by Roger Taylor
After the milling confusion in the rest of the Citadel, the echoing emptiness unnerved her slightly. Then, she thought, it was understandable. Few would wish to be neighbours to the Lord Counsellor.
But where were the servants?
She shrugged. It was hardly a matter for great concern. She was glad to be rid of their overwhelming presence. Not least because had they set about preparing her for bed again, they would have discovered the knife and she knew she would have been unable to stop them taking it from her. Worse, the news that she had been carrying one would certainly have reached the Gevethen—with who could say what consequences? She turned over one or two excuses, but none of them felt particularly convincing.
Tugging the knife from her belt she moved to the bed and slipped it under the pillow. Then, taking off her tunic, she lay down. She wanted to think about everything that had happened since the Gevethen had come for her that morning. Was it only that morning—the sudden awakening in the pre-dawn darkness and the almost hasty dash through the mirrors? The memory brought back the penetrating coldness that marked her passage into that eerie world within, and she clamped her hands to her face, shuddering violently. If only she could be away from here—somewhere safe. Her eyes began to close as she went through again the Gevethen's frightening, childlike quarrelling—the mysterious whirling tunnel and its collapse—Hagen—Assh and Frey. Then Ibryen in the sunlit forest—a world within a world? And who was the man with him, the one who had torn him free from the Gevethen's grasp? Strange powerful face, with piercing eyes. And strange clothes too. She had never seen the like of him before.
And, above all, what had the Gevethen seen, or learned, in the brief scuffle with Ibryen?
'He has the gift!' they had screamed at one another in the midst of their rage. What gift? Had they not said to Hagen's spirit that she had the gift? No, she remembered, they had said that she was kin, whatever that meant.
She started awake. She mustn't doze off. She must remain awake and alert, ready to move as circumstances dictated. They might suddenly be in her room again. Then she rolled on to one side. Her hand slipped under the pillow and touched the knife as once she might have touched a cherished toy replete with the love of her parents.
What was Ibryen's gift? The question returned. What had the Gevethen seen that had led to this frantic activity, this overturning of every meticulously ordered procedure in their administration? For though she knew little of the detailed workings of the Gevethen's regime, she recognized well enough the near-panic that was pervading the Citadel and that it was markedly at odds with all that had gone before. And too, from remarks that she had overheard, she was beginning to realize the political implications of withdrawing the army from all the major towns and cities. The Gevethen were risking losing their grip on the entire country. And moving forces from the borders could well embolden neighbours who, peaceful in Ibryen's time, had become increasingly alarmed by the Gevethen's growing army.
What could possibly be so important to them?
What was Ibryen's gift?
She forced her heavy eyes open.
What was Ibryen's gift? What was so precious?
She fell asleep, her hand still touching the knife.
* * * *
As ever, she woke abruptly and lay motionless. The lanterns were still lit, but there was more light in the room than they were making. She swung off the bed and went to the window. Daylight was seeping around the edges of the curtain. She returned to the bed and took the knife from under the pillow. A few deft cuts severed the stitching holding the curtains together and the morning light flooded in like fresh air. The sky was overcast though quite bright, but the distant mountains were lost under a lowering sky that reached right down to the ground. Though she could not see the sun, she judged that it was quite late in the morning. Her stomach confirmed the conclusion. This was unusual, for she did not normally sleep much after dawn. She looked around the room. It looked peculiarly small and dingy in the daylight. And it was unchanged from the previous night. Still the servants were missing.
Good, she thought, quickly throwing on her tunic and sticking the knife back in her belt. A little more familiar with the Citadel now and the authority that her uniform carried, she would spend as much of the day as she could learning more about what was happening. Then she would seek them out.
Rested, armed again, and free of the cloying presence of the servants, Jeyan felt more her old self. The disorder that the Gevethen had left in their wake renewed and fed her long hatred. Whatever their reasons, whatever their intentions, they were of no concern to her now. It was sufficient that events were swirling in disorder and that opportunities would arise that might never come again. She must strike the Gevethen at the first chance she had. For a fleeting moment, her elation plummeted into awful fear, then sprang back again.
'No choice,’ she said to the silent room, and the words echoed over and over through her mind.
No choice.
She preened herself for some time in front of the tall, black-edged mirror. The Lord Counsellor's uniform must be without flaw; it was both her sword and her shield. Her reflection stared back at her disdainfully.
Checking that her knife was held securely and secretly in her belt, she opened the door. Helsarn was framed in it, his hand raised.
* * *
Chapter 31
'My ... apologies, Lord Counsellor,’ Helsarn stammered, lowering his hand awkwardly and bowing as he stepped back. ‘I was about to knock. Their Excellencies ask that you attend on them in the Watching Hall.'
Helsarn's momentary confusion prevented him from noticing Jeyan's.
Her stomach became leaden. What did they want? Had they been searching for her yesterday?
'There are no servants to carry such errands, Commander?’ she asked sharply, forcing herself to remain at least outwardly calm.
