Maenade, Dom, and appears to have a very close affinity with Ebon and with the other Companions as you call them.”

  “That’s so,” concurred Sapphire, a light of laughter in his eyes.

  “Are the Companions now somehow linked in with you older Elementals?”

  “Oh, Saneel,” answered Sapphire. “What sort of question is that to ask a Dom?”

  “One that expects an answer, Dom. And, Sapphire, it’s an answer you’ll willingly give me, won’t you?”

  Saneel raised herself on the bed. Sapphire found himself suddenly breathless and knew, as he succumbed, that she was probably right. He gave a helpless laugh and responded in kind.

 

  Many in the newly set up camp eyed the Maenades incredulously, especially as now they weren’t marching fully armed and were relaxed they reverted to their bare-breasted habits, all of them. The Grohols were unmoved and simply accepted this was the warrior woman way, something that didn’t trouble them or have any other effect either. The Varen, unused to women other than candemaran, found their first forays among such women a very steep learning experience. They confronted women with warrior attitudes not unlike their own, nor was there a trace of subservience in how they related to others. They were dominant. When they chose for pleasure the Varen found they were considered lamentably ignorant and had to suffer the indignity of being laughed at and taught unforgettable lessons.

  But it was Cadran and Ardon who eyed the women with the most disbelief, and it was they who had most to learn. Cadran found himself the centre of a cluster of warrior women who encouraged him, until, rather exhausted, he found one, named Luka, who finally chased off all others and made it quite clear to Cadran that she’d chosen him. She was tall for a woman, like her sisters, and her build was Junoesque, her long mane blonde and her eyes dark brown. She was beautiful and understood the art of seduction very well. Cadran succumbed to her charms and insistence, just as Jepaul did with Belika so long ago, so much so, Lisle had to remind the young man of his responsibilities and duties. Yawning copiously, Cadran obeyed. But Luka was always waiting.

  It was Ardon who attracted the youngest warrior women with his shyness, modesty and embarrassment. They thought his bashfulness endearing. It led to one woman, Lali, only recently grown to full maturity, to take the youth by the hand and encouragingly take him to her quarters. Protesting but laughing, the youngster fell back on Lali’s bed. Lali surveyed him, a smile of amusement curling her lips as she came astride him in a way that kept him prone.

  “What now, little boy?” she teased him.

  He blushed fierily. Ardon’s initiation began.

  As the days passed, Knellen watched Cadran and Ardon, his eyebrow quirked at the Doms who simply smiled and shook their heads at him. With time they noticed both young men showed confident assurance and had, in that interval, gone from uncertain younger ones to more assertive manhood. Cadran was already mature, but Ardon wasn’t. Now his maturity was startling and Lali looked smug. Cadran and Ardon no longer shared quarters. They were with their women.

 

  The many who now accompanied the travellers were a logistical nightmare. Stolidly, Knellen, ably assisted by Lisle and senior Grohol warriors, very slowly managed to arrange the assortment of people into groups that could, in turn, organise themselves and begin to be more independent in their daily living. Groups set up their own cooking facilities, latrines and sleeping arrangements. Activities were overseen by either a warrior Grohol, a Varen or a Maenade. Order came. The daily moves gave way to longer moves every few days. Soon everyone knew they now moved past Strame-Helt. It was ruled by Barok, another like Cynas Adon.

 

  Strame-Helt was a rather disordered state, poorly governed by weak Cynases over very long syns. Impoverishment was rife. Rapacious merchants bled those below them in the social system. The caste system, though the least brutal of anywhere on Shalah, was well entrenched: education was only for those of no caste: and emtori toiled in fields and factories without security, kindness or acceptable conditions. Factories were sweatshops. They churned out goods for the very wealthy merchants who were a powerful elite. They insisted on Barok maintaining a firm grip on the emtori because they were essential for huge profits even though metal works were dangerous places with a high mortality rate. It was a wretched world for those not at the
top of Heltian society. For merchants, life was good.

  Barok, a kindly man, had always found confrontation difficult, so it was easier to let the merchants mostly have their way but he refused to pass draconian laws that would see conditions made even tougher for emtori. These laws would extend their work hours and take away the breaks they now enjoyed. He didn’t allow judicious floggings nor summary executions.

