by Katy Winter
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
It took time for the incredible news to reach other city-states that the Mythlin was dead. The Red Councils were inclined to disbelieve the news, then, when it was confirmed their anger was deadly. It was determined that members of the Red Council would immediately set out for Baron-Kelt to choose and instate another Mythlin, one they would be very careful choosing and who would respond to inducements in the required manner and be malleable to their thinking as the past Mythlin was.
The Council members were chosen from each city-state and would meet, with their Varen, not far from Baron-Kelt. It was a force of some size that would assemble and descend on Baron-Kelt and they had their Varen with inserted writhlings. So it was a formidable armed force that bore down on Baron-Kelt, something Knellen knew was about to happen. Jepaul and Cadran, and the Grohols, all sensed danger from the advancing Varen, but also from the Red Council. The Doms were alert.
At the time members from the Red Councils set out to rendezvous near Baron-Kelt, a dirtied and exhausted envoy was ushered into the presence of Adon, Cynas of Clariane, in his private audience chamber. Adon was pale and thin. He was deeply worn by his constant efforts to restrain the extreme actions of his Red Council. They tried to enforce orders through the Varen despite him. He received the envoy with an expression of considerable surprise. Unlike those who ushered the man into the room, Adon recognised the envoy’s livery; he noted he was a military envoy and not an elite Varen. That made his eyebrows shoot up. His skin prickled and his senses, already on the alert all the time with the Red Council, were heightened both by alarm and anticipation.
“Enter,” he commanded, his voice quiet.
The envoy almost staggered, so Adon indicated a chair and himself occupied another opposite him. At the same time he indicated that all others present were to leave the room. He calmly turned to a decanter and from it filled two glasses. He handed one to the envoy. As he waited, he watched the man gratefully drink before regaining his breath to speak.
“You are from Cynas Barok, are you not?” The man nodded and drank again. “It is many syns since we have seen each other. It surprises me to receive an envoy from him.”
“I have a letter from him. He wished it delivered by hand, Cynas, and not through other channels. I’ve taken out-of-way trails to get here.”
Adon eyed the man speculatively and held out his hand. The envoy drew a small packet from his pocket and handed it across to Adon who carefully unrolled crisp pages and began to slowly peruse the contents. He read it twice, then folded the sheets and put them in his own pocket. He pursed his lips.
“You are quite sure the travellers you speak of have the Cynas’ wife?”
“Yes, Cynas. That is correct.”
“And these travellers of whom your Cynas speaks have reached Baron-Kelt?”
“Yes, Cynas.”
“And the Mythlin?”
“Rumours, Honoured Cynas.”
“Which are?”
“That the Mythlin is dead and is interred in Baron-Kelt.”
“And the newly appointed Mythlin?”
“There doesn’t appear to be one.”
“Interesting.”
The Cynas drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair while he thought, his eyes occasionally dwelling on the envoy who upended his glass. Then he deliberately rose, crossed the room, sat at an elegant desk, drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write. He signed the sheet with a flourish, applied his seal to the folded letter and returned across the room to the envoy.
“I suggest, my man, you would be wise to let me offer you fresh raiment. You do not want to arouse notice.”
The envoy looked up with a tired smile.
“Indeed I do not.”
“You may tell your Cynas I quite understand.”
The envoy nodded and rose, put his glass on a table and courteously waited for Adon to speak. Adon strode to the door, summoned a Varen and pointed at the envoy.
“Take this man, give him decent clothing that fit the upper emtori class, feed him, then return the man to me.”
He nodded dismissal to both envoy and Varen and watched the smaller man precede the Varen from the room. Adon prowled the room, stared thoughtfully through the windows, turned and prowled again. His brow was furrowed in concentration, then it suddenly lightened, as if a thought struck him unexpectedly. There was a sense of suppressed excitement about the taut figure.
When the envoy returned the Varen was briefly dismissed and Adon handed his letter to the man who gingerly took it and instantly pocketed it.
“You understand the importance of your mission, do you?”
“Yes, Cynas. I am one of Cynas Barok’s personal guards.”
“Close guards can be traitors. That’s not unknown.”
The envoy drew himself to his fullest height and spoke abruptly.
“I am aware of that, Cynas.”
“So am I.”
The two men eyed each other silently, then Adon suddenly relaxed and laughed. The envoy’s stiffness eased a little but he still kept his eyes on Adon’s face.
“Is there anything else, Cynas?”
Adon touched the man’s shoulder, his grip tightening for just a moment.
“These are not times to trust lightly, my man. I mean no insult.”
