Whistler

by Roger Taylor

  Vredech found his vision shrinking so that the aisle along the centre of the chamber seemed to taper into a vast distance. Along it, moving towards him with painful slowness, he saw various officers of the PlasHein, resplendent in ancient liveries full of great constitutional significance. Then down each side of the aisle came two lines of the Knights of Ishryth, their faces covered with the blank masks that had been worn at Bredill, and their red sashes garishly counterpointing the more sober splendour of the PlasHein officers. They lent an alien menace to the scene.

  Then Cassraw was there, dressed as he had been the previous evening – was it truly such a short time ago? – with Dowinne walking a few paces behind him. For Vredech, Cassraw was at once distant and very close, completely filling his intensely-focused vision. He began to tremble uncontrollably.

  Strangely, this involuntary movement of his body released him from the hypnotic effect of the slow procession approaching him. In an effort to still himself, he forced his calves hard against the legs of his chair, and pressed his elbows down on to the arms until he was in pain. The action further cleared his vision. Now there were just men moving towards him, performing their kind of ritual as he had often performed his. Soon it would be over and Cassraw would be at the lectern.

  One, two, three, four…

  Suddenly he panicked at the thought that his trembling legs would not carry him so far; that he might simply go sprawling across the floor, the knife clattering guiltily from his hands to come to rest at Cassraw’s feet.

  He must walk slowly, deliberately. With an insight that frightened him a little in its coldness, he realized that a slow approach towards his victim would, in any event, be less likely to provoke a hasty response from Cassraw or anyone around him, than some reckless dash.

  Yes, he would walk carefully, deliberately.

  And do it without hesitation.

  It was the only way – for both of them…

  Strange, snarling emotions began to filter into his mind. Cassraw looked ridiculous in that crown thing he was wearing. What was it supposed to mean, for pity’s sake? And he’d always been an ambitious bastard, more interested in his own aggrandizement than serving the church or his flock. What’s more, his grasp of theological principles had always been weak; no wonder his beliefs had lapsed into a crude, not to say, grotesque ingenuousness.

  These thoughts disturbed Vredech. It was as though part of him was trying to lessen the significance of what he was about to do, justifying it by reducing the victim to something akin to an irritating, perhaps loathsome nuisance. But the wrongness of it offended him. The thoughts were both petty and untrue. And it was not necessary that Cassraw be demeaned in order for Vredech to do what he had to do. Indeed, it was essential that in so far as such a deed could be honourable and done with dignity, then this should be. To kill Cassraw in meanness and spleen was a true obscenity. The act must be one of…

  Of?

  Love.

  The word jolted him.

  But it was correct. He must kill Cassraw for a good that transcended them both. For the good of the people of Canol Madreth and who could say how many others across Gyronlandt and beyond? And he must kill him for the sake of the true Cassraw that surely lay bound and blind within the heart of what he had become.

  He felt sick again.

  Cassraw walked to the lectern. Dowinne stood behind him and a little to one side. The Knights were ranged in an arc behind them both. Vredech turned and looked again at the route he was to follow.

  One, two, three, four…

  The trembling that had possessed him seemed to have moved from his limbs and become a shimmering force radiating through him.

  Cassraw looked slowly around at the public galleries, then at the Heinders, then he closed his eyes and lowered his head as though he were praying. After a moment he looked up again. His eyes were bright with a fearful intensity. Slowly he extended his arms as if to embrace the entire chamber.

  ‘My flock,’ he said. The words echoed through the chamber as a thunderclap rolls across a stormy sky. Vredech felt the hairs on his arms stirring; there was such power in Cassraw’s voice. He had always been a fine, commanding preacher, but the hypnotic quality of these two simple words was tinged with an unnaturalness that jarred as much as it thrilled.

  ‘We are faced with dark times. The beloved leader of our church has been taken prematurely from us. The army of the unbelievers of Tirfelden will soon be turned against us in reckless aggression. Evil forces have conspired to weaken our government, leaving the people without guidance in worldly matters.’

