by Wilf Jones
‘That’s not like Isolde – to leave us without a clue.’
‘No. But then she had just been through a fight for her life. Make no mistake Mador, whatever it is, this thing is vicious and powerful and deadly. How Isolde got free I don’t know.’
Mador didn’t want this news. It was more trouble. More evidence that they were not safe, not even here in the heart of Pars.
Robarn was quick to his point. He wanted Mador to give him the job of flushing out this creature and he wanted the manpower to do it.
‘And where do you think I can find the men to spare? And how many men do you think it would take anyway? It’s one small problem, Gerald, brutal and terrible for those affected of course, but we have a war to fight. We’ll send word to the Constables. You should go and rest until that cold is done.’
Gerald Robarn, while remaining outwardly civil, had marched off in a temper plain to see. The King’s ministers had shaken their heads. Mador wasn’t sure quite whose behaviour it was that distressed them.
And then only the day before yesterday Isolde herself had turned up. According to the cook, who was also a spy in permanent residence at the grace house, Isolde had hammered on the door sometime after nightfall, barked at Jeffers when he came to see what was happening, demanded that she must see her father at once and then stormed off into his rooms. The cook said there was a tense atmosphere in the house, as though they were all wary of each other. Isolde’s arrival was so unexpected. He presumed she must have important news, from Sirl perhaps, or possibly of Seama from whom he had heard nothing so far. And of course he would have seen her at once but for the spell trouble breaking out yet again.
Just the thought of it put him in a fury. The words damned magic charged around in his head so much he was beginning to wonder whether he was still safe from the spell. And when would it all be done? He was thoroughly sick of it. Ever since the two wizards had set out their own cantrip against the atrocious spell that was ripping apart the fabric of Ayer, and then ridden off as though they had done a good job, Castle Ayer had become a terrible place. Mador kept to his presence. He had his servants and the guard and his ministers all organized to do their work and then to leave the castle as quickly as possible. The burgers of the town had lodgers from the court, marquees and tents had been set up in the meadows. He would not have his people exposed to this chaos any more than was absolutely necessary. The spells had gone mad.
It was like living in a whirlwind. The wizards’ intent had been to slow the decay; they’d presumed their counter spell would take precedence over the other. Well for some of the time and in some places that was indeed what happened, but in others the reverse was true and instead it was the spell of dissolution that won out. And then, just as the changing pressures of air force the winds of the world into storms, so these two spells began to contest their ground. They chased each other through the castle first one way and then another. In one moment there would be calm and in the next plaster was cascading from the walls only to be spun into columns of dust and then pasted back into place again. You could hear the progress down the corridors and through the halls as weapons fell off the walls and suits of armour first collapsed, and then crashed about and then found themselves mended and ready to be put up again by servants run completely ragged by the effort. For several days balance might be achieved and calm descended like a blessing but then the pressure changed and another explosion of activity would break out and bring turmoil to their lives once more.
Yesterday the upheaval had been so bad that Mador had everyone leave the castle except for those who could be housed in the Presence and his apartments above. There were no meetings that day.
By the morning the worst of it had passed and there had been no movement for several hours. Time enough for them to bring in reports of the damage, time enough to bring in news from outside. And it was the news from outside that had him on edge.
From out in the Heartland came stories of horror. A publican walking home from a dinner with a friend had been found with his heart torn out. A teacher working late after concert practice had been ripped to pieces in his schoolhouse. In each case parts of the bodies were missing. Just off the road at Three-Ways Cross an Errensea trained doctor had been found savaged and decapitated. The crossroads were on the Misium Way only twenty miles west of Ayer, and this attack must have happened in broad daylight: the woman’s corpse had been discovered only a few hours after she’d been served lunch at a nearby inn.