“I understand that too, Cynas.”
“Then may you travel well. We are likely to meet again sooner than many may think.”
The envoy inclined his head, turned on his heel and left the room. Adon drew Barok’s letter from his pocket, read it again, then quite purposefully shredded it and threw it on the smouldering fire. He watched flames lick about the pieces then reduce them to ashes. He actually smiled for the first time.
Barok read Adon’s letter carefully, then scrutinised and questioned his envoy, before he, too, destroyed a letter thoroughly. He had things to do.
Adon called for the Red Council, one member short. They glided noiselessly into the large audience chamber and stood silently, their robes rustling as they turned their hooded heads from side to side.
“Cynas,” they breathed in unison.
“I have received news that the travellers who stole my son are not far from Baron-Kelt.”
“Who tells you this?”
“News comes from all quarters,” was the curt response. “Who can tell where it originates?”
“So?”
“This seems to me to be an excellent opportunity to make the effort to recover my son.”
“Maybe.”
“My intention is to mount a rescue attempt immediately.”
“Why? A combined Red Council will meet near Baron-Kelt and can doubtless find your son.”
“I intend to find him myself,” ground out Adon.
There was more disturbed flutter of robes, then a single voice wheezed.
“Who will you take to accompany you?”
“My troops and the Varen.”
“It will leave few to sustain control here, Cynas,” came the warning.
Adon laughed.
“You’re here. What other control is necessary with your presence? The controls you’ve insisted on, and which have been implemented and enforced by the Varen, means you will have a restful time until my return. I merely asked you here to advise you of my intentions. I can see no threat to you or to my city. If there was, I would not go. Surely you can appreciate that is so?”
“Yes,” came a concerted hiss of exhalation.
“Then you understand I shall leave as soon as possible. Further delay could endanger my son.”
“You’ll submit your son to us on your return?”
Adon rigidly kept his control so the Red Council sensed nothing to encourage them to probe him in their way.
“If it is still your wish.”
“Not to insert a writhling, you understand, Cynas, but to keep him with us so we can guide him.”
“I understand.”
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br /> “Then travel well and return with your son.”
With that the Red Council swung round as one and glided from the chamber. Adon still stood, motionless, his lips white and his rigidity sustained. It was only very gradually that his hands unclenched and he felt able to stop himself from trembling, and when he did he found he was soaked with sweat.
There was considerable activity as Adon set his city by the ears, commands issuing from him at speed as his troops were ordered to organise themselves, heavy weaponry was assembled and the Varen, all levels, were ordered to prepare to depart the city in only days. The Red Council didn’t notice the heavy weaponry being loaded onto vehicles because Adon ordered it disguised by supplies. Only his personal guard dealt with that aspect of preparation. His army slowly readied itself. Adon spent time going from troop to troop and from one group of Varen to another, so all knew what they were to do at the final command to move out from the city. His armed men were curious, but the Varen were, as usual, unquestioning. None had writhlings.
By the third day, Adon ordered the gates of the city opened and the army began to file through it in an orderly and steady fashion. The Red Council graciously farewelled Adon with a gentle reminder about his son. Adon clenched his teeth. He nodded then spurred his horse. It was only when the last man and vehicle was through the gates and he saw them closed that Adon could, at last, breathe a huge sigh of relief and begin to feel, for the first time in syns innumerable, that he could hopefully atone for so much he’d let happen to his people.
He’d managed, without the Red Council being aware of his motives, to bring a considerable number of citizens with him, including numerous emtori. When questioned about it, Adon simply shrugged and said the army needed people to service it. The Red Council smiled and let it pass. It was only with the gates being shut that they realised how depleted the city was, but as they expected Adon back in a reasonably short space of time they were unconcerned. Had they seen the same at Strame/Helt, where Barok prepared in similar fashion and with even heavier weaponry, they may have asked more discerning questions.
At Strame/Helt Barok used the same tactic as Adon. The Cynas prayed that the Red Councils wouldn’t commune in a synthesis on the matter of a Cynas leaving his city in this unexpected manner. He, like Adon, had a very real struggle not to show any emotion as he discussed his intentions with his depleted Red Council. He wondered, as he spoke, if a Council synthesis could only occur when there was a full complement of councillors – he desperately and fearfully hoped so.
His Red Council weren’t as acquiescent as Adon’s. They were inclined to cavil at his assertion that his wife was a prisoner of the so-called travellers and were keen for Barok to wait to confirm she truly was. Barok had to exercise considerable restraint and self-control while he assured them his wife had been sighted. As the Red Council wanted her back and Barok now seemed more amenable to their wishes about this, not even fighting their desire to have her with them more often on her return, they finally ceded his right to recapture her.
