Ibryen [A sequel to the Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  Jeyan turned away from it and looked back up the steps to the door through which the Gevethen had come. It occurred to her that before the mirror-bearers had closed about them they had seemed so much smaller, so much more fragile, so much more easy to kill. The recollection brought with it a sudden sense of incongruity about the Gevethen's great black carriage. What use would that thing be in the mountains? she thought. There was many a street in Dirynhald that it couldn't negotiate, let alone the terrain they would encounter once over the river. How were they going to cope then? She remembered Helsarn's concern about the narrow passes. She shared it. The Gevethen were hers, they mustn't fall to some nameless ambusher.

  Then Helsarn was discreetly ushering her into a carriage of her own. As she was entering it she saw the Citadel officials who had been standing behind her dashing with unseemly haste for the other carriages. It was not until she had been inside it for some time and it was rattling out of the courtyard that she realized it was the one in which she had murdered Hagen. The thought amused her greatly and, leaning back, away from the window, she laughed silently to herself and laid her hand on her knife.

  The journey through the city was uneventful, news of the Gevethen's passage having sped ahead and emptied the streets more effectively than a sudden thunderstorm. Such people as were about were kneeling, heads bowed by the time Jeyan's carriage passed them. That added to her amusement though her main interest lay in the familiar buildings passing by. This had been her territory once, or, more correctly, it had been the rich neighbour to her territory upon which she was free to prey for whatever needs she had. At one point they came near to the edge of the Ennerhald and several times it occurred to her that a bold leap from the carriage and a few strides would lead her into the confusion of alleys, cellars and derelict buildings that had long served as a protective labyrinth to her land. But it would indeed have to be a bold leap for it would have to carry her through two lines of Guards, and Helsarn and other senior officers were also moving up and down the columns on horseback. And what would be the point? Now that the possibility of escape was nearer than it had been at any time since she had been captured, she realized its futility. The Ennerhald held nothing for her now. It had served its turn. It had trained her in the skills she needed and carried her to the heart of her enemy.

  When they came to the outskirts of the city, the carriage began to slow and Jeyan had to fight back an urge to lean out of the window to see what was happening. It soon became apparent as they began to pass ragged lines of soldiers moving in the same direction. Travel-stained and obviously exhausted, they contrasted markedly with the immaculate Guards escorting the Gevethen's train. To Jeyan it seemed not that they were about to fight a battle, but that they had already fought one and were in retreat. What condition would these people be in by the time they reached the mountains? Briefly and somewhat to her surprise, she was torn. How many of these people would die needlessly in the Gevethen's sudden manic need to capture Ibryen? How many of them had wives and families dependent on them, fretting for them? Visions of sad faces and weeping eyes began to come to her. She crushed them as violently as if they had been so many snakes. These people had betrayed their lawful lord and chosen to follow the Gevethen, now they could suffer the consequences, now they could feel the weight of the Gevethen's justice. Had anyone seen her face at that moment they would indeed have believed that Lord Counsellor Hagen had returned to possess her.

  The informal escort to the train grew as they continued, more incoming troops joining at every crossroads they came to. Not all were in the same sorry state as the first group they had encountered, but all were obviously tired.

  Then there was cheering ahead and into Jeyan's view came the transit camp whose fires and lanterns she had seen lighting the sky on the previous night. It was an inglorious sight. Bedraggled tents had been thrown up, to all appearances at random, to stand like decaying fungi on what had been rich meadow-land, but which was now an expanse of brown earth, churned into mud by foot, hoof and wheel. It seemed to Jeyan that there were hundreds of men involved in almost as many activities. More tents were being erected, carts were being wrenched through the clinging mud, equipment was being carried hither and thither, put down, picked up and carried somewhere else, reluctant horses and mules were being sworn at and whipped, reluctant soldiers were being sworn at and threatened with whipping. Harassed officers and officials were stumbling through the disorder watching the confusion increase with each step they took to bring order. Men were walking, running, marching, standing on guard, standing around fires, or just wandering aimlessly.

  The cheering was coming from groups of soldiers lining the road, though there was little enthusiasm in the sound and still less in the faces that Jeyan saw as her carriage moved past them. She noticed officers standing at the rear, obviously there to ensure that this spontaneous burst of loyalty to the Gevethen and their entourage went as planned.

  She glanced towards the mountains. The grey mistiness hiding them was nearer. Rain was coming. Good, she thought. The camp would be like a swamp before the day was out.

  It took the Gevethen's train some time to pass the camp, then it was moving along the road that would carry it to the mountains. Once this had been little more than a winding track used by local farmers, leading eventually to a modest bridge which served the few people who chose to live on the other side of the river. It had been adequate. It was, after all, a road to nowhere.

  Now, to facilitate the regular campaigns into the mountains, the bridge, hitherto capable of carrying a few cows, had been replaced by one which could carry columns of marching men, provided they had the wit to break step. The track too, bore the marks of progress. It had been widened and straightened and metalled, so that in parts it was the equal of some of the finest avenues within the city itself. It was still a road to nowhere, however.