And then from down in the town, a town spilling over with refugees from the Castle, came the terrible news that had Mador sweating. Where the River brushed up against the edge of the town there were small quays for shallow draft barges. Cargoes of flour or wood or any bulky item went up and down the River Misium to spread the wealth of the land through the countryside and down to the City of Pilgrim’s Bay. This morning the bargees woke to find the gruesome remains of a mutilated man bleeding onto grain sacks that had been loaded up only the night before. His head had been speared onto a gaff thrust into the soft earth at the river’s edge. Despite the rigor of pain that fixed his features the face remained recognizable. When the militia men arrived, all wondering what the bargees could be babbling about and unprepared for the horror that awaited them, they knew him instantly. The murdered man was well known throughout the town: it was Alaric Goss, Captain of the King’s Guard.
He should have listened to Robarn. Mador knew that now. Should have had everyone searching, everyone on their guard. He got to his feet.
‘Sergeant,’ he said to his Man at Arms, the man himself reeling from the news he had just heard, ‘I want you to double the guard. Now. No man is to do duty alone. The palace is the priority. Take men from the curtain wall if necessary. I want the portcullis down and double duty on the gate. Chamberlain! Get a message to Robarn and to Isolde. She is to come to me at noon tomorrow – tell her I will want a full report. Robarn is to join us after one half hour. Tell him to have his plans for the hunt begun. Until then I’ll be in my apartments. Send the librarian. Beyond that I will see no one.’
What else was there to do? His captain’s head on a post was as clear a warning as there could be: the beast had come to Ayer and it had come for the King.
Astoril 3057.8.8
As functionaries busied themselves with furniture for the meeting to come, Seama took up a position by the doorway to greet each person as they entered the chamber. Like the groom at a wedding, he shook their hands in turn and thanked them for coming.
Seama had invited thirteen people to attend the council: a meeting, had they known it, that could affect the fate of millions. Only one failed to appear. The King’s ministers were first to arrive. Keth Hardie was Sirl’s Prime Minister, an astute man of sound judgement. Seama expected no less of a man appointed by Sirl before his illness. After uh-Bib’s departure, Hardie was deeply embarrassed about the ‘nonsense’ he had been responsible for in the previous months, and offered his resignation. ‘I never liked Bliss, of course, but I didn’t really understand,’ he told Seama, ‘I was blind. How can a blind man expect to govern?’ The wizard had taken great pains in persuading him to continue his work ‘at least until the King is well enough to cope.’ Hardie’s arrival at the council was the answer Seama expected.
His colleagues were Tys Heald, the Chancellor, Gurdy Younger, Minister for Defence, and Fel Awdry, the man responsible for industrial development. Arts, Science, Transport, and Health Ministers were busy elsewhere and not invited anyway. Of the three, Seama knew Fel Awdry well as a friend, the others more formally. Fel had held various offices, at Sirl’s direct request, for more than thirty years and Seama sought him out whenever he visited Gothery: he was not only deep in the governance of the country but also excellent company. Now seventy three years old, his beard was very white and his stoop more pronounced but his eyes hadn’t lost their sparkle.
‘Seama, it’
s good to see you!’ he cried as he crossed the threshhold. ‘Where’ve you been these twelve months, you rascal? Oh, I know Asteranor’s a damn big place, and work and all that, but you should visit your friends more often and save me from boredom!’
‘You’re not saying you lack company.’
‘Company! They’re all children to me now. I can’t abide this deferring and polite attention they all go in for. Do you know, someone introduced me at a dinner, some blasted young crawler, as ‘the Venerable Minister Awdry’. I ask you! Makes me sound like an old monk, ancient and not much use. Oh they reckon I’m good for a joke or a story or two, but I’ve no pretentions: my tales are small beer. What we need is somethin’ a bit more vital.’
‘Well I shall be here for some weeks I expect, though there won’t be much time for tall-tales. Where have you been yourself? I missed you yesterday.’
‘Well there’s a thing. It seems I was off up to Slaney when you and Dr. Tubby had that to-do, but for the life of me I can’t remember why. The earth trembled so I stopped the coach and looked out the window. Were those lights in the sky really made by you? Amazin’. When I saw ‘em, I decided to come back, and I’m glad I did. What’s it all about Seama?’
