The Dreamtrails: The Obernewtyn Chronicles

by Isobelle Carmody

  As the horses were being led away, one of the boys turned back to call out that Merret had gone inside and that we ought to go in at once.

  Jakoby mounted the steps, and I followed in her wake. It seemed a strange and gaudy choice for a secret meeting. Passing from the blazing light glancing off the enameled entry panels into the chill darkness beyond, I had no doubt that the designer had intended to dazzle. I stopped to allow my eyes to adjust to the dimness, and then Merret was before us.

  “I was just letting Gwynedd know you had arrived. He wants me to bring Jakoby right in.”

  “What is this place?” I asked as she led us deeper into the building, for it was no less ornate inside than out.

  Merret gave me a sardonic look. “I told you it is the merchant hall. Who else could afford such finery? We have spread rumors of merchants meeting here, and that has accounted for strangers seen entering the place, though some of those invited have had to be wrapped in fine cloaks else they would seem very out of place in these decadent commercial corridors.”

  She brought us to a room, and I was startled to see that it was full of men and a few women, most of whom seemed wealthy and annoyed.

  “Those are petitioners,” Merret farsent as she led us through them. She sounded amused.

  “Petitioners for what?” I asked.

  We passed from the room into a quiet chamber, and Merret closed the door and said aloud, “They are real merchants or powerful officials who have heard rumors of the meeting and have come to find out why they were not invited. It was unexpected, though perhaps it ought not to have been. I daresay the sight of Sadorian tribesfolk will excite a new chorus of rumors. Do not concern yourselves about the merchants, though. Gwynedd intends for us to coerce them into believing they actually attended a meeting. For the time being, they are cooling their heels at the front door while we shall enter at the rear.” She gestured to a door, through which was a long hall lined with rare and lovely sculptures, though none so fine as those done by Kasanda. At the end of the hall was a set of double doors.

  “This is the way into the meeting hall,” Merret said, gesturing to the ornate double doors. “You are to go in at once.” The coercer addressed Jakoby, who said that she would see me later aboard the Umborine. When she strode to the doors and threw them open, I caught a brief glimpse of the crowded room beyond and heard a babble of talk. Then the doors swung closed, cutting off the sound.

  “How many people are meeting?” I asked incredulously.

  “Seventy, more or less,” Merret said.

  I gaped at her. “Gwynedd invited seventy people to a secret meeting?”

  “Some fifty were invited,” the coercer said. “Then there are Gwynedd’s people and rebels from the other cities. But do not fear, this has been long planned by Gwynedd; those he invited, save a few, are all well known to him, even though some did not know him at all. Ever since Dell spoke to him, he has been seeking the right people to rule the Land.”

  “Why has he not simply appointed them?” I asked.

  “That is not his way,” Merret said simply. “He has chosen worthy people, and now they must choose their own leaders, as Kalt said.” She looked at me, a glimmer of mischief in her eye. “Do you want to go in as well, Guildmistress?”

  I shook my head firmly, saying that I was in no mood to take part in a debate, even if I had been invited, which I had not.

  “Perhaps you would you like to watch from the upper gallery?” She gestured to a smaller door to the left of the double doors, and as she drew nearer, I followed her and saw inside a wooden stair.

  Shrugging, I stepped through the door and mounted the steps. Instead of a door at the top, there was a heavy curtain. Merret lifted a finger to her lips and pulled the curtain aside. Again I heard the loud hum of many voices. Merret ushered me along a short narrow corridor to another curtained door. Pushing through it, I found myself on a small balcony overlooking the vast rectangular chamber that was the main Councilcourt meeting room. Other balconies ran all around the room at the same level, but as far as I could tell, the rest were empty. To my delight, Blyss was sitting at the end of a bench seat, so riveted by what was happening below that she had not even noticed our entrance.

