by Roger Taylor
Helsarn’s words came back to her. ‘Nothing is to impede…’ She had a vision of the Gevethen suddenly appearing and striking her down for this interference with their orders.
‘Continue,’ she said brusquely, as if annoyed that they had stopped.
There was a momentary hesitation then the room was bustling again. She turned to Helsarn. ‘My knife, Commander. Send an underling – now. Then return to your duties.’
Helsarn saluted again then sought out one of the messengers and spoke to him urgently. The man cast a quick glance at Jeyan before running from the room at great speed.
Jeyan looked around coldly. Unusually for the Citadel, the room was quite well-lit, the light coming from lanterns placed on tables and hung about in an obviously makeshift fashion. It awoke ambivalent feelings in her. The light would protect her from the Gevethen, but too, it might expose her for what she was.
She moved from table to table. On some, documents were being received and studied and dispatched – sometimes out of the room, sometimes just to another table. Around others, groups of men were poring over maps and plans. These meant little to her though she caught occasional phrases which confirmed for her the general feeling of alarm which seemed to be pervading the room as it had the hallway outside.
‘They can’t all be brought together so quickly…’
‘They’ll be too exhausted for anything…’
‘They’ll be strung out from here to the mountains…’
‘The logistics are impossible…’
Even once, the word ‘Suicide…’ though this was hastily curtailed as Jeyan turned round to see who had said it.
‘A bold and imaginative stroke,’ she said to Helsarn, moving to his side as he bent over a table studying something.
‘Indeed, Lord Counsellor,’ Helsarn replied. It unsettled him to have her singling him out. Not only did he not want to become conspicuous to the other Commanders as a possible favourite, he was far from certain about what manic thoughts lay behind that stern face. It seemed to him that she was even beginning to look like Hagen. Still, it was pointless hoping to avoid her, and it would be folly to do anything that might be construed as a rebuff. His safest course would probably be to ingratiate himself somehow. He expanded his terse acknowledgement.
‘It’ll be costly in lives, but the outlaw Ibryen’s been a thorn in their Excellencies’ side for too long. The men will be glad to die gloriously for the greater good.’
Not most of the men I ever knew, Jeyan thought, though she confined herself to a clipped, ‘Yes,’ as she peered at what Helsarn had been studying. It was a model of the mountains. She recognized the river and some of the larger peaks.
‘Where is the outlaw Ibryen believed to be?’ she asked.
Helsarn waved a hand vaguely over the model, encompassing several valleys. ‘We don’t know exactly,’ he replied. ‘We have look-outs here, and here, but they rarely see anything and they’re frequently murdered. I’ve often thought that a major offensive such as this, however costly, is the only way to deal with the problem. Their Excellencies must be freed to lead us out beyond the confines of this land.’
There was an uncertain inflection in his voice. ‘But?’ Jeyan prompted.
Helsarn looked at her awkwardly then turned away, still reluctant to meet her gaze. ‘It concerns me that their Excellencies themselves intend to come with the army.’
‘You fear for them?’
‘Ibryen’s people know the terrain intimately and use it well. They’re ambushers to a man. And there are places where only narrow columns can pass, where only a small group of men can be brought to bear. Even closely guarded I fear they could be in great danger.’ He shrugged anxiously. ‘Ibryen will surely strike at them if he discovers they’re with us.’
Opportunities indeed, Jeyan thought. The Gevethen had brought her to the heart of their world, now they were exposing themselves to Ibryen. They must surely be destroyed by one or the other. Even as the thought occurred to her however, so did its dark converse. If they were not destroyed now, then perhaps they would never be. She felt suddenly afraid. What had that evil pair learned when they had come so strangely upon Ibryen and his companion? Without intending to, she spoke her thoughts. ‘The Gevethen see ways which are denied to others.’
Helsarn stiffened, misunderstanding the remark and taking it as a rebuke. ‘I meant no disrespect, Lord Counsellor,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I merely voiced a concern for their Excellencies.’