‘Yes, My Lord Seama, what is this chaos and destruction all about?’ Tys Heald had been standing to one side as Awdry monopolized the wizard, and Seama had seen his face wrinkle with distaste as the old man bantered on. His words were imperiously delivered; the polite ‘My Lord’ a matter of form. Seama and the Minister for Industry both looked him up and down and exchanged a comical glance. The man was thin, too thin for his round, chubby face but the pomposity in the set of his chin and the nose in the air demanded ridicule.
‘Ahem,’ Seama coughed to avoid grinning. ‘Well, that’s what the meeting’s about, Chancellor. So, if you will excuse me, I’ll just welcome the others and then we can begin.’
Next to arrive were Seama’s companions of battle. Angren and Terrance were arguing while Bibron, Sigrid and Lord Gumb walked a few paces behind, unwilling to get drawn into the dispute. As soon as they saw Seama the two quarrelers shut up.
‘Angren, Terrance,’ Seama nodded to each, his eyebrows raised. Neither wanted to look him in the eye but they both said hello as shortly as possible. ‘Something wrong, Terrance?’
Terrance clenched his jaw so that the muscles stood out. ‘It can wait till later, Seama,’ he said at last.
‘Very well,’ the wizard assented and then gave his attention to the group as a whole. ‘I hope you slept well, friends, because we’ve a lot to do and not much time to do it. I’m sorry if I seem a bit brief and cool to you all: bit of a formal do this one, but we’ll get together after. Oh, but where’s ‘Berta?’
‘She’s decided to stay away.’ Bibron told him.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. Something about her being a fighter not a talker. Don’t think she’s the sort for long explanations but you’ll have to ask her about it.’
‘I will. Now shall we get on?’
Lord Gumb nodded and led the group to the long table now placed below the dais. Angren lingered until they were out of hearing and then said, ‘While we’re on the ‘where isses’, where’s Garaid?’
‘He may be along later.’
‘I noticed he had the privilege of your company last night.’
‘A half-hour or so, yes. I had my reasons, Angren.’
‘Which were? Come on Seama. I’m not going to spread it around am I. Don’t you trust me?’ Angren was obviously upset at Seama’s lack of openness, and the wizard felt guilty for neglecting him.
‘I’m sorry, Angren. Of course I trust you, but this business has put me on edge. I’ve had no time to stop and think about what happened here but… well, there were things I don’t understand at all. I’ve changed. I don’t think I’m the same person I was three weeks ago. As strong as that – but now’s not the time. It’d be good to talk – if we could? Really it would.’
Angren’s voice was thick as he said, ‘You only have to ask. Anything. You know that.’
‘I do. And I rely on it, Angren. Anyway, about Garaid now. Have you noticed anything different about him?’
‘I haven’t really known him long enough to say he’s acting differently. It’s not even two weeks since I first met him. But he is acting a bit odd. Tried to talk to him this morning, but he was twitchy as a bag of cats. What do you suppose it is?’
‘I don’t know, but I think it must be the strain. We’ve had a hard time and that ruckus in Slaney seemed to upset him.’
‘Upset us all, Seama.’
‘Surely. Anyway, I thought he’d be better if I gave him some work. He’s quite the communications expert, you know. I’ve got him recruiting for a link to Ayer.’
‘Is he up to it?’
‘If he isn’t someone else will be. At least it keeps him away from the Council for a while. I don’t want him thinking about Zaras.’
‘Probably a good idea. Look out: who’re these two? The short one looks a real charmer.’
Seama gave Angren a look that said ‘Be quiet, he might hear you’, stepped towards the newcomers and extended a business-like hand.
‘General Alling; Admiral Alveson. I’m pleased you’ve come.’
General Alling, ‘the short one’, dispensed with Seama’s hand as soon as he touched it and said coldly, ‘I didn’t see how I could avoid it. You carry the baton.’ His face was as cold as his words and the neatly trimmed moustache barely moved as he spoke. Seama had never liked him and the General apparently liked no one.