They expressed doubts about his being able to do so, but when they saw the formidable force Barok continued to assemble they changed their minds. With delighted anticipation they saw Barok on his way, while they tightened their control on those who remained in the city. They saw folk scuttle away before them wherever they appeared so had little comprehension that Barok, too, had taken as many of his people as he could and substantial supplies as well.
It was Jepaul’s and Cadran’s flaring jewellery and Knellen’s second sense, plus Dom awareness, that made those at Baron-Kelt realise that something out of the ordinary was about to occur when they received the news that two substantial armies, from two different directions, were known to be converging on the city. The Grohols cursed as they struggled, with Varen and emtori help, to finish fortifications that were the bare essentials. Dral and other warrior Grohol muttered. The Doms were sitting with the Companions, discussing the issue, when Lisle entered and addressed himself to Knellen.
“Commander, we have other news.”
Knellen turned his head.
“I think, Lisle,” and with that he turned back to the others, “we will have other company. Tell me, Lisle, is there a third group approaching Baron-Kelt?”
Lisle blinked, as he often found he had to do these days. He wondered how Knellen knew in advance.
“Yes. But from another direction again.”
“I see. You may leave but I will want a meeting of all commanders, from every part of the city, within the hour. Would you arrange this?”
Lisle genuflected slightly in the Varen way before he withdrew. Knellen sighed and stretched, a smile at Quon.
“Foresight, Knellen?”
“Aye, Quon. I saw them a day ago, quite clearly.”
“A Red Council group?”
Knellen nodded.
“With Varen.”
“And probably others,” added Saracen morosely.
“Probably,” agreed Quon, glancing at the small man. “It was inevitable.”
“Aye,” agreed Gabrel gloomily. “What now, Doms?”
“Gabrel, it’s what we have all known would come and it appears as if events move more swiftly than anticipated,” answered Ebon, with one of his characteristic shrugs.
“We need to think this through very, very carefully,” warned Dancer. “If what we expect is the beginning of what confronts us, then there are no second chances. We can make no ill-judged mistakes.”
“Then I suggest we think through strategies before discussion with others,” said Sapphire, coolly. He saw Jepaul eye them all, one after the other. He quirked an interrogative eyebrow. “Jepaul?”
All eyes turned to the man sitting quietly without comment. It was seldom, these days, that he joined conversations. It appeared he was happy to let others speak.
“I don’t know who the advancing armies are,” he said, mostly addressing Quon as he was still wont to do, “but I imagine the Red Council will be supported by Varen with writhlings.” Heads nodded. “That being so, I suggest we cause as little confrontation as possible.”
“How so?” asked Quon.
“They don’t yet suspect the Elementals are present, Quon. We wish that to remain unknown as long as possible. But they know me, or some of them do. It depends who come from the Red Councils. That being so I believe we should have every garrison on alert and the whole city ready should physical conflict come, but I hope to avoid that.”
“What do you propose?”
Jepaul smiled affectionately down at Quon.
“I guess, Quon, they come to find out about the Mythlin and to appoint another. That being so we should not occasion suspicion by denying it, but should instead give a show of expectation of the arrival of those who wish to instate a new Mythlin.”
“You mean welcome them?” gasped Javen.
“We should open the gates to suggest such.”
“They have heavily armed Varen inserted with writhlings,” stated Knellen, his frown very heavy.
“True, Knellen, but you and yours can surely ride out to them to assess whether the writhlings are as yours was or more like Gratan’s. If they are more like Gratan’s then there may be hope for those Varen. If not, you’ll be able to clearly assess what we face.”
“True,” agreed Knellen, a wry expression on his face. “Shrewdly thought, young one. And then?”
“We welcome the Red Council among us but show surprise they bring an armed guard. We assure them of welcome. They enter the city. I will be waiting for them.”
“What can you do with them?” asked Belika, curiously. Jepaul glanced down at her.
“Keep them occupied while Knellen and his see what the accompanying Varen outside the city are like.” Jepaul turned his head to Knellen. “It’s quite a force of Varen?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Several hundred.”
“Quon, can you and the Doms cause conf
usion and temporary loss of memory among the advancing Varen? It would allow time for Knellen and his Varen to assess them for writhlings as they wait outside the gates.”
“Yes, we can. For how long?’