He was spared any further awkwardness by the arrival of the messenger with Jeyan’s knife. The man was kneeling beside her and holding out the knife, still in its crude leather sheath. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. ‘My apologies for the delay, Lord Counsellor,’ he panted. ‘The Under Questioner had taken it for his own use.’
Jeyan took the knife without comment, drew it, tested the edge, then re-sheathing it, pushed it into her belt inside her tunic. As she turned her attention back to the model, Helsarn saw again the face he had seen trying to strangle the life out of the bleeding soldier in the Ennerhald. He was wise to be afraid of this one, he thought. The Gevethen had an uncanny knack of picking their own kind.
‘Where will you attack first?’ Jeyan was asking.
Helsarn showed her. It needed no military training on Jeyan’s part to see that large numbers of men would be required to mount an attack on so many valleys simultaneously, though she was careful to avoid asking direct questions.
‘At least that’s what the army Commanders have decided so far,’ Helsarn elaborated, risking a little disdain. ‘Though they keep changing it as information about troop arrivals comes in.’
Jeyan snatched at a phrase she had heard earlier. ‘The logistics are difficult,’ she said.
‘They are, Lord Counsellor,’ Helsarn agreed. ‘Ordering virtually every army unit back to Dirynhald at the double and moving them to the mountains almost immediately presents serious problems. But we all regard their Excellencies’ commands as a great challenge which it is our honour to meet. Even now, units are marching to establish a base camp.’
To his relief however, Jeyan was already walking away. She had heard and seen enough. The Gevethen were going to throw their entire resources against Ibryen.
Now she must be with them!
Chapter 30
‘After the Great Heat, in the timeless time, the Shapers rejoiced at being and, in the dance and song of their rejoicing, formed all that is today: Theward shaping the mountains and the lands; Enastrion weaving the rivers and the lakes and the great oceans; Svara, the finest and most subtle Shaper of them all, soaring above all to make the boundless, shifting Ways that cannot be seen. Yet all were as one and their many talents were not separate, but resided one in another, bound together inextricably by the will of the greatest of the Shapers, Astrith. He it was who made all living things as they now are, though some say that their essence too came from the Great Heat and that he merely tended and guided. But that is beyond our knowing.
‘And as they surveyed their work and found it good, Svara said to Astrith, “Theward’s mountains and rich lands are a delight for all to behold, in their magnificence. As too are Enastrion’s silver, tumbling rivers and thundering oceans. But it saddens me that only we have the vision to know the Ways that I have woven, and that only we may take joy from them.”
‘And the Shapers looked again at their work and saw that it was so. For while living things walked and rejoiced on Theward’s lands, and swam and rejoiced in Enastrion’s waters, few could follow Svara’s Ways and none could follow those that rose beyond the highest of Theward’s peaks.
‘Then Astrith thought on this, and, as in a dream, his greatest creation came to him. Waking, he travelled the dreamways between the heartbeats of the worlds until he came to that which was before and beyond all things. And in this, he willed the Culmaren to be, breathing life into it and drawing it forth so that alone amongst his creations it could be known in this world and beyond. And he sa
id to it, “You are the greatest and most mysterious of all my works. Rejoice that you now are, and tend the needs of those I shall bring you to.”’
Isgyrn smiled, almost mischievously. ‘Then Astrith chose the very finest of his people and gave them the sight to know the Ways of Svara and the skills to use the Culmaren. And he sent them forth to move along Svara’s Ways, high above the lands and the waters, so thatall the works of the Shapers should be known by men and rejoiced in.’
He leaned forward and his face became thoughtful. ‘And as the Culmadryen rose into the high clouds, Astrith pondered the ways and the destiny of men saying, as to himself, “I have found in this creation, that which I did not put there, and their nature is deep and strange and many-leaved and defies all future knowing.” And he went from the world to think on this.’
The tent became silent.
‘Ah,’ the Traveller said. ‘A sombre and mysterious note on which to end. How splendid.’
‘You tell a tale well, Isgyrn,’ Ibryen said.
