Caddoran

by Roger Taylor

  The smile broadened. ‘Just being here with you,’ Vellain replied. ‘Away from the relentless daily routines for a while. Time to think, to plan.’

  Vashnar tried to frown though it was difficult in the face of his wife’s open affection. ‘Those routines are important,’ he said heavily.

  ‘And well organized – and in more than capable hands,’ Vellain chided. ‘More so now you’ve brought in some of the Tervaidin to attend to them.’ She said tenderly, ‘And who is it who tells his senior officers that they shouldn’t allow the urgent to obscure the important?’

  Vashnar leaned back again, defeated. The coach was more seductive than he realized. ‘Yes, you’re quite right. With all the flurry and strangeness of what’s happened lately it’s been difficult to stand back from events and assess them properly.’ A gleam came into his eyes. ‘But we’re nearly there, my love. Nearly there. I’ll sound out our allies over the next few days, then when we hear from Aghrid, everything tells me we’ll be in a position to plan our final move.’

  Vellain reached across and squeezed his hand.

  A raucous voice from outside interrupted them and there was an abrupt change in the steadily clattering hooves of the escorting riders. Vashnar eased his wife’s hand away and lifted back the light curtain covering the side window. Vellain did the same, just in time to see an unkempt figure being knocked over by one of the escort swinging his horse sideways. As the man rolled over, a large rock fell from his hands. He made a half-hearted attempt to recover it but a glancing blow from the rider’s staff sent him staggering and he scuttled away quickly, hands raised to protect his head. He was soon lost from sight amongst the people thronging the busy shops and roadside stalls. There was a mixture of jeering and cheering from a few of the passers-by but most ignored the incident. The rider turned to see Vashnar watching him. He looked flustered and uncertain but Vashnar gave him a signal of approval for his action and motioned him to forget the man.

  ‘Ousten district,’ he said as he replaced the curtain. ‘There are times when I’d like to raze the whole area – it’s a sinkhole of thieves and troublemakers. It causes us more trouble than every other district in the city put together.’

  ‘It also yields the most taxes,’ Vellain reminded him, craning round as they passed by a brightly lit shop window. ‘Not to mention the fact that it’s also the biggest and liveliest district of the city and that some of its most successful criminals are also its most successful merchants. And don’t forget the Gilding.’

  ‘Yes,’ Vashnar agreed reluctantly. The Gilding was never lightly to be set aside from any considerations. Legally questionable it might be, but it was deeply entrenched and it smoothed out many of the city’s administrative tangles even more efficiently than Vashnar’s coach smoothed out its uneven and rutted road surfaces.

  ‘Still, something will have to be done about it when I’m in control.’

  ‘We’ll think of something,’ Vellain said dismissively. ‘There’ll be plenty of time afterwards. Anyway, I think the Ousten’s the least of our problems. The people who matter here are businessmen not Moot Senators. They know what’s in their interests and what’s not, and needless trouble isn’t. They’ll keep order here for us themselves when they see how things lie.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘I am right.’

  Leaving the sprawling and vibrant disorder of the Ousten district the coach passed on through one of the city’s poorer but more reputable areas where tightly packed houses jostled crookedly with one another for the privilege of opening directly on to the streets. It was from such that Vellain had come, burning with ambition for as long as anyone had known her. Her expression was unreadable as they passed the ragged lines of houses with their unsettling mixture of struggling respectability and blatant neglect. Only when the coach reached the outer parts of the city, where the lavish houses of successful merchants and businessmen maintained varying degrees of stately dignity across spacious gardens and parklands, did her face soften.

  She and Vashnar spoke very little as they finally left the city and set off along the north road. The evening turned to night and a bright moon silvered the landscape to light their way though neither of them saw it from behind the coach’s drawn curtains. Even when they stopped at their accommodation for the night, it did not occur to either of them to look up beyond the dancing shadows of the lamplit courtyard as the proud householder ushered them into his home.

