by Roger Taylor
The two men looked at him uncertainly then clambered to their feet. Cassraw nodded his head and the circle opened to let them through.
They ran, and the circle closed about Cassraw again, waiting. He spoke to them. ‘A great and glorious victory, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘The village of Bredill has been liberated from the followers of the Great Evil by your courage. You are truly His Knights now, sanctified by the blood of his enemies. News of this great battle will ring about Canol Madreth – nay, it will ring about the whole of Gyronlandt – as a clarion call to all who would follow the true Way, and as a knell to those who would oppose His coming.’
Some of the watchers dropped to their knees as Cassraw spoke and were praying fervently. Amongst the others a wide range of responses to their night’s work was beginning to appear.
‘Why did we allow those two to live, Brother?’
‘Why did we have to kill so many, Brother?’
Cassraw gave the same answer to both. ‘To spread fear and dismay to His enemies, my children. To begin their destruction before even a sword or arrow is drawn. Soon the very shadow of our coming will bring armies to their knees. By this killing, countless other lives will have been saved, and His true enemies exposed. You have been strong and you have done a wretched task well. Great will be the honour that you receive when He finally calls you to Him.’
He knelt beside the body of the man killed by the fleeing Felden soldier. ‘Even now, our comrade Marash will be standing before His throne, hearing His judgement. A judgement in which all previous wrongdoing will have been set to rights by the giving of his life so bravely. To die fighting His enemies is to die a true martyr and to know no punishment in the after-life but to enter immediately into Deryon, the Place of Heroes, where all your wishes will be fulfilled and all that you have denied yourselves in this world will be granted to you. Carry him back to Troidmallos with honour.’
* * * *
The next day, Privv’s Sheet did not appear until much later. It was shorter than ever, and even more expensive, but that passed unnoticed amongst its purchasers, for it contained only two stories. One was an account of the Battle of Bredill, in which the valiant Knights of Ishryth had marched through the night to face and utterly crush several companies of Tirfelden’s finest troops in open combat. Several tales of courage and bravado were recounted, but the greatest praise was left for the single casualty, Marash, who had killed no less than six Felden soldiers as he defended a wounded friend, before finally succumbing to a treacherous blow from behind. The other was a blistering diatribe against the government for its weakness in allowing such a situation to arise and for cowering before the ‘unprovoked Tirfelden aggression’. It concluded with a call by Cassraw for a service of thanksgiving at this deliverance to be held that night at the summit of the Ervrin Mallos.
‘An excellent piece of work,’ Cassraw said to Privv as he returned the slightly amended draft to him. ‘If you continue thus, there will be a place of high honour for you in the new Canol Madreth.’
After the meeting, Privv was elated. Leck simply said, ‘We should get away from here. This is all wrong. We shouldn’t be doing it.’ Privv’s elation was such that he did not even hear the remark.
‘I’ve already started work on my report about tonight’s service,’ he announced rapturously. ‘It’ll be even better than the battle report.’
* * * *
Such was the momentum of the events that Cassraw had set in train that little could be done to stop them. Those in authority who read the account in Privv’s Sheet were both outraged and horrified but were at a loss to know what to do. The chief adviser to the government hastily sent gallopers to Bredill and Tirfelden to find out exactly what had happened, but both were stopped and held at Bredill by a group of Cassraw’s Knights, together with all other travellers between the two countries. He also sent an instruction to the Chief of the Keepers that Cassraw be arrested immediately, only to receive the embarrassed reply, ‘For what?’ No action could be taken on the strength of a report in a Sheet, and if Cassraw’s Knights had indeed defeated an invading enemy, then where was the illegality? More sinisterly, he added in a footnote, his men would not be able to get near Cassraw, such were the crowds gathering about the Haven Meeting House.