‘A tale, Count? You’d deny the truth of our most ancient history?’ Isgyrn said, though his manner was easy and he put no challenge in the words.
‘A deep question,’ Ibryen replied, in like vein. ‘But who could deny or affirm the truth of a story so rooted in the mists of times gone and so well told?’
Rachyl leaned over and peered out of the crowded tent. ‘It’s raining as heavily as ever,’ she announced, glancing upwards. ‘And it’s definitely in for the day.’
Ibryen confirmed the decision they had made earlier. Being caught in such weather while travelling was one thing, but setting out in it was another. There was, after all, no urgency about their journey now. They were not expected back so soon and they had more than enough supplies to serve them for the two days or so that it would take them to get back to the village. More seriously, for Ibryen, though he made no mention of it, he was glad of an excuse to spend some time doing nothing so that he could think quietly about all that had happened and its implications for the future. Though he had affected an optimism about the changes they had all experienced, it concerned him greatly that he was indeed returning to the village with ‘only one more sword’. An awful foreboding was beginning to grow within him.
What he had learned over the past few days was obviously of profound significance, but how it related to the immediate needs of his conflict with the Gevethen he could not begin to see. The message that he had given to Iscar that he would come on them from a direction which they did not even know existed returned to reproach him constantly. Particularly so as it had proved to be almost prophetic. Strange Ways did exist. He could even enter them, though with little conscious knowledge of what he did or how he did it. But what were they? Where were they? How could he use them? Was there a way in which he could travel them that would bring him to a known destination? He had answers to none of these, nor any of the many other questions that kept arising to disturb him. Not that he was given a great deal of time for meditation as it transpired. The small tent was very full and, in the absence of anything to do, conversation ranged over many and varied topics. Ibryen told Isgyrn and the Traveller more fully about his land and the rise to power of the Gevethen and their subsequent depredations. Isgyrn told his own similar tale, though he was reticent about the cause and the telling distressed him. The Traveller yarned of many places and deeds, and Rachyl just asked questions and, as the youngest there, allowed herself at times an air of mildly smug tolerance as her elders rambled on.
It was one of the tales that the Traveller had told that prompted Isgyrn to tell the Dryenvolk’s story of the creation of the Culmadryen. His stern face had come alive as he spoke and his manner had held the others spellbound. The Traveller in particular leaned forward and listened intently.
‘I’ve heard many such tales,’ the Traveller said, taking up Ibryen’s rhetorical question. ‘All with too many things in common to allow them to be lightly set aside as mere myths.’
‘I’m not inclined to dismiss any tale, however fanciful, after everything that’s happened since I met you on the ridge,’ Ibryen said. He pulled a rueful face. ‘I wish I could see to a time when we’d all have the leisure to pursue such matters further. Scholarship is infinitely preferable to swordsmanship.’
‘To neglect either is a serious mistake, although I’m as guilty of the latter as many another.’ The Traveller’s tone was unexpectedly dark. He clapped his hands straight away to dispel the effect. ‘But let’s pursue just one small piece of scholarship while we’ve the chance.’ He turned to Isgyrn. ‘Tell us how the joyous world of the Shapers became the flawed world of today,’ he said.
Isgyrn grimaced. ‘I’m rather as Ibryen now,’ he said. ‘The story of Astrith has always been regarded as significant but allegorical, and the story of the Coming of Samral even more so. “Red and baleful, He too came from the Great Heat, with lesser figures at His heels, carrying an ancient corruption with Him from what had gone… before…”’
Isgyrn stopped with an unhappy wave of his hand. ‘I can’t speak it any more. Its a tale of treachery and deceit, of the seduction of people by fair words and seemingly fair deeds into dark folly while the Shapers slept. It was a tale to make fledglings shiver with delight and fear, and curl up in warmth and security, knowing that in truth, all was well. But now…’ He fell silent. No one spoke. ‘Now,’ he went on after a long interval, ‘I must accept that it was not an allegory, but perhaps an historical truth.’ He looked round at the others, his eyes pained. ‘Samral came again. It was His agent, one of the three Ahriel, who racked our lands, while the others racked the middle depths. I felt His very presence in His white-eyed agent.’ He shivered. ‘I saw deeds done, powers used, beyond anything we’ve ever known.’ He looked at Ibryen. ‘Yet He must indeed have been defeated or sorely wounded in the war that brought me here, or He’d surely have swept out across the world in these last fifteen years, and all would have known of Him.All. His purpose knows no bounds.’