  Merret went to speak to her, and I leaned forward cautiously to look into the body of the chamber. The balcony was not far from the front of the room, so I had a good view of the faces of the people sitting along bench seats nearest the stage. Glass mosaic windows set about the dome in the roof allowed gorgeously colored shafts of light to stripe those on the raised stage. Gwynedd stood with Jakoby at the end of a line of chairs set up along the back of the stage. I studied his face, expecting to see the arrogance of a man who would be king, but his expression was merely serious as he spoke softly to the tribeswoman. Now Dardelan rose from his seat on the stage and began to address those gathered, speaking of the Charter of Laws he had crafted for the Land. From what I could understand, he was merely clarifying some point he must have made earlier. At the end of the stage, Rushton joined Gwynedd and spoke earnestly to the tribeswoman, who listened without expression and then shrugged and nodded. Gwynedd nodded, too, in apparent satisfaction, and then he beckoned a dark-complexioned man who wore his raven hair in the Norse style. He spoke to the man for some time, clearly giving him some detailed instructions, and then the man departed purposefully, leaving the chamber by the large double doors.

  “How long has the meeting been going on?” I farsent to Merret.

  “Since just after firstmeal,” she answered.

  “What has been decided?”

  “Nothing yet, according to Blyss. I have not been here continuously, of course. But she told me that Gwynedd began by speaking about what happened on both sides of the Suggredoon. He told them about the Faction’s attempted invasion, too. There were a lot of questions then, which Dardelan, Brydda, or Rushton answered, and then Gwynedd told them what he knew of your time on Herder Isle. Finally, he broke the news to them that they will be choosing the new leaders of the west coast cities from among their number.” She smiled. “That was a surprise, for many had come thinking only that they were to vote for leaders from among the rebels, or perhaps to serve the new leaders in some way. A few refused outright, saying that they had not the ability to govern a city, but Gwynedd asked that everyone remain and take part in all debates and to vote, for if they were not fit to rule, they would not be chosen. Then, just a short time ago, when I came to let Gwynedd know Jakoby had arrived, Dardelan was speaking about arrangements made on the other side of the Suggredoon after the Councilmen were overthrown.”

  I looked back to the stage and saw that Dardelan had resumed his seat, as had Rushton, and there was a renewed buzz of talk from those seated in the rows below the stage. I noted that Serba was upon the stage, and I studied her with interest. The last time I had seen her had been during the rebellion. She looked thinner than I remembered, and there were streaks of white in her hair, but her face was just as strong and her expression just as sharply intelligent.

  Gwynedd now rose to introduce Jakoby, and without any preamble, the tribeswoman began to speak simply and bluntly of Sador: of the manner in which the tribes governed themselves and how they used the Battlegames to judge crimes.

  “Why was Gwynedd so keen for Jakoby to speak?” I farsent Merret.

  “He wants to show that, although the Land governed by Dardelan and his Council of Chieftains works very differently from Sador, the same values underlie both systems,” Merret answered. “He wants them to understand what makes for good leadership.”

  “When will they vote?”

  “The voting for chieftains of each city will begin within the hour, by my reckoning, but the process Gwynedd wants to use will take time. His intention is for each candidate to address the meeting. He wants them to explain how they would govern their city. Once all candidates have been heard, there will be a vote. If all here agree upon a name for chieftain, that person will become chieftain. But many of these
people do not know one another, so Gwynedd believes there will be several candidates for each city. He believes that they should then be questioned and answer to the rest, and after a time, there will be another vote. This will go on until one chieftain is chosen for each city. Then the new chieftains will vote for their high chieftain.”

  “But Dardelan …”

  Merret shook her head decisively. “Dardelan suggested that the west have its own high chieftain, for the whole Land is too much territory for one, and he would be more than pleased to have another high chieftain to consult with.”

  I studied Gwynedd, impressed in spite of myself by his careful, detailed plans. There was no doubt, given all that Merret had said, that he had been considering and shaping his plans exactly as Dardelan had done.