Hearing this, the leader of the Castellans took out his flask, drained it, and sent for another. The leader of the Ploughers, a harmless idealist by disposition, fluttered pathetically, listing in great detail what the government had done to bring this about, and what they should have done, and how they, the Ploughers, could accept no responsibility for it, and what they would have done, had they been given the opportunity, and if…
‘… there weren’t any such thing as sin,’ muttered the chief adviser as he left him, only just managing not to slam the door.
Toom Drommel however, was struck as though by a blinding light when he read of what had happened. The lingering memory of his meeting with Cassraw and the power of the man suddenly washed over him and swept him away. This could be his moment, even more so than his triumph of the other day. Cassraw was a man who was beyond a doubt going to change Canol Madreth, and those who did not follow him would be left to wither by the wayside. He called for a carriage to take him to the Haven Meeting House.
* * * *
Vredech actually staggered when he read the news, and had to sit down. For a brief moment, all the doubts and torments he had suffered since the day of Cassraw’s strange conversion, piled up like a monstrous, mocking wave, as black and ominous as the clouds that day, and threatened to break over him and sweep him into true insanity. But even as this was happening the Whistler’s voice came back to him.
‘Astonishment,’ it said. ‘You’ll be gaping in disbelief at the sword that kills you.’ Then, ‘If you kill Him now, perhaps it will go badly for you. But if you kill Him later, it will have already gone badly for many others.’
The memory both quieted and chilled him. Although more at ease with himself following his mysterious encounter with Horld, he still could not think about the Whistler calmly. Yet whether the Whistler were real, or some bizarre figment of his imagination, his words were disturbingly prophetic. How much more of what he had said might yet come to pass? But as he looked about his familiar room with its memories echoing back through the years, Vredech could not even begin to school himself to the idea of simply walking up to Cassraw and killing him. No, it was absurd. Almost certainly, Privv’s Sheet would be inaccurate. It was inconceivable that a group of youths could annihilate a company of the Tirfelden army. Doubtless the government would even now be trying to find out exactly what had happened. His resolution cleared. Whatever anyone else was doing, he at least could get up to the Witness House and put some fire into Mueran’s belly with a view to taking immediate action against Cassraw. He paused as he walked from his quarters to the stables as another reason for his determination surfaced, albeit unclearly: the prospect of Cassraw’s call for a public service to be held at the summit of the Ervrin Mallos struck notes of alarm so deep within him that they shook his entire frame. He shivered violently.
* * * *
Late in the afternoon, a solitary figure clambered up the rocks that topped the Ervrin Mallos. It was wrapped in a stained travelling cloak and wore a mask that identified it as one of the Knights of Ishryth who had been at the Bredill slaughter. It knelt before the stained rock that Nertha had declared to be the focus of all the ill that hung about the mountain and, head bowed, embraced it.
Then it drew off its gloves and held its hands high. The air about the summit seemed to quiver lustfully and the hands were suddenly covered in blood. They began to caress one another slowly, luxuriously, as if washing in scented oils, and the blood began to drip from them to splash on to the boulder. Slow at first, it was soon a steady stream, filling the shallow hollow at the centre of the rock and then spreading across its flat top and spilling over the edges.
The figure was speaking. ‘Blood and terror I bring you again,
Lord, to renew the Way. Your power grows within me and there shall be no end to it. Your Will be done.’
Suddenly, all about the summit was deathly still. The figure, its hands clean, bent forward and embraced the boulder again, then quickly, though without any signs of haste, clambered down the rocks and slipped away.
A long, moaning sigh filled the summit.
Chapter 31
Vredech was so preoccupied with his concerns about Cassraw that he barely noticed the agitation that was pervading the Witness House when he reached it. The groom who took his horse muttered something rhetorical about, ‘where was he supposed to put this one?’ but Vredech had reached the top of the steps before he registered the complaint and was in no mood to take the man to task.
As he closed the main door behind him, he paused at the sight of twenty or thirty novices of various degrees milling about the high-domed entrance hall, all talking agitatedly. Years of stern hierarchical habit overrode his immediate concerns.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he shouted over the noise. ‘This is the Witness House of the Church of Ishrythan, not a market-place. Get to your quarters. Turn the energy of this unseemly display to your studies.’
