Ibryen

by Roger Taylor

  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 winding 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 weath
er. 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.

  And, for all the assurances he rehearsed, he still felt the unease he always felt when the weather closed in like this. At times it was an invaluable ally, enabling his people to move quickly about the mountains with much less fear of discovery and to launch sudden ambushes and vanish almost immediately. But that was when the enemy’s position was known. The danger when it was not known was that it could be they who were laying the ambush. On the whole, Marris preferred to see what was happening, despite the increased risk it brought to moving safely.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Hynard came out of the Council Hall still fastening his cape. He gave the valley a glance similar to the one Marris had given it, then, at Marris’s nod, the two of them set off. They did not speak as they walked through the silent village. This was partly due to the mountain discipline that was always with them, but also due to the fact that they had little to say to one another. Whether it was just the absence of Ibryen and Rachyl or the strange reasons that had been given for their going, it was not possible to say, but the whole community had been subtly unsettled and the two men were not immune. Both of them had set their faces resolutely against worrying and while both succeeded in looking unconcerned, both actually failed. The net result was an alternation of awkward silences and bursts of forced heartiness.

  Not that either had any serious concerns – yet. Those they would have given voice to immediately. After all, Ibryen had said he would be away for a month at the most and what was to be served by fretting after only a few days? Yet the two absences dragged – made looking forward difficult – introduced too many unresolvable, ‘What ifs?’

  They walked on through the rain in silence and were challenged successfully at each of the outer perimeter guard posts.

  Hynard smiled as they left the last one. ‘I wonder if this alertness is due to Ibryen’s “Vigilance must be re-doubled”, or your suddenly doing three times as many tours of inspection?’

  But Marris did not respond. He was staring into the mist, preoccupied.

  ‘I said…’

  Marris raised a hand.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Hynard asked softly, abandoning his light-hearted taunt.

  Marris curled up his nose in irritation. ‘Something feels bad,’ he said, looking from side to side as if that might help him see better through the mist. Hynard did not ask for clarification. He sensed nothing himself but Ibryen’s followers trusted one another’s instincts and he stayed silent.

  The two of them stood for some time, then Marris shook his head, though his expression was more concerned than ever. ‘I can’t hear anything,’ Hynard whispered, to prompt him.

  ‘Nor I,’ Marris said after a long pause. Then he shrugged. ‘Probably imagination,’ he decided, though without conviction.

  Hynard looked at him doubtfully. For a moment he considered offering Marris another taunt about his lack of imagination, but Marris’s mood was contagious. Instead, he opted for action. ‘Let’s check the north end ridge-post while we’re here,’ he said. ‘This rain’s in for the day, there’s no chance of us being seen.’

  It would probably be dark when they returned, making the journey difficult, but Marris nodded his head and moved off without further debate.

  Despite the poor visibility and the unlikelihood of there being any Gevethen troops or spies in the area, the two men moved with increasing caution as they neared their destination. They stopped from time to time and listened, but nothing was to be heard except the sound of the rain and the many streams that tumbled down the valley sides. Each time Hynard glanced at Marris however, the older man still looked uneasy.

  They both stopped suddenly. Hynard pointed as the movement which had caught their attention occurred again. It appeared to be a solitary figure. Both of them crouched down slowly and edged their way to the shelter of some nearby rocks. The figure continued towards them.

  ‘It’s no stranger, moving so quickly and using the cover like that,’ Hynard whispered.

  ‘It’s a runner from one of the ridge look-outs then,’ Marris replied. ‘What the devil’s he playing at?’

  He was about to stand up and hail the figure when Hynard seized his arm and pointed frantically. Coming into view were other figures. There were four of them altogether and they too were moving quickly, though not in the manner of one of Ibryen’s people. And they were noisy. Not that they were shouting, but to the ever-sensitive ears of Marris and Hynard, the clatter of their weapons stood out above the murmur of the valley as clearly as if they had been ringing hand-bells.

  ‘Ye gods, they’re army,’ Hynard hissed as they drew closer. The two of them became very still, making themselves indistinguishable from the rocks they were sheltering amongst. Marris glanced after the fleeing look-out, his mind racing. Ibryen’s conjecturing had been right then, the Gevethen were launching an early attack to draw attention away from difficulties in the city. But patrols had never ventured into this inconspicuous little valley before. And what was that idiot of a runner doing leaving his post when they were about? Worse, what was he doing leading his pursuers back towards the village? More immediate concerns pushed the questions aside. The man was passing them now and it looked as though he was going to pay a harsher price for his folly than any reproach he could have expected from his peers.

  ‘They’re going to catch him,’ Marris said. ‘He’s hurt. He’s limping.’

  Hynard swore softly. It was the limit of their debate. They did not need to discuss the seriousness of what was happening. Having seen someone, the four soldiers would have to be killed, even though that would risk bringing others after them. Normally, in some distant valley, that was no great problem, but here, so close to
the village…

  Marris clenched his fists at the thought.

  Yet what could he and Hynard do? For the two of them to attack four was out of the question. To stand any chance at all it would be essential to fall on the men suddenly and silently, and radically improve the odds before the attack was even suspected. Yet placed as they were, even that hazardous option was impossible. The soldiers were too far away and too spread out.

  But to let them escape was unthinkable.

  The look-out went sprawling. Both men involuntarily breathed in sharply. The man staggered to his feet but fell again. Then he was crawling. He was sitting with his back to a boulder and his sword drawn as the four soldiers closed on him. The first one to reach him casually kicked the sword aside and raised his own.

  Marris felt Hynard’s grip tightening about his arm.

  The blow never fell however. One of the other soldiers seized the raised arm and took the sword. Angry voices drifted to Marris and Hynard, then the first soldier was knocked savagely to the ground and his sword thrown contemptuously after him. He lay still for a moment, until, shaking his head and using his sword for support, he clambered slowly to his feet. The look-out was dragged upright, but collapsed immediately with a cry of pain. There was another brief debate then two of the soldiers dragged him up again and, draping his arms around their shoulders, began carrying him.

  This time it was Marris who swore. ‘No choice now,’ he said bitterly. ‘If he’s taken back to their base camp they’ll torture the location of the village out of him.’

  Hynard bared his teeth in an expression of grim but reluctant acknowledgement. There was no need to discuss tactics. Speed, silence and an unhesitating resolution to kill were all that were needed… dark attributes that their years resisting the Gevethen had enhanced in them all too well.

  They neither spoke nor moved until the returning party had gone past them, then, silently drawing their swords, they crept after them, hands trembling. The four soldiers were walking in a closer group now, two of them half-supporting, half-dragging the look-out while the other two walked behind. Their swords were sheathed but they were obviously anxious to be away now their chase was successfully concluded for they were talking very little and kept glancing up the rain-misted sides of the valley. Hynard and Marris drew steadily closer; at the nerve-wrenching last, matching them stride for step for some twenty or thirty paces for fear that too soon a final charge would announce their presence.