  Merret touched my arm and bade me sit awhile, saying she must return to her post but that she would doubtless see me later. As she went out, I sat down and shifted Maruman to my lap. Blyss smiled at me and then turned back to the meeting, her face alight with interest. I had thought that I might speak to her of Rushton, but clearly this was not the moment.

  I leaned forward to look at Rushton, who was sitting back and listening intently to Jakoby, his long legs stretched out in front of him. There was no sign of the brittle harshness he had shown me at the Beforetime ruins. Without my presence, perhaps the memories would settle down and nothing need be done at once. Dell had said it would be better if it could wait until we had returned to Obernewtyn.

  But if his memories did break out, and Rushton had not been prepared …

  At a burst of applause, I saw that Jakoby had been seated, and Gwynedd was rising to address the meeting. I leaned forward, eager to hear more from this powerful, grave-faced Norselander who had won the devotion not only of the west coast rebels but also of Misfits like Merret and Dell. I was not alone in my interest, for the chamber had fallen utterly silent.

  The older man began speaking in a quiet gruff voice about the role of a chieftain. He lacked Dardelan’s poetry and passionate conviction as a speaker, but the care and simplicity of his words as he described the demands of leadership were all the more compelling because he was clearly not trying to persuade or charm. I had the feeling he would weigh every decision he made with the same slow honesty, and all that he said was so wise and sensible that my doubts about him evaporated. I glanced at those on the stage and saw that they were all sitting forward, deeply attentive. Dardelan looked positively elated, and I realized that in Gwynedd he had found another true idealist.

  Gwynedd must have asked for questions, because someone lifted a hand and asked what sort of force he would recommend to keep the peace and impose laws once the soldierguards were gone. He pondered the question for a bit and said that he thought a city guard should be formed, made up of strong men and women who would serve for a set period, for the people ought to keep the peace and not some separate body who, like the soldierguards, could be corrupted by continuous power and authority. He said that he thought the period of service should be no more than two years. Then a woman asked what was to be done with the current Council’s soldierguards. Gwynedd said that Dardelan and his Council, who had already dealt with Councilmen and their soldierguards across the river, had agreed to take charge of them.

  There was something familiar about the man sitting alongside the woman who had spoken, and after studying him a moment, I noticed his wooden leg and realized it was the crippled metalworker Rolf. He sat toward the rear of the chamber, but I could not resist sending a greeting. He stiffened and looked up, his eyes scanning the empty balconies until he found me peering down at him. I grinned and waved, and he laughed aloud, causing those about him to stare at him in puzzlement.

  “Your face is so clean I hardly recognize you,” I farsent. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I received an invitation from none other than our rebel leader, after a suggestion from your formidable friend Merret.” He laughed again. “I was shocked to discover that, in accepting, I had become a potential future leader! The moment I speak, Master Gwynedd will realize his mistake, for I am naught but a metalworker and a crippled one at that. But I am not sorry to be here, for it is something to have been part of the events of this day.”

  “I seriously doubt there has been any mistake made,” I sent. “You are as worthy and courageous a man as any I have ever met. I am only glad Merret had the foresight to suggest you come here.” Then I sent, very seriously, “For myself, I want to thank you again, Rolf, for your kindness when I was just an unknown beggar maid and for helping me find Domick and get him out of Halfmoon Bay. Merret told me that you had freed Iriny, not to mention bringing a force to her aid at the river. How can you possibly say that you are no leader!”

  “And now,” Gwynedd said quite suddenly, “it is time to begin the choosing. I have asked Dardelan to officiate, for he and the other people from across the river will not vote, and I will offer myself as a candidate for Murmroth.” I withdrew from Rolf’s mind as Gwynedd took his seat and Dardelan stepped forward.

  “We might just as well begin at one end of the west coast and work along it city by city,” he said. “I now ask those who would stand as candidates for Murmroth to rise and, one by one, to speak about themselves so that we may see what manner of men and women they are. Once each has spoken, we will have a show of hands of those who would choose each of the candidates. The three who receive the most votes will become the final candidates for that city unless there is a unanimous vote for one of them.”