‘I can’t doubt that you believe what you say,’ Ibryen said uncomfortably. ‘But it’s a difficult tale to accept. We’ve many stories ourselves of giants and ogres in days long gone. And tales of how the world was made, but…’
Isgyrn levelled a warning finger at him. ‘I understand your doubts. They’re the doubts of any rational man, and the Dryenvolk are nothing if not a rational people. But had we thought and researched more and wallowed in doubt less, perhaps matters would have been greatly different and many lives spared. Trust me in this, Ibryen. Whether He has been defeated or not, I felt Samral in your Gevethen. Powerful and awful. They are not Ahriel, but it’s said that He always had many human servants, equally as foul. The Gevethen are His, I’m sure. From what you’ve said, they possess the kind of power He bestows, albeit they use it rarely. They do His work, and they’ll not stop with the enslavement of your land alone. We must never sleep again.’ His tone was grim, but Ibryen could not keep the doubts from his face. ‘I’ve stood where you stand, Ibryen,’ Isgyrn went on. ‘And I take no offence at your doubts. But whether you believe me or not, base your actions on the assumption that I’m correct.’
A gust of wind buffeted the tent, dispelling the dark mood that Isgyrn’s story had created.
The conversation moved on.
From time to time the Traveller brought bouncing, whistling tunes into the damp twilight of the tent which allowed no foot to remain still. Isgyrn made no further reference to his tale and no one questioned him about it and, gradually, the debate settled on to Ibryen’s immediate problems. Here, Isgyrn proved to be a determined inquisitor as he sought out knowledge of the fighting techniques that armies could use in this strange world where all battles had to be fought on one plane. He found it difficult, though he proved to be a perceptive listener, more than once making both Ibryen and Rachyl retreat into earnest thought with questions which obliged them to look at some long-established practice from an unusual perspective.
Eventually however, Ibryen’s
darker concerns about what was to be done on their return to the village began to surface and he could do no other than voice them. Isgyrn tried to reassure him as he had when they were preparing to leave the ridge the previous day. He had touched his enemy, change had been set in motion, who could say what would ensue? But practicalities were closing about Ibryen, binding him.
‘Each step from now takes me nearer to my people,’ he said. ‘They’ll need to hear how we intend to attack and defeat the Gevethen. As Rachyl said – dispositions, logistics. My people fight well because we not only have a common purpose, we think alike. Each is as much a leader as follower. If we here have come to accept the inevitability of our decline if we continue as we are, then it’s only a matter of time before the entire village reaches the same conclusion. I can’t allow that to happen; we’ll all perish for sure.’
But Isgyrn persisted. ‘You mustn’t encumber yourself thus,’ he urged. ‘Many changes will have happened and you can only deal with them as you find them. You can foresee none of them.’
‘Go blindly and with faith?’ Ibryen said ironically.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Isgyrn replied.
‘It’s no comfort.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be, but it’s all you’ll get. It’s simply a statement of the reality of your position. The warrior’s way, the warrior’s burden. Dealing with the now, whatever it is, because others cannot.’
* * * *
That night, Ibryen slipped silently from the tent. The rain had stopped and the darkness was alive with rich, fresh-washed forest perfumes. A chorus of tiny insect sounds and dripping water seemed like an earthly echo of the brilliant array of stars that covered the sharp, clear sky and peered down through the forest canopy.
He was uncertain why he had left the tent, other than that his circling thoughts and the idle day had left him unable to sleep; the tossing and turning that threatened to take him over would be too much for the others in such narrow confines.