  ‘It’s good to see you again,’ he repeated with over-hearty sincerity, and for the third time, as he showed them into a large, well-lit room. ‘And you, Vellain,’ he added, closing the doors softly behind them. ‘So rarely we see you. But I can see why Vashnar keeps you to himself… beautiful as ever.’ He took both her hands in his and looked at her with a licence that he would not have dared had Vashnar not been there.

  The walls of the room were lined with decorative displays of highly polished weapons alternating with heavily framed pictures. Without exception these last showed either individuals posturing in elaborate and lavishly decorated uniforms, or frozen scenes of stylized battlefield violence. The glittering points and edges and the martial images contrasted oddly with the luxuriant carpet underfoot and the opulent and well-made furniture that filled the room, but the whole was redolent of great wealth.

  ‘Good to see you, too, Darransen,’ Vashnar replied. ‘I’m sorry about the short notice, but…’

  Darransen, upright but overweight and with a florid complexion and a midriff which was winning the battle against a tightly fastened belt, was like the room: a mixture of self-indulgence and strutting orderliness. A fighting man gone to seed, Vellain always thought of him. Or a would-be fighting man; she was never sure.

  He waved the apology aside. ‘No notice is required for you, Commander. My house is yours any time, you know that. A room is always ready for you. As it is, your rider was here more than an hour ago so we have a meal for you if you wish.’

  He lowered his voice and became confidential. ‘I’ve also taken the liberty of calling together some of our… colleagues. Discreetly, of course. But with all that’s happened of late – the Death Cry – the Tervaidin appearing…’ He waxed briefly and his hand went out towards a picture showing the traditional representation of the Tervaidin, improbably brightly lit, fighting against a demented enemy equally improbably shaded by looming thunderclouds. ‘What a sight they were. I never thought I’d see the day – splendid. Still, forgive me – as I was saying, with all that’s happened lately I thought you might like to speak to some of your supporters. You know them all.’ He recited their names. ‘If I’ve been hasty, just…’

  Only Vellain was sharp enough to detect Vashnar’s momentary hesitation. Darransen was far too occupied with past and future events to notice the present.

  ‘Of course,’ Vashnar said, cutting across Darransen’s reservations. ‘As ever, I can rely on your judgement in these matters. A little talk will be timely, though…’ He raised a cautionary hand. ‘I’m not yet in a position to discuss current developments in any detail. Far too delicate. Suffice it that circumstances are moving steadily our way, as intended, but perhaps somewhat faster than we had originally hoped. We must all remain both ready and patient.’

  Later, Vashnar and Vellain sat alone in the room that Darransen had provided for them. Here, as throughout the rambling house, the decor showed an uneasy mixture of luxury and military bellicosity. ‘I’m not sure I have your faith in Darransen,’ Vellain said, looking around.

  Vashnar followed her gaze. ‘You mean all the weapons and the battle scenes? You think he plays at this. An armchair warrior.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Vashnar loosened his collar and began unbuttoning his tunic.

  ‘He is and he isn’t. I’ve known him a long time. He’s never been a Warden or even a Watch Guard to my knowledge, and, to be honest, I don’t think I’d trust him with anything much more dangerous than a knife and fork in a fight. But he’s rich, s
hrewd, powerful and very capable. He’s been invaluable in raising support for us and he’ll do well when it’s over – providing he doesn’t get too ambitious. I certainly wouldn’t want him against us at this stage. He’s not to be underestimated.’

  ‘A little indiscreet, bringing the others together at once, though.’

  Vashnar shook his head. ‘Not really. I told you, he’s shrewd. Took me a little off-guard, I’ll admit, but he was right. He judged the moment well – and their mood, with everything that’s been happening. They’ve gone away buoyed up – renewed.’

  ‘Without actually knowing anything more about what’s going on,’ Vellain added.

  ‘Knowing what they needed to know,’ Vashnar corrected, with a hint of dark humour. ‘And knowing the importance of both continued secrecy and obeying orders.’

  ‘How long do you want to stay here?’

  ‘We’ll leave early tomorrow. If we stay longer, Darransen will start pressing for more information. He’s not easily fobbed off and I don’t want to offend him. Thinking he’s near to the centre is important to him.’