  Gwynedd stood but remained by his chair. No one else moved. There was a curious silence, and before Dardelan could invite Gwynedd to speak, hands began to rise, at first slowly and then swiftly. In less than a moment, almost every hand in the room was raised, and the big Norselander stared about in such genuine surprise that delighted laughter rose in a wave, and everyone began to applaud wildly.

  “Well, it seems that the silence of some men speaks far more eloquently than any words,” Dardelan said after a long time, when the noise died down. This was met with more laughter, but it quieted swiftly, and Dardelan said dryly, “Although the good Gwynedd looks as if someone hit him on the head with a stone, I am somehow not much surprised to be naming him the first chieftain chosen, for he has single-handedly inspired and kept alive the rebel movement here after the tragedy and betrayals of the Night of Blood. At the beginning of this momentous day, Gwynedd spoke of this place as the Westland. For those of you who do not know it, that is the Norse name for this coast, yet it seems fitting that we might henceforth use that name to honor the man who, more than any other, has striven for its freedom.”

  These words were met by a roar of approval and chants and shouts of “Westland!” and “Gwynedd!” Dardelan made no move to silence them, perhaps feeling, as I did, that this applause was a cathartic outburst of joy and relief and triumph.

  At long last, the noise faded and Dardelan asked the new chieftain of Murmroth to sit. Gwynedd did so, still without a word, and this provoked a fresh burst of laughter. Dardelan broke into it by naming Aborium and inviting the first candidate for that city to speak. An hour later, speeches were still being made by candidates for the city. Those who had spoken of their future intentions seemed sensible, and I was pleased to see that women made up a good proportion of the number, for there were no women among the Land’s chieftains.

  It seemed that the young rebel leader Darrow who had spoken first would be among the three chosen, for despite his youth, his tongue was dipped in silver. Sure enough, when the vote was cast, more hands were raised in his support than for the man and woman who were to stand with him for the next round of votes. There was applause, though nowhere near the level that had met Gwynedd’s appointment; then Dardelan bade the candidates sit, saying they should prepare to speak again, once all the initial candidates for all the cities had been chosen. He then asked all who wished to be considered candidates for the chieftainship of Morganna to rise.

  Stifling a yawn, I
observed softly to Blyss that it seemed a slow method. All those who had spoken would have had much of their speeches forgotten before they spoke again, and everyone listening would be exhausted.

  “That is the idea,” she said surprisingly, adding that it had been Gwynedd’s plan to have a single, grueling session to choose chieftains for the five cities. The long session would mean that everyone would see and hear the candidates when they were fresh and alert but also when they were weary and at the end of their tether. In this way, their strengths and flaws would be laid bare. A person like Darrow, she said, would easily sway an audience if they were to vote on the heels of his speech, but how would the same man fare when people were weary and wanted to hear facts and simple practical ideas rather than passionate rhetoric? The discussions and question-and-answer sessions would further enable the candidates to measure one another, and that was just as well, for those who would advise the new chieftains would be chosen from among them.

  Finally, the candidates were called for Halfmoon Bay. To my regret, Rolf did not rise with the other seven, but after they had all made their speeches, Gwynedd rose to ask Arolfic Smithson to stand and speak as well. He had interrupted on two other occasions to ask people who had not risen to speak, and in both cases, the people chosen had given a good account of themselves.

  I waited as eagerly as everyone else as Rolf rose with obvious reluctance and said gruffly that he did not want to suggest that the chieftain of Murmroth had judged ill, but he was not the sort of man to lead a city. “I am not highborn, nor have I ever served in any capacity as a leader. I did not join the rebel cause, and aside from being crippled in one leg, I am only a metalworker, yet I know that people are harder to mold than iron and copper. There is a subtle skill to governing that I think a chieftain ought to have.”