Helsarn misunderstood the question at first, but provided the answer to one she was reluctant to ask. ‘Your body servants have been called to the mirrors, Lord Counsellor,’ he said hurriedly. ‘And it was not fitting that a lesser person carry such a message.'
Jeyan nodded and motioned him to lead the way. She noticed that he was dressed for travel, and was carrying a helmet under his arm. ‘The mobilization goes well?’ she asked as they walked along.
'It does, Lord Counsellor. It has gathered pace through the night and new units are arriving by the hour. Such a Levying will enter Nesdiryn history as a truly great military achievement. A force is being gathered that will crush the outlaw Ibryen's rag-tag followers once and for all, and bring him back to Dirynhald in chains.’ He took the opportunity to associate his own name with this glory. ‘It's been a great honour for me to play my small part in such a venture.'
'Indeed,’ Jeyan said coldly. The news added to the darkness growing within her. It wasn't possible that Ibryen could stand against the forces being marshalled. More and more it was becoming apparent that she was the only one who could put an end to the Gevethen. ‘Ibryen will prove no easy prey,’ she said. ‘What is the condition of the men?'
Helsarn half-turned towards her. The question was unexpected and he started answering without thinking. ‘Those from the city and nearby are fresh. Others ...’ He hesitated, realizing that he was on the verge of casting doubts on what was happening. This creature was beginning to unsettle him as much as Hagen had.
'Yes?’ Jeyan pressed.
Cornered, Helsarn resorted to the truth for inspiration. ‘Others are sore and weary with the hard marching when they arrive, but the very nearness of their Excellencies sweeps all fatigue away.’ He began to walk a little more quickly, his body reflecting his anxiety to be away from this topic. In reality, the men in some of the units could barely stand and were on the verge of mutiny. The news was being kept from the Gevethen as their response was already known: ‘Execute one in ten.’ Helsarn wanted no part of that. Not that he suffered from any problem with his conscience in taking such an action, but what migh
t be expedient in a single, isolated unit was another matter altogether when so many were being held in such close proximity to one another and in so disorganized a manner. He also had sufficient foresight to see that in the difficult mountain-fighting that was to come, opportunities for the discreet removal of unpopular officers would abound. They continued in silence, Jeyan preoccupied with what the Gevethen might want, Helsarn relieved not to have compounded his error.
As on the previous day, the Citadel was alive with activity, though to Jeyan it seemed to be a little more ordered. When they reached the Watching Hall, the Guards opened the doors without command and Helsarn entered as well. It took Jeyan a moment to orient herself amid the scattered lights and the crooked, dully glittering towers that rose, tree-like, into the dusty gloom. She was sure that these had been moved, but it did not seem possible, some of them were so large. Her eyes went first to the high throne platform at the far end, but it was empty. Then they were drawn to the only movement in the place. Turned into a milling crowd by the surrounding mirror-bearers, the Gevethen were standing at the centre of the hall, in what could almost be called a clearing in this strange forest. For a fleeting instant Jeyan felt the urge to turn and flee but her legs were already obeying the command she had given them, and were carrying her resolutely towards the waiting throng. She was aware that it was Helsarn who was now following.
As she drew nearer, the mirror-bearers continued moving. There were more of them than before, Jeyan thought, though it was difficult to tell, they moved so quickly and with such eerie precision. The Gevethen became a circle, then there were just six of them, and Jeyan became aware of converging lines of marchers on either side of her. She was approaching the Gevethen flanked by lines of herself. The marchers glanced at her surreptitiously.
A thought came to her, sudden and vivid. Should she strike now? Should she spring forward instead of kneeling, and drive her knife into the throat of one of them? The answer crashed upon her with such force that she almost stumbled. Yes! This was the moment. Another might never come. Who could say what they wanted her for, or when she might come so close to them alone and armed again? She embraced the resolve. This day in Nesdiryn history was going to be very different from the one that Helsarn imagined, though he would indeed be mentioned in it—if he lived, for she was steeling herself for a frenzy of killing that would not stop until she was exhausted or dead.
She straightened up and ran a hand casually down her tunic as if smoothing it. The actions brought her hand close to her knife. Her heart began to race. Soon it would be over. She wished Assh and Frey were with her. What an end to these creatures they'd make together!
Then something seemed to be wrapping itself about her legs. It was as though she was wading through water or deep soft sand. The resistance increased with each forward movement and within a single pace she was completely halted. She recognized the force that had possessed her on the march from the dungeons. She was powerless against it. Her tight-wound intent twisted and screamed within her at this unseen and unexpected frustration and turned instantly to terror. Did they know about the knife? Had they sensed her intention? She did the only thing she could. She dropped to her knees and bowed her head.
'Rise, Lord Counsellor,' the two voices grated out. 'We are to the battlefield today. The worm eating at the heart of our new order is soon to be torn out.'
It took a moment for the words to register, so prepared for an assault was she, and then it was a strange excitement in them that reached her first.
'I go where you will, Excellencies, though I am no soldier,’ she managed to say, though she remained kneeling. The excitement filled with a repellent amusement.
'You are a life-taker, it is sufficient.'