  Vellain moved behind his chair and, leaning forward, put her arms around him. ‘You’re probably right. But if he’s too persistent tomorrow, tell him the truth.’

  Vashnar started and half turned to look at her.

  ‘The truth,’ she repeated. ‘You’re taking time away from day to day affairs to plan the final details while visiting our friends to test their readiness.’

  ‘Oh, that truth.’

  Vellain bit his ear.

  As it transpired, Darransen presented no problems. The weighty emphasis that Vashnar had laid at the meeting on the need for discretion at ‘this very delicate moment’ was more than sufficient to keep his observations about coming events to knowing looks. It helped too that Vellain was there, distracting him from ‘business matters’ with questions about his house, its furnishings, carpets, maintenance, servants and so on.

  As they were preparing to leave, he disappeared briefly back into the house to emerge bearing a small box. He offered it to Vellain. ‘A gift,’ he said simply. Genuinely surprised, Vellain thanked him and held it up in the morning light. Made of polished wood, and unexpectedly heavy, it was undecorated apart from some delicate incised scrolling on one face. Turning it she could see no joints or any obvious means of opening it. Darransen reached forward and gently touched part of the scrolling. There was a faint click and Vellain’s eyes widened as the sides and top of the box slowly unfolded to reveal a stone statuette. As might have been expected, the figure was a warrior, though unusually, it was not holding some posture of proud defiance. Instead, it was of a sombre-looking young man wearing battered armour and leaning on a buckled and scarred shield. A hacked sword hung limply by his side. Vellain leaned forward to examine it more closely. As she did, a hint of sunlight broke through the grey sky only to fade almost immediately. Vellain gave a slight gasp. It seemed to her that at the touch of the light, the figurine had moved – his stance shifting and the expression on his face changing. She blinked as if to clear her vision and looked at it again intently. The closer she looked at it, the more she saw that it was a superb piece of carving, full of intricate and fine detail. Unexpectedly she heard herself saying, ‘But I can’t accept this, it’s beautiful work. It must be worth a fortune.’

  ‘For the sun in my Commander’s life, nothing is too much,’ Darransen said.

  Vellain bounced back the heavy-handed compliment sternly. ‘No,’ she insisted. ‘I really can’t.’

  Darransen, however, was not to be deflected. He turned in appeal to Vashnar who gave a friendly but disclaiming shrug.

  ‘It’s far too valuable for me to take,’ Vellain said, carefully easing the sides of the box together. They began to close without her assistance once she had touched them. ‘And besides, it’s we who should be giving gifts to you after your hospitality and your continued help.’ Again, as the light about him changed, the figure seemed to move.

  Darransen took advantage of her momentary distraction. ‘Expense is nothing to me, Vellain,’ he said, his voice sober and quite free of the heartiness that had pervaded it for much of their stay. ‘I have money enough to last many lifetimes, and I continue to make more – even though the loss of trade with Nesdiryn is proving a problem. Far more important to me is the work your husband is doing.’ His voice fell. ‘We need a Dictator more than ever now. It should have been done years ago. It will bring order to the people – sanity to our government – crush those whose pernicious influence is rotting us from within.’ He took her hand and firmly pressed the box into it. ‘I do what I can to help him, but you sustain him more than I possibly could. This is part of my thanks to you for that. I’ll take no refusal.’

  Vellain caught a slight nod from her husband.

  ‘How can I refuse then,’ she said. Darransen smiled and released her. There was a short, awkward silence following this acquiescence. Vellain ended it.

  ‘Do you know who carved it?’ she asked.

  ‘No Arvenstaat carver, for sure,’ Darransen replied categorically. ‘I’m no great judge of carving, but even I can tell it’s a remarkable piece. The more you look at it, the more you see in it.’ That some of the things he saw in it he did not like, Darransen forbore to mention. The figure’s aura of deep fatigue disturbed him in some way. ‘A buyer I use came across it by chance, languishing on a shelf in one of his suppliers’ warehouses. The owner thought it had come from somewhere up north – way up north, off the map – but it could’ve come from anywhere, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ll give it a place of honour,’ Vellain said.