  The Red Council found him difficult to handle because he never refused anything. He simply listened, smiled encouragingly, but only sometimes accepted what he was told. He had no vices the Red Council could play on either. So they gently and persuasively played on his weaknesses and had managed, without too much difficulty, to reduce Strame-Helt to the city-state it now was. By keeping Barok ignorant of much that went on they were able to instruct the Varen to intimidate the populace in various ways that kept them cowed and scared. That was satisfactory.

  The instruction to use Barok’s wife as a weapon of coercion and obedience was only partially successful. Barok’s reaction was immediate. Unknown to the Red Council, at the first hint of a threat to her Barok sent her south with a very large, fully armed contingent of his personal guard. Nor were they Varen. It was only after the event that the Red Council realised Dariah, a very lovely young woman who was Barok’s second wife, was no longer in the city and they had to accept it at the same time as they expressed surprise at Barok’s action.

  They assured him no one threatened Dariah and urged Barok to bring her home and to tell them where she was. Though Barok’s negatives angered them they wisely said no more. They just surreptitiously set about trying to find out where Dariah was: to find her then hold her hostage was a much better option than a writhling insertion and was a priority. Barok had no idea a large troop of Varen quietly left the city early one morning, their orders uncompromisingly clear. The Red Council knew it was only a matter of time before Dariah was found.

 

  It was the travellers who found Dariah, not the Strame/Helt Varen sent after her. It was late one afternoon that an advance guard of Grohol sent back a scout to say a very large troop was on a parallel course with their own, south of Strame-Helt. Resignedly, the very long column came to a ponderous halt. Quon dismounted, grumbling. A laughing Jepaul helped him get steady on his feet and the other Doms and Companions likewise dismounted, though Javen signalled to those mounted behind them to remain so. Gabrel, Dral and Lisle, all in sight, acknowledged the order. Knellen stayed mounted, a cleft between his brows.

  “Jepaul,” he asked abruptly. “Does your jewellery or staff react?”

  “No.”

  “I see. Strange.”

  “Can you sense or see them, Knellen?”

  “I know they’re not Varen.”

  “Good or bad?” demanded Dancer.

  “Who knows?” Knellen sounded irritable, a tetchy note to his voice. “I do not want to form up our Varen for no good reason, Dom.”

  “I understand.”

  “What would be best to do then?”

  Sapphire had come up, his horse’s reins held dangling from one hand.

  “We wait,” said Knellen tersely.

  “Willingly,” agreed Sapphire, stretching.

  The groups waited quietly while thundering hooves drew nearer. Quite suddenly a hard riding troop appeared almost directly in front of them and, startled at such an unexpected sight, abruptly dropped first to a canter then to a trot, before falling back to a walk. It brought the troop to a surprised halt, horses and riders milling at such an abrupt stop. A few troopers stayed around a rider who was hooded.

  Once more it was Knellen who rode forward.

  “We mean you no harm. You are free to pass.”

  A front rider, clearly very tired, came forward slowly. His horse’s head, with the mouth slightly foam flecked with effort, was hanging.

  “We thank you, stranger. We mean no harm either.”

  “You and your troop look exhausted, man. Where are you from?”

  “Strame-Helt.”

  “Without Varen escort? Is that not unusual?”

  “Probably, Varen,” assented the rider.

  “May I know your name?”

  “I answer to Kert Allain and my title is Captain, Varen.”

  “I answer to Knellen.” There was a long silence before either man spoke again, then it was Knellen who said calmly, “As I said, you look exhausted.”

  “We’ve been riding hard for days, Varen, to put as much space between ourselves and Strame-Helt as we can.”

  “I see. May I suggest you are quite safe with us if you care to take a rest both for yourselves and your horses. Whither are you bound?”

  “To Castelus to seek aid for one who is with us.”

  “Castelus?” echoed Knellen. Then he simply nodded. “Do you wish to rest?”

  “Indeed. One with us is especially weary.”

  “Then tell your men to follow.”

  Knellen rode back to the Doms and Companions, his frown even deeper. Quon quirked an eyebrow at him.

  “Trouble?” he enquired politely.

  “Not entirely, Dom.” Knellen glanced round the Companions and Doms. “This troop is clearly an elite private guard troop of the Cynas of Strame-Helt.”

  “What?” exploded Ebon. “What is this?”

  “I can’t answer that, Dom, except to say the man I spoke to said they were trying to get as far from Strame-Helt as fast as they can and on to Castelus for help.”

  “That,” said Belika, solemnly, “sounds ominous. Who would seek help of Jamir other than another like him?”