  And it could not cope with the traffic that was passing along it now. From time to time the carriages stopped. Jeyan gave little thought to such interludes though the causes often made themselves known as she passed carts with shattered wheels and broken shafts languishing by the roadside, their contents tipped out haphazardly and their escorts struggling to make temporary repairs or standing round staring vacantly at the damage. What price your great army, Gevethen, halted for lack of a wheelwright? she thought darkly, though her amusement was tempered by the knowledge that the halts were only temporary and that the many soldiers walking alongside, never stopped. The army, though weary, was making relentless progress.

  Then it was raining. Steady, vertical rain. It rattled on the top of her carriage, splashed on the close-paved roadway, and drenched the escorting Guards. She leaned back into the comfort of the well-upholstered seat and imagined the rain making its leisurely way along to the camp, ignoring the prayers and curses of the occupants as they saw it approaching. It would take very little to turn the camp into a quagmire and, she judged from the sky, this would continue all day. It was all very satisfying.

  Eventually they were moving over the bridge. The river was high with water from the melting snows. Like a panicking crowd fleeing from a great terror, waves rose and fell, grey and spuming white, as they shouldered one another aside to force their way through the constricting arches of the bridge. The sight made Jeyan thankful that she had not attempted the journey to the mountains. At some point she would have had to cross this and even at its least turbulent, during the summer, it would still have been very dangerous.

  She did not dwell on the thought. All such conjecturing had been taken from her now. The bridge, however, caught her attention. It was the first time since they had passed the camp that she realized the changes that had been made to the road. How far did it go? she wondered. She tried to remember the model that she had seen Helsarn studying, but without success. Almost without thinking what she was doing she began raking through long-buried memories of childhood when she had occasionally been brought here by her parents. A vague picture of a wide cart-track wi
nding through the increasingly hilly countryside came to her. It passed by a few farmhouses, then became narrower and narrower until it just petered out. A flood of other memories came in the wake of this, all of them painful, and she shied away from them violently, pressing herself tight into the corner of the seat as if to hide there. From here she found that she could peer through the window without being seen from the outside. The road was turning slightly and she could just make out one side of the Gevethen's black, lumbering carriage. The discovery availed her little however, for the mist and the rain obscured not only the mountains but everything beyond a hundred paces or so.

  The carriages rolled on. The escorting Guards marched on. The army trudged on.

  And Jeyan learned the answer to her question; how far did the road go? It was a long way—and she soon stopped searching into the mist ahead. By the time the carriage came to a final stop, it was late afternoon and the overcast sky was bringing night early. Despite the comfort of the carriage, Jeyan found she was stiff and tired when she tried to move. As a consequence, she had no difficulty in maintaining the stern expression that she had chosen to affect when Helsarn opened the door. He was soaked.

  'This is our base camp, Lord Counsellor,’ he said. ‘Quarters have been prepared for you.'

  As Jeyan stepped from the carriage she found herself under an awning supported by four Citadel servants. She took a deep breath. Unexpectedly, the damp coldness of the mountain air rushed into her like a bright morning wakening and she felt her every muscle and joint crying out to be stretched so that this would fill her entire body. She forced herself to stillness. She must show as few signs of her humanity as possible. It took her some effort and it showed.

  'Is anything wrong, Lord Counsellor?’ Helsarn asked, a small cascade of rainwater running from his helmet as he leaned forward.

  Jeyan slowly glanced back along the line of carriages. Servants carrying awnings were also protecting the contents currently being disgorged, and the grey mountain light was spreading a demeaning hand over the cream of the Gevethen's administrators and officials. It reduced them to creaking, arm-waving, bent-backed shadows, floundering pathetically now they were away from the musty twilight of their normal environment. Jeyan was glad that she had forced herself not to respond to her natural instinct after leaving her carriage. Helsarn surreptitiously followed her gaze. Seeing themselves so examined, the nearest officials stopped their fussing and bowed respectfully. Jeyan allowed her mouth a small twist of contempt as she turned away to look at the Gevethen's great carriage. By contrast with the others, there was no activity about it at all save for the steam that was rising from the motionless horses.

  'Their Excellencies’ quarters could not be prepared until they arrived, Lord Counsellor,’ Helsarn said, anticipating her question.

  The remark meant nothing to Jeyan. ‘Take me to mine,’ she said curtly.

  As they moved off, the servants carrying the awning moved with them, like a poor imitation of the Gevethen's mirror-bearers. The carriages had stopped on an area just to one side of the road along which the army was still passing. It was covered with crushed stones. They were loose underfoot and obviously had not long been laid for only a few small puddles had gathered. Around the area was an array of tents. They were black and rectangular and, to Jeyan, looked like so many rotten teeth set in pallid gums. Helsarn led Jeyan to the largest. As she stepped inside it was as though she had been transported back to the Citadel. Not because of the furnishings which, though similar to those in her room, were simpler and more sparse, but because of the gloomy lighting and the general atmosphere. How could that clinging heaviness have survived the journey and the rain-sodden erection? she thought. Perhaps it was the low sloping ceiling that heightened the sense of oppression, perhaps the black walls, perhaps the many mirrors. She did not dwell on the question. All she knew was that she did not want to stay here one moment longer than was necessary. She needed to be out in the fresh clean air.