  ‘In one of my rooms,’ she said to Vashnar as the coach clattered out of Darransen’s courtyard and turned northwards again. ‘I know you and ornaments.’

  Vashnar shook his head. ‘Put it somewhere conspicuous,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to have to remember niceties like that if Darransen has cause to visit us – as well he might. He’s very odd about some things. Wouldn’t say anything, but wouldn’t take kindly to finding his gift anywhere other than in the centre of my attention.’

  They travelled on in silence, Vellain occasionally looking down at the wooden box. During the day they stopped at three villages and Vellain watched as her husband spoke with local Wardens and Watch Guards and discreetly raised hopes and renewed old pledges and loyalties as he had at Darransen’s. She made no demur. Slowly, as she had intended, he was shedding the tensions of his daily routine.

  ‘Good?’ she asked as he dropped on to the seat opposite her and the coach moved off again.

  ‘Excellent,’ he replied, acknowledging the parting salutes of a group of Watch Guards. ‘The Tervaidin moving through here has worked wonders. Apparently there’s been some grumbling, but not much, and only from well-known malcontents. Our allies are with us more than ever and new ones are coming in every day.’

  Vellain expressed some concern. ‘We must still be careful. You said yourself things are at a delicate stage. This is no time for reckless cries in the street.’

  ‘Our people know that,’ Vashnar reassured her. ‘And I reminded them of it as well.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘We were right to make this journey. It’s not only bolstering our friends, it’s reminding me how many we really have. When we finally move, few will want to stand against us and even fewer will be able to.’

  Vellain took a chance. ‘And Thyrn?’ she said.

  ‘Just another problem,’ Vashnar returned. ‘My problem. And maybe Aghrid’s already solved it – we’ll see. In any event, even if he escapes Aghrid and somehow manages to find anyone in authority who’ll listen to him, with the way matters are developing it’s unlikely any notice will be taken of him.’

  ‘And Hyrald and the others? If they return, they’ll have no difficulty attracting attention.’

  Vashnar leaned forward and rested his hand on her knee. ‘You’re concerning yourself too much. The general acceptance of the Tervaidin has changed everything. I knew
things were going well but actually speaking to Darransen and the others has given me an insight into matters that the written reports couldn’t. The mood for change is stronger than ever now – I can almost feel it in the air. Anyone who opposes us is going to find it very difficult to make himself heard. And if Thyrn or Hyrald or any of them somehow manage to get back we’ll just arrest them. A couple of months in jail waiting for trial and it will be too late anyway.’

  Vellain took another chance. ‘Have you thought any more about what it was that Thyrn might have seen, to make him so frightened?’

  ‘It’s irrelevant now.’ The reply was a little too brusque for Vellain.

  ‘It’s just that I still can’t see why some kind of accidental insight into your plans would frighten him so badly.’

  Vashnar shifted uncomfortably. He obviously did not want to pursue the matter, but the buoyancy of his mood carried him into it. ‘I’ve stopped thinking about it. Whenever I did I got nowhere – it just unsettled me. Who can say what he saw, what he felt? All I can recall is terror – his terror – washing over me.’ He closed his eyes and shook his head to dispel the memory. ‘That, and the knowledge that somehow he’d discovered everything and was going to blurt it out everywhere. He was dangerous, out of control. He had to be stopped.’

  Vellain was tempted to press him further. Thyrn’s frantic response still concerned her. It was disproportionate. Shock there might well have been, but terror? Still, the Caddoran were a strange lot and Thyrn was strange even for a Caddoran. By all accounts he’d had an odd life, with his parents perpetually hovering about him, almost imprisoning him; he’d never really been a child. Small wonder his response had been disproportionate. And, of course, Vashnar, startled and angry, would frighten anyone. For a moment she felt a twinge of sympathy for the young man suddenly facing this terrifying figure. Enough, she decided abruptly. She must do as her husband had – let it go. The whole business was beyond anything she had ever known and, as Vashnar seemed to have made his own peace with it, she saw little to be gained by disturbing him further. Circumstances, as he said, had changed radically. The threat that Thyrn had apparently posed had turned into a catalyst for progress. It was good.