The clamour fell immediately but the agitation remained.
‘But Brother Vredech, what’s going to happen?’ someone asked. ‘Half the Chapter’s here and there’s uproar in the Debating Hall.’
‘What’s going to happen is what’s going to happen,’ Vredech announced, unrelenting. ‘And all of you here are a considerable way from needing to worry about what the Chapter is debating or in what manner. Nor are you likely to come any nearer, frittering your time away here.’
He concluded with a massive gesture of dismissal that scattered the gathering like a wind scattering autumn leaves. The unrest remained, however, though now it was his, for voices still echoed around the entrance hall. Voices which must presumably be coming from the Debating Hall, judging by their direction. Ignoring any attempt at seemliness himself, Vredech took the stairs two and three steps at a time and then ran along the passageway towards the source.
As he drew nearer, the anger which had been kindled by the sight of the novices filling the entrance hall flared up, for the door of the Debating Hall was half-open, and the din escaping through it put their noise to shame.
Grim-faced, Vredech entered silently and watched what was happening for a few moments. As the novice had told him, almost half the Chapter was assembled, but disorder appeared to be reigning. Mueran was seated at the head of the table and periodically slapped it, trying to be heard. He did not look well. On one side of him sat Horld, his face clouded and ominous, and on the other sat Morem, patently distressed. Of the others, nearly all seemed to be talking at the same time, some to each other, some to everyone else. Four of them were standing and gesticulating towards Mueran, whose table-slapping was having no effect whatsoever.
Vredech’s anger tilted momentarily toward despair as he saw the leaders of his church in such disarray. Like any group of people who shared responsibility for the running of an institution, they suffered from internecine quarrels from time to time, sometimes difficult and unpleasant, but this…
His anger returned, redoubled.
Opening the door wide, he slammed it violently. The sound filled the room and brought all eyes round to him. He strode forward. ‘In the name of mercy,’ he said furiously, ‘the sound of your squabbling is filling the entire building. I’ve just rebuked half our novices for making a tenth the clamour that’s being raised here.’
Before anyone could reply, he turned to Mueran.
‘My apologies, Brother Mueran,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken thus, but…’ He gave a despairing shrug.
Mueran nodded and motioned him to his chair, untypically allowing his gratitude to show in his expression. Vredech’s intervention had given him the respite he needed to restore his authority. ‘We’ve all been badly shaken by what’s happened, Brother,’ he said, raising a hand to silence two would-be speakers and firmly indicating that those who were standing should sit. He turned his remarks towards the gathering in general. ‘A little confusion in our proceedings is perhaps inevitable. However,’ he was completely in control again now, ‘Brother Vredech’s reproach was both timely and correct. Nothing is to be served by our bellowing at one another.’
A figure at the far end of the table jumped to its feet. ‘But Brother Mueran, I insist…’
‘SIT DOWN AND BE SILENT!’ Mueran’s voice made even Vredech start, reminding him that this vacillating and hypocritical man had reputedly once been quite ruthless in his ambition, a much-feared figure within the Church. ‘This meeting may have been called in unusual circumstances, but it will be conducted correctly.’ He turned over some papers in front of him though Vredech noticed that his eyes were not looking at them. ‘Two days ago…’
Briefly the true man broke through. ‘Was it only two days?’ he said softly, shaking his head in disbelief. Then he was the Covenant Member again. ‘Two days ago it was put to me that a Chapter Meeting be called to examine the deplorable conduct of Brother Cassraw.’
‘No!’ several voices cried out.
‘Be silent!’ Mueran shouted. ‘Or this meeting will turn its attention to your own disruptive behaviour. This is not a debate!’ His authority held, but only just. ‘It needs no great study of our church canons to know that Brother Cassraw has preached two outrageous and quite unacceptable sermons of late. He has wilfully strayed into secular areas that…’
The opposition broke out again, several voices speaking at once.