“For enough time for Knellen to get the ones who can be rescued into the city to be dealt with. We will need medical resources and worker Varen to care for men who’ll feel very unwell after treatment. Knellen, do the Doms know how you dealt with the writhling in Gratan?”
“They do now.”
“But they won’t all have shards that can be broken,” protested Saracen.
“No,” said Knellen, his voice like ice. “They will have a control shard shared between eight to ten Varen. That is how the Red Councils now control large numbers. When they used writhlings before, as they did with me, the shard was linked with them but it was not the primary control. The writhling was large and mature. In me it worked on its own.” A shudder rippled across Knellen. “Now, I suspect, the Red Councils haven’t had time to mature so many writhlings and the inserts are immature and need the shards. That is what makes them vulnerable. I will not sit by and see my kind used in this way.”
“We understand, Knellen,” murmured Sapphire.
“So, then, we Doms need to plan exactly how we go about things,” said Ebon, ever practical. “Jepaul, can you stay with us so we know exactly what you intend to do and can, if necessary, support you?”
Jepaul nodded. Dancer stretched before he spoke.
“Knellen, if you find shards, that confirms immature writhlings, yes?”
Knellen, already on his feet, also nodded.
“Who will deal with the shards?”
“Lisle’s and my men. Any Varen of Baron-Kelt will assist.”
“We’ll help, won’t we?” responded Belika, also getting to her feet.
The Companions nodded as they accompanied her and Knellen from the room.
The Red Council and troops arrived at Baron-Kelt a week later and drew up outside the hastily erected walls which they eyed. Then they were rather surprised but gratified when a group of Varen rode out courteously through gates that remained open. When they drew up in order, the Red Council saw the schooled, impassive faces and slightly bowed heads and responded in their way to those who were designed to obey them.
The city Varen looked across at the silent ranked Varen who accompanied the Red Council. They were eyed dispassionately in return. Then the Baron/Kelt Varen looked at the Red Council. One spoke.
“We welcome you to the place of our conception, Honoured Ones.”
“We seek the Mythlin.”
“He has died.”
“How is this?”
“We don’t know.”
“Your elite will tell us.”
“Indeed, Honoured One. They wait to do so. They ask that you accompany us and enjoy the comforts of your own city.”
“We will take elites with us.”
“Certainly,” came the immediate response.
“Do you carry writhlings?”
“No.”
“Not yet,” hissed the Red Council with unmistakable menace. “It is our decision all servants of the Red Councils will now do so. Lead on.”
The Red Council summoned fifteen of the senior Varen to go with them and followed the Baron/Kelt Varen who already led the way to the gates. The Red Council didn’t see their accompanying troops of Varen, left behind, begin to mill in some disorder as they dismounted and looked vaguely around. Some simply sat on the ground, their horses standing quietly beside them; others remained in the saddle, their reins slack. It was only when the Red Council and their guards were through the city gates that the disoriented Red Council Varen outside saw a very large number of Baron/Kelt Varen approach.
They watched, almost disinterestedly, their expressions blank. They appeared apathetic. They only became galvanised to more activity when they felt intense pain and some began to writhe and froth at the mouth, the men unable to speak with an agony that seemed to eat them from the inside. Gasping and trying helplessly to get to their feet they floundered, then fell, before they collapsed with moans wrenched through white lips. Their vision became hazy and some became unconscious. Knellen and Lisle’s men worked quickly and efficiently as they moved from Varen to Varen, checked the size of the writhling imprint and marshalled men into groups accordingly. Then they searched each Varen for a shard. As soon as one was found, Knellen had ordered it to be brought to him. In a surprisingly short time he had a pile.
Knellen’s men were ordered to make sure each group of assembled Red Council Varen had those close by to help in whatever way was needed. He noticed one group. He was told they had large, mature writhling signatures. Knellen knew they were past help. He had them isolated from the others. He took each shard and quite deliberately broke it, then ground it under his boot, one following another as the groups of affected Varen collapsed in varying stages of reaction. Knellen kept his eye on the unaffected group to ensure they remained disoriented throughout the process.
It took Knellen and those with him a while to get Varen onto horses because there were so many of them; some were draped still unconscious, others retched distressingly, while others simply felt wretchedly ill as all horses were either ridden or led to the gates. The Dom illusion still held. Once inside the gates, they were shut and bolted while the affected Varen were taken to dormitories readied to be used as infirmaries. There, they received attention.
The Red Council Varen who had mature writhlings were dosed with a mixture that made them fastidiously wrinkle their noses before they succumbed and passed out. The Doms, satisfied, broke the illusion.