  'Get me a cape and hood,’ she said as she took in the scene again.

  Helsarn, who was standing at the entrance, dripping respectfully, looked uncertain.

  Receiving no reply, Jeyan turned and repeated her request with an edge to her voice. ‘I wish to inspect the camp and the men,’ she added.

  Helsarn started. ‘Lord Counsellor, this section is for their Excellencies’ staff,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘The main camp is further up the valley. It's ...’ He was about to say, ‘very disorganized', but caught himself in time. ‘There's a great deal of activity going on up there—men, equipment, animals, moving everywhere. And the weather's made the ground very treacherous. We've had several serious accidents already ...'

  'A cape and hood,’ Jeyan repeated coldly, cutting across his explanation. Helsarn hesitated, then saluted and strode off. Jeyan looked around her new quarters again, and she had to fight down an urge to lay about her, to smash this wretched remnant of Hagen's personality, to shatter all these mirrors, to tear down the walls and let an honest light into the place.

  Helsarn was not long and when he returned, Commander Gidlon was with him. Helsarn was carrying a cape, but both men looked decidedly uneasy. They had had a swift and uncomfortable conference. Even Helsarn's unspoken remark that the camp proper was—very disorganized had been a euphemism. It was a little way short of complete chaos and it was only ruthless action by the army and Guards’ officers that was bringing any sense of order to it. It was true there had been several serious accidents. There had also been a far larger number of summary executions, for offences ranging from the questioning of orders to preaching mutiny and actually attacking officers. It was no brave-hearted soldiery that was going boldly to face the outlaw Count and free their land.

  By far the greater part of it was a bedraggled and conscript army whose only choice was to move forward and take their chance against the Count's followers, or risk the swords of their officers if they retreated.

  For Gidlon and the other Commanders, the idea that the Lord Counsellor should see any of this and thence confide it to the Gevethen was unthinkable, not to mention the fact that they might not be able to guarantee her safety, so uncertain were conditions there.

  'Lord Counsellor,’ Gidlon said, saluting, then dropping to one knee. ‘I've brought the cape as you asked, but may I respectfully request that you remain here. As Commander Helsarn has doubtless told you, so much is being done so quickly to implement their Excellencies’ orders and conditions are so bad that the camp is very dangerous.'

  For a moment Jeyan considered debating with him. As Helsarn had gone running for help, it was obvious that there was something they did not wish her to see. Instead however, she decided on silence and, walking past him, she took the cape from Helsarn.

  Gidlon rose and tried again. ‘Lord Counsellor, please allow me a little time to select an appropriate escort of Guards for you ...’ He stopped. As did Jeyan.

  She was standing with the cape draped over one shoulder, staring at the activity now filling the area centred by the Gevethen's carriage. Silent figures were rapidly erecting a further tent, though it was very different from the ones already built. Black canvases were already spanning from the high eaves of the Gevethen's carriage to those of Jeyan's tent and those of her immediate neighbours, and others were being run out even as Jeyan and the two Commanders watched. An unnatural nightfall was descending ahead of the premature one being brought by the weather. Jeyan felt as though she were watching the building of a great spider's web. She felt also, the oppression within her tent slowly growing around her, threatening to enclose the entire area. And the smooth efficiency of the silent builders was deeply unnerving. It was as though they were part of a machine rather than the people they appeared to be.

  Gidlon recovered his composure first. He did not know what was happening but, in his time, he had seen many strange things happen around the Gevethen and he had schooled himself to accept them without comment. ‘Lord Counsellor,’ he said, after a while, lowering
his voice as though he were in a holy place. ‘Any danger aside, should their Excellencies wish to seek your advice it will be difficult for us to find you quickly if you're wandering about the main camp.’ Receiving no immediate rebuff he risked embroidering his tale. ‘I will tell the men of your wish to visit them. They'll find it heartening.'

  Dull lanterns were being hung from the ceiling. The hiss of the rain striking the stones was becoming a low drumming note. Jeyan motioned the two Commanders to leave her.

  She stood as if unable to move, until the great dark tent was completed. Then, head bowed, she turned and went back into her own.

  * * *

  Chapter 32

  Marris cast a sour glance across the valley. He could not see the far side. In fact, he could barely see to the far side of the village through the steadily streaming rain. The sole consolation he could find in the weather was that it was at least not windy. Still, whatever the conditions, he'd have to do his rounds—visit the outer perimeter guards and exchange a grumble or two about the rain while ensuring they were all still alert. Not that there should be anything to be particularly alert about at the moment. True, the passes were clearing rapidly, but the Gevethen had never sent anything against them so early in the year, and Iscar had brought no hint of unusual army activity. And the death of Hagen would surely have caused the Gevethen a great many problems. In his brighter moments, Marris even toyed with the notion that this unexpected assassination would cause such difficulties that perhaps no expedition would be made against them at all this year. He did not toy with it for long however, and never spoke it out loud, even in ironic jest. It was equally probable, as Ibryen had said before he left, that the Gevethen might mount an early campaign to draw attention away from those same problems.