Admiral Jom Alveson was no cold fish though, his handshake was warm and his manner even. ‘I was happy to receive your invitation, My Lord, but would have come along anyway. It was quite a show you put on for us the other day.’
‘Yes, a show,’ interrupted the General, ‘that has cost Gothery dear. You will no doubt have your reasons. So, let’s get it started.’
‘If you could find your seats, gentlemen, I’d be grateful, but we can’t begin just yet: one more to come.’
Alling scowled but made his way to the table. Seama was glad Alling wasn’t last to arrive: the man already had an inflated sense of his own importance.
The last to arrive came along a few minutes later. He was a thick-set, dark featured man, sporting a huge black moustache. He gave the wizard a curt nod but said nothing. Seama smiled broadly in return. This arrival would save them a lot of valuable time.
‘Welcome. Now we are complete.’
As Seama and the stranger took their seats at the head and tail of the table respectively, he saw Angren look at Gumb and raise his eyebrows. Gumb looked flabbergasted. They recognized the man easily enough but had no idea why he was there, or how.
Scribes, discreetly positioned at desks set-back from the table, rustled their papers and inked their pens and the council was set to begin.
CURRENT AFFAIRS
Astoril 3057.8.8
Angren settled back in his chair. It was going to be a hard morning, he might as well get comfortable. Though his was the easy part: listener not speaker. The heavy duty lay with Seama. And he certainly had some talking to do if he wanted these people to follow him – only two days ago he’d made half the Astorians homeless.
When he had silence the wizard began.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, what I have to say will take time and may stretch your belief, but you must hear me out. A terrible threat hangs over our heads, a threat more dangerous than anything you have known or could have known. We here are charged with answering that threat.’
‘A rather enigmatic beginning, Seama.’
‘Yes Fel, but if you give me space I will explain. The matter is complex and you’ll all need to do a lot of listening before it comes clear. There’ll be a time for questions after I am done. N
ow, I have pondered how best to begin the tale—’
‘Forgive me, Lord Seama,’ it was Gurdy Younger, ‘before we have your speech couldn’t we begin with introductions? I’d be happier if I knew my peers.’
‘No please forgive me, Minister. It’s becoming a fault of mine to presume that everyone of my acquaintance knows every other. I must be getting old.’
Angren snorted loudly at that. Running both hands through his thinning blond hair he leant back extravagantly, ending with his fingers linked behind his neck. ‘Old are you?’ he said, ‘Well if it’s a drug you’re using, can I have some?’ Fel Awdry was the only one who smiled. Seama gave Angren a sharp look and shook his head slightly. Angren shrugged. He didn’t think it such a bad idea to remind the councillors they were in the presence of someone remarkable. The wizard obviously didn’t agree.
Seama began the introductions.
‘On the left of the table: Tys Heald, Chancellor to King Sirl II; Fel Awdry, Minister for Industry and King’s Counsellor; Lord Harald Gumb, Baron of Rippon; Terrance De Vere, Freeman of Pars; Senior Captain Bibron Farber of the Partain Fleet; Angren Nielderson, Marquess of Hallingdale and heir apparent to the Dukedom of Terremark.
‘On my right are Gurdy Younger, Minister for Defence, King’s Counsellor; General Mart Alling, His Majesty’s Commander of Land Forces; Keth Hardie, Prime Minister of the State of Gothery, Doctor of Philosophy and King’s Counsellor; Admiral Jom Alveson, His Majesty’s Commander of the Navy; and Lady Sigrid Althoné, third heir presumptive to the Royal Partain House Althoné.
‘Sitting opposite me is Duke Enric Valdez, Liege Commander of Agwis III.’
There was a brief pause before anyone could think of something to say that would not reveal their astonishment. For most the appearance of the Duke Valdez was the biggest surprise; for Bibron it was Angren’s pedigree, but for Angren himself the revelation that Sigrid was a Partian noble was unexpected. He realised that she was looking at him looking at her and was suddenly embarrassed, as though she’d caught him with his flies undone.