  Vredech watched the audience as he listened. Such was the power in Cassraw’s voice that each word was having an effect. And with each further word, more and more of those present would fall under his spell. The trembling within Vredech was growing relentlessly. It was as though his planning for this moment had gathered a momentum that could not now be stopped, and would destroy him if he did not move with it.

  ‘But, my children, I bring you good news. I bring you news of the light that will shine through this darkness. The light that will blind and scatter your enemies. The light that will show you the true Way. His Way. The light that is the One True Light…

  Enough!

  Vredech did not know whether this inner cry was at the physical distress he was suffering or at Cassraw’s mounting rhetoric. He became aware that he was standing up. Then, slowly, he was mounting the podium steps and moving towards Cassraw.

  One, two…

  He was aware of the eyes of Cassraw’s guardian Knights, uncertain, and looking from one to the other for guidance behind their blank-faced masks. But none were moving.

  Three, four…

  Vredech’s hand closed about the knife.

  Don’t hesitate – not for the blink of an eye.

  As Vredech’s grip tightened about the knife, Cassraw turned towards him. Their eyes met.

  Vredech hesitated.

  ‘Allyn,’ Cassraw said softly, with a slight smile. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come to stand by me.’

  Vredech found himself looking into the familiar face of his old friend.

  ‘You must kill him! Now!’ cried out voices within him, desperately.

  KILL HIM!

  But his hand would not move.

  Cassraw turned back to his audience. ‘My friends,’ he said, his voice less powerful but filled with emotion, ‘you must forgive me if I am suddenly a little unmanned, but Brother Vredech has rightly sought to question the revelation I have received, and question it sternly. To have him by my side now moves me… more than I can say.’ He paused then held out his arms again. ‘And Brother Vredech’s public reconciliation is yet further testimony to the guiding presence of His hand… ’

  ‘No!’

  The cry, high and shrill, and loaded with frenzied desperation, filled the chamber, crackling through the tension that Cassraw had built and shattering it. There was not one person present who did not start at the sound.

  Then all was confusion as everyone sought to see who had cried out. It was not immediately apparent, but Vredech was amongst the first to see who it was as his eye lit on a commotion in the public gallery at the end near the podium.

  A figure was clambering over the balustrade.

  ‘No! No!’ the cry continued frantically.

  Vredech recognized the figure. It was Mad Jarry. With a nimbleness that belied his size and his normal lumbering gait, he dropped on to the tiered seats beneath the gallery and began scrambling over them, heedless of the bewildered Heinders in his way.

  He was moving towards the podium and Vredech knew his intention even before he heard Jarry’s new cry.

  ‘No! No! You mustn’t listen! He’s Ahmral! He’s possessed! He came in the darkness! I’ve seen His dreams! I’ve seen His dreams!’

  Then he saw that Jarry was wielding a large knife.

  At the same time he became aware of Cassraw’s Knights recovering themselves and beginning to move forward to inter
cept this unexpected threat. To little avail, however. Drawn from Troidmallos’s more troublesome youths, secretly schooled by Yanos at Cassraw’s behest, and hardened at Bredill, they were not unused to violence, but few could have withstood Jarry’s demented charge. Those who came within reach of his massive flailing fists were dashed brutally to one side. A couple managed to seize hold of him, but he paid no heed to them, dragging them along like paper streamers. Another stood directly in front of him only to be lifted bodily and hurled into a group who were running to help him.

  And all the time Jarry was crying out.

  ‘Ahmral! Ahmral! I’ve seen His dreams!’

  Vredech, his body trembling again and his mind numb from his failure to strike Cassraw down, watched the whole scene as though it were being performed by street players as a mockingly slow ballet. He saw Cassraw’s mouth dropping open at the sight of this approaching nemesis. He saw Dowinne’s hands rising protectively and he heard her begin to scream. For no reason that he could have analysed, he reached out and seized her, dragging her roughly away from Cassraw and placing himself between her and Jarry.

  He heard the words, ‘No, Jarry,’ forming in his throat, but even as the sounds began to emerge he saw Jarry reach Cassraw and drive the knife into him. At the same time Jarry disappeared under a writhing mass of figures, stabbing and beating. Glittering blades, red sashes and bloody gashes began to blur, mingling with the nightmare cacophony of screams and groans, panic-stricken cries and grunts of appalling effort. And the trembling that was shaking his body threatened to master him completely.