  “They are exhausted, Doms. I offered rest.”

  “Do it, Knellen,” instructed Dancer, his expression one of intense curiosity. “There’s something here that doesn’t fit.”

  “Can you bring the one you spoke to, to us?” As he spoke, Jepaul turned to yell to Javen and Lisle. “We’re stopping. Can you pass it down the line?”

 

  Once the troop had been comfortably settled and offered food and drink, the Doms watched them with interest. They and the Companions noticed that four troopers stayed close to another who still remained hooded. All were intrigued, so when Knellen brought the Captain over to them they waited curiously to hear what he had to say. Allain sank thankfully and accepted a tankard from which he drank deeply and gratefully.

  “Thank you, friends,” he uttered sincerely. “It’s a rare thing these days to meet with kindness or consideration.” He sighed.

  “Where do you go, Captain? Knellen, the Varen with you, tells us it may be Castelus.”

  “Yes, it is, to our Cynas’ old, old friend he’s not seen in long syns.”

  “Jamir?”

  “Jamir,” confirmed Allain.

  “May we ask why you leave your Cynas and home to travel at such speed to Castelus?” It was Jepaul who spoke.

  “We have one with us who is threatened by the Red Council of our home state. Our Cynas sends this one due south before heading sharply north, mainly to give Varen who may seek us something to hunt for.”

  “Has your Cynas had contact with Jamir lately?”

  “No, our Cynas hasn’t seen Cynas Jamir in very long syns but there’s intermarriage that goes back many ages.”

  “Jamir is very, very old, Captain.”

  “Cynas Barok says that the Castelus family has the elixir of near eternity. Cynas Jamir is said to be several generations older than our Cynas.”

  “How could this be, do you think?”

  “He may have the elixir of eternal youthfulness, honoured Old One,” answered the Captain at last, looking a little troubled and uncertain. Quon eyed him.

  “He may have,” he conceded. “Or may I suggest something else to you? Is it possible he may have given something in exchange for the gift of longevity?”

  The Captain stared at Quon perplexed.

  “What valuable thing could one give for -?” He broke off aghast as a dreadful thought occurred to him. “That can’t be, sur
ely? No would barter that part of themselves.”

  Ebon spoke calmly.

  “Captain, we don’t know who you escort to Castelus nor will we question you, but from our knowledge of Jamir you’d do well to consider whether you’ll receive there the sort of welcome and refuge you hope for.”

  The Captain stiffened.

  “My Cynas has placed his trust and the life of one precious to him in my hands.”

  “With good cause,” smiled Quon reassuringly. “But let us tell you all we know about Castelus and Cynas Jamir as we have found them, then you may want to think over what you choose to do. No one will hinder you.”

  The Captain eyed him askance, accepted a refilled tankard, then settled back to listen. The Doms spoke. So did Jepaul. What he heard badly shook him. He looked across at his troop and looked from one Dom to another then to the Companions, Knellen in particular, his expression deeply troubled.

  “A writhling! Is that why your eyes are so strange?” he asked the Varen hoarsely. Knellen nodded. “And you were actually relieved of it by a legendary Grypan?” Again Knellen nodded stolidly. “We were taught there was a curse attached to contact with Grypans. Is there?”

  “Yes,” came baldly from Knellen. “It is real and I am touched by it.”

  The Captain looked at Jepaul and found it difficult to swallow.

  “And you were ritually purged as a very small child?” Jepaul simply nodded. The Captain gnawed on his lower lip. “So you’re all saying Cynas Jamir isn’t the man he was and is almost completely ruled by his Red Council.”

  “That’s so,” responded Dancer crisply. “If you expect otherwise, be warned. The Varen who accompany us were to have writhlings inserted by Jamir.”

  “That’s why they accompany you?”

  “Yes.” Quon sighed as he drank.

  “But,” and there was now consternation in the Captain’s voice, “we have with us one who seeks refuge from a writhling insertion by either a Cynas or any Red Council. It is why we escort this individual. Cynas Barok wouldn’t expect his friend to do other than provide a haven and security. If he is as you say, then his Red Council could act as our Red Council threaten to do. There would be no safety in Castelus.”

  “None at all,” agreed Jepaul, a great deal of sympathy in his voice.

  “Demons!” moaned the Captain inarticulately. “I must speak with the individual and with my troop. This is very deeply troubling news.”