‘No! Secular and spiritual are one. To speak otherwise is heresy.’
‘Brother Cassraw has been chosen to renew the church, to root out hypocrites and hair-splitting theologians who seek only after their own aggrandizement.’
‘He has been shown the truths in the Santyth!’
‘He has been given powers.’
‘He and his Knights have already saved the country!’
Mueran’s hand was dithering over the table, this time not even having the decisiveness to slap it. He looked utterly lost. The brief resurgence of the younger, stronger man was gone. Unexpectedly, Vredech felt a wave of compassion for Mueran, watching his life’s ambitions and struggles turning to dross before him. He felt torn. He could intervene as he had before and take control of the meeting. Horld and Morem would support him, he was sure – Horld himself, he could see, was on the verge of doing something anyway. But that would effectively destroy Mueran’s position, and what would be the consequences of that?
Yet to allow this riot to continue would be worse. Looking at the clamouring faces he saw what had happened. Mueran had been able to call only those Brothers with parishes in and around Troidmallos – the very ones that Cassraw must have been most assiduously working on.
He was preparing himself to bellow through the turmoil, when he noticed the door opening. A head emerged round it sheepishly. It caught Vredech’s eye.
He released his bellow. ‘Yes, what is it?’
As before, his voice silenced the gathering and drew all eyes first to him, and then to the novice who was hovering at the door.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Brothers,’ quavered the novice, ‘but I think you should see what’s happening outside.’
Both Vredech and Horld stood up immediately, Vredech mouthing to Mueran that he should suspend the meeting and motioning him to follow them. As the Chapter moved through the building following their unexpected guide, it collected most of the novices that Vredech had dismissed earlier. Some of these were in a state of high excitement. Vredech glanced at Mueran in the hope that he might enforce his own earlier command, but it needed no great skill in the reading of character to see that Mueran was capable only of following events now.
At the gate of the Witness House grounds the assembled Brothers found themselves witness to a ragged procession of people trailing up the mountain. For a moment they stood and gaped in silence,
then Vredech stepped forward.
‘Where are you going?’ he demanded loudly.
One of the passers-by turned and smiled at him, but his eyes were distant. ‘To the summit, Brother. To Brother Cassraw’s service of thanksgiving for the saving of our land from the Great Evil.’
‘And to worship at the place where Ishryth appeared to Brother Cassraw and chose him as His voice in this world,’ said another.
‘Thus let it be.’ The voice came from behind Vredech. As he turned, one of the Chapter Brothers pushed past him. ‘Praise be,’ he said. ‘I shall walk with you, my children. To the One True Light.’
Two others joined him. Cries of ‘Praise be, praise be,’ rang out from the passing crowd. Then something seized Vredech’s arm. He was so angry and fearful at what he was watching, that his clenched fist was raised as he whirled round to see what it was. He found himself staring into Mueran’s gasping face, then he was supporting him as he collapsed.
‘Stand back, stand back. Lay him down gently.’
Morem had moved quickly to Vredech’s side and was helping to lower the sagging frame of the Covenant Brother on to the stone pathway. His face was concerned as he began loosening the garments about Mueran’s neck.
‘What’s the matter?’ Vredech asked anxiously.
Morem, his head bent against Mueran’s chest, beckoned for silence. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It might be his heart, or perhaps blood to the head, I can’t tell.’
‘It’s the will of Ishryth,’ said one of the Brothers, his eyes wide and fearful. ‘He has been struck down because of his denial of the truth of Brother Cassraw’s revelation.’ He made to push by the group around Mueran’s prostrate form with a view to joining the crowd. As he did so, Vredech seized hold of the front of his cassock, swung him round and struck him a powerful blow on the chin. The man went sprawling out of the gate and into the crowd, knocking two people over and scattering several others. He was quickly hoisted to his feet, but was staggering badly as the crowd carried him along.