Jeyan felt naked, exposed and suddenly sick. For a moment she could neither speak nor move. Then relief swept over her—she had not been discovered! In its wake, her hatred returned to make her wholly herself again. Let them take the consequences of bringing a life-taker so close to their scrawny throats then, she blazed silently. But it could not be now, for all about her she could feel the force that was keeping her from moving closer, like a glutinous expression of their will.
As she was about to stand, Helsarn said, ‘May I speak, Excellencies?'
'Commander.'
'Excellencies, I'm concerned for your safety in the mountains,’ he began. ‘Several of your servants within the city have returned with the same rumour. It's said that the outlaw Ibryen has left his secret camp and that he plans to come upon you from a direction that cannot be guarded against.'
The amusement grew. 'Your concern is unnecessary, Commander. We are guarded in all Ways.'
Helsarn persisted. ‘I have never known so widespread a rumour before, Excellencies. It is most unusual. And there are many narrow and dangerous places in the mountains.'
Jeyan sensed the mood about her changing towards one of impatience, then abruptly there was stillness and silence.
'Leave us, Commander.'
The command was like the snapping of dried twigs under a soft and long-feared footfall. Jeyan heard Helsarn leaving. The silence remained. Then a soft hissing filled it. The Gevethen were whispering—it was like the wind across a graveyard. She strained forward. The power that was holding her at bay had eased, but it was still there. She made no further effort. She was too far away, and besides, could do nothing from her knees. She remembered too well how quickly the mirror-bearers had moved when she was being escorted from the dungeons. She caught snatches of the conversation.
'He is coming through the Ways.' The wind rose and fell, punctuated by gusts of panic but gradually changing to an uneasy confidence.
'He fled from us ...'
'But he was there. And with a strange companion.'
'Could his army come thus?'
'Let him come.'
'We are guarded.'
'Yes.'
'Yes.'
The whispering faded and she was the focus of their attention again. 'Rise, Lord Counsellor. And follow. The hand of our law must be seen to reach into all places.'
Then there was confusion and movement, and while, the previous day, she had floated idle and neglected at the edge of the Gevethen's great enterprise, now she stood near its centre, as they moved through the Citadel. She watched, fascinated and scornful, as senior army and Guards’ officers, and high-ranking officials, came and went seeking advice about this, bringing news about that, wanting to know ‘their Excellencies’ will'. And all were afraid. It was good.
Yet, though she was by the Gevethen's side, still she could come no nearer to them; still their mysterious power held her away.
And always, the mirror-bearers were about them, moving relentlessly to their own unheard tune. There were more than there had been before, she decided, for she noticed several if not all of her own servants amongst them, including Meirah, the only one with whom she had spoken. Twice she deliberately caught her eye, but there was no response. The woman's face was as blank and cold as all the other mirror-bearers. Somehow their behaviour was almost more frightening than any of the overt menace of the Gevethen. Was this what was in store for her? Was this what was in store for everyone? An eerie, pointless perfection? The question tugged at her incessantly even though she knew she would never know the answer. By one means or another she would be dead before such a thing could come about.
Then, at the front of a crowd of officials, she was witnessing the departure of the Gevethen. It was an event without formal ceremony, though there was a large escort of Citadel Guards, armoured and carrying short, axe-headed pikes which gleamed viciously even in the grey light. Apart from the group behind her, such onlookers as there were did not linger, for fear that their dawdling would be taken as a lack of enthusiasm for the Gevethen's grand design. There were however, many discreet glances made from the safety of the Citadel's curtained windows. For the most part these were to satisfy the watchers that their beloved masters were indeed leaving—it was a rare occurrence—bu
t there was also great curiosity about the Gevethen's strange carriage. Not that ‘carriage’ was a particularly fitting word for the contrivance that was to carry them to the mountains, except in so far as it resembled a funeral carriage. Black and huge, and in two articulated sections, it was pulled by six horses. Its sides flared up and out, curling over at the eaves into ornate carvings like a tangle of thorns from which wild-eyed faces gaped down at passers-by. There were apparently no windows in it though there was a platform at each end large enough to carry the Gevethen and several of the mirror-bearers had they so desired. Toiling figures decorated the rims of the wheels and the spokes and hubs were carved into angles and barbed spikes. The whole was covered in intricate carvings, though, being black on black they could be examined only by standing very closely. The only relief to the dark complexity was a single silver star set on each side. They were identical to that which adorned Jeyan's judicial bench, though here there were no gold escutcheons nor broken rings. The effect was stark and frightening.
A row of more conventional carriages waited behind it. Jeyan watched as the Gevethen moved down the stone steps and into the back of their menacing vehicle which opened silently at their approach. The mirror-bearers moved round them as ever, only much closer than usual and in such a way that they could not be seen. Nor did any of their confusing images emerge into the dull daylight. Jeyan was reminded again of some soft-shelled creature scuttling for the darkness of its lair. Many of the enlarged contingent of mirror-bearers did not enter the carriage but moved alongside it, standing between it and the Guards. As the carriage moved off, the mirrors began to move again, making it seem that the carriage was being carried on many legs. It was an unsettling sight.