  The Captain, agitated beyond measure, got rather shakily and precipitately to his feet, put his tankard to the ground and strode away from the resting group. He was gone for some time. White-faced, he returned with a slender boy, still hooded, whom he held gently by one hand. He quietly drew the figure forward. He very carefully eased back the hood. It let a tumbling mass of golden curls tumble about a young one’s shoulders and chest and also revealed a tearstained face. Those seated realised they looked at a girl clad in boy’s raiment, but the tunic, though loose, couldn’t hide the slight swelling of her stomach. She was delicately built, with deep sky blue eyes and she couldn’t have been more than sixteen syns.

  “My dear,” murmured Sapphire, hunting for something the girl could sit on. Finding an upturned cask, he offered it, helping the girl to be seated. Comfortably ensconced the girl raised scared eyes to those about her. Urged to speak, she did. She answered questions.

  “So, to enforce Barok’s compliance the Red Council threatened to insert a writhling into you?” asked Ebon.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “And do they know you bear a child?” Quon saw the frightened expression. “My dear child, don’t be alarmed. No one here will hurt you. But answer me.”

  “No,” came the reluctant answer.

  “How could they miss your condition?”

  “Barok kept me in seclusion as much as possible. If I had to be in public, as was often expected, or I was in company or near the Red Council, my robes were loose and flowing. I’m only in the early stages, you see.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  The Doms studied her.

  “You’re very young to be Barok’s wife,” commented Dancer gently. “Aren’t you?”

  The girl blushed.

  “Barok’s wife died in childbirth, as did the child,” she answered. “He wishes to have an heir so decided to find a second wife.”

  “So you were chosen?”

  “I was offered for.”

  “Were you happy to be chosen?” The head nodded slowly. Quon added, “Barok is many syns older than you, child, so many as to make him older than even a greatsire of yours.”

  “Yes, I know.” There was a pause, then, “Barok is very kind to me. He treats me gently. I’ve come to care very much for him and wish so much to have his child to give him joy.”

  “How long have you been with him?”

  “Since I was fifteen syns. I’m halfway through my sixteen syns now.”

  There was silence, then Jepaul spoke.

  “Barok dressed you as a boy so as not to occasion comment and make it seem you were merely one of the troop?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now?”

  “I don’t know. I’m frightened. Captain Allain has told me about Castelus and Cynas Jamir, so I can’t go there. Where shall I go? Where’s safe?”

  “Nowhere much on Shalah at the moment, child,” murmured Quon abstractedly. He was deep in thought.

  “I suggest,” said Knellen, “ it would be best if you and the Captain make the decision to remain with us at least until you have a chance to think through what you wish to do. You have travelled hard and long. Will Varen be in pursuit?”

  “Yes,” answered Allain immediately. “Once it’s known Dariah isn’t in the city and a troop of the Cynas is also missing, Varen will be out.”

  “Do they have writhlings?”

  “No, Barok has refused the use of them.”

  “And yourselves if you return?”

  “Our dependence must be on our Cynas to protect us,” came the answer to Sapphire.

  “Hunted again by Varen,” muttered Saracen. “It seems we can’t get away from them, doesn’t it, Doms?”

  The other Companions laughed.

 

  Dariah and the troop rested until the next day. There was much discussion, even some argument. But the over-riding consensus was that Dariah should remain with the travellers while the troop, concerned for their Cynas, would make a return to their city as expeditiously as possible to explain that Dariah had been snatched by seeming bandits. The Grohols suggested another route unknown to them. It would have them avoid the searching Varen and have them back home in an unexpectedly short time, so short a time the Doms assured Allain, that the Red Council would assume Dariah was close at hand. The Grohols, with fierce grins, said the Varen would search fruitlessly and return home eventually, exhausted. The Captain couldn’t restrain a laugh at that. He spoke last to Knellen.

  “Varen, we thank you all. Dariah is safe for the moment so that relieves us and will delight the Cynas.” He paused. “The Cynas loves the little girl, Varen, very much, you must believe that.” He paused again, then eyed Knellen speculatively. “I think upheavals come to Shalah, Varen, and you and the others will be part of it. If it is against the tyranny of those like the Red Council, then you should understand we would stand your friends and allies.”

  “I understand,” came the grave response. Knellen turned his head, his odd eyes staring intently into Allain’s. “I think, Allain, we will all need allies very soon. We shall meet again and in the not too distant future. I know this.”

  Allain nodded, even as a shiver of premonition shook him.