  Then one sound dominated the others and he became aware of a powerful hand turning him round. His entire vision was filled with Dowinne’s face. Yet it was scarcely recognizable, so contorted with fury was it. Raking through him, he heard, shrieking and awful: ‘Damn you to hell, Allyn. What have you done?’

  He gazed at her, shocked and helpless, but almost before he had a chance to register what she was saying, a blow shook his entire body and plunged him into gasping darkness.

  Chapter 37

  In the hasty preparations for the ceremony at the PlasHein, Skynner had been only too willing to agree to Cassraw’s Knights forming the honour guard for their leader. His own men had more than enough to do at the moment and he personally wanted to keep as far away from Cassraw as he could. Thus he was present with only a few Keepers, forming in effect a small honour guard of their own for the Chief Keeper and other senior officers seated in the public gallery.

  On seeing Jarry’s reckless descent from the balcony, Skynner’s long-instilled sense of duty had swept aside his misgivings about Cassraw and he dashed immediately for the stairs, a single command bringing his men close behind him. In the few seconds it took them to reach the Debating Chamber, however, Jarry had stabbed Cassraw and been brought down himself. The place was in uproar, with everyone shouting or screaming, half those present trying to flee the chamber while the other half was struggling towards the podium to see what had happened. He had a vivid, kaleidoscopic impression of people being crushed against walls and the fixed furniture, and being trampled underfoot. Even as he watched, he saw bodies tumbling from the public galleries on to the Heinders milling about below. For a moment he was paralysed as memories of the panic in the PlasHein Square flooded back to him. Then the deep fear and anger that he had been nursing since his interview with the Chief and Toom Drommel burst out, releasing him. He could do nothing about the crowd, but he could get to the podium and take charge of whatever was happening there.

  This was no easy task, and even though he was not gentle about the matter, it took him and his men some time to shoulder their way through the clamouring onlookers. In the course of this advance, several political worthies received baton blows that took the edge off their curiosity, not the least of these being Toom Drommel, who ‘accidentally’ received a back-swinging elbow just below the arch of his ribcage.

  Skynner’s satisfaction at this however, was dampened by the sight that greeted him as he reached the podium. Cassraw, covered in blood, lay on his back. He was not moving. Across him sprawled the equally motionless body of Jarry, his rough tunic covered with blood-streaked rents and gashes. Nearby lay Vredech. Several of the Knights, under the frantic command of Dowinne, were struggling to lift Jarry’s body off that of his victim, while others were just milling around.

  As the labouring group finally succeeded and Jarry’s great frame rolled over on to its back with a thud, Skynner grimaced. He had been terribly injured.

  Dowinne, seemingly in a state of shock, knelt by her husband and began nursing his head. Skynner reached down and gently took her arm. There was no quiet yielding, however. Dowinne swung round, her free hand lifted with the obvious intention of striking him. Reflexes brought his own arm up to block the blow but immediately the other hand attacked him. Without ceremony, he grasped both her arms and yanked her roughly to her feet.

  ‘That’s enough!’ he shouted. ‘Remember who you are. This is doing no…’

  Before he could finish, a hand had gripped his shoulder and spun him round. He found himself facing the blank mask of one of the Knights. ‘Keep your hands to yourself, unbeliever. No one may touch the Chosen One’s wife. Go down on your knees for forgiveness before her.’ The Knight’s voice was quivering with passion; he held a bloodied knife in his hand.

  Skynner recognized the voice and, still in the mood for settling long unfinished business, he seized the hand and twisted it violently. The Knight arched up on to his toes with an incongruous cry then, equally rapidly, began to sink down in response to the agonizing pressure on his wrist. As he did so, Skynner wrenched the mask from his face, and in one swing took the baton from his belt and brought it down on his captive. It was a pitiless blow and Yanos’s body shook the floor as it landed. ‘You keepyour hands to yourself, young man,’ Skynner snarled. ‘You’re under arrest for threatening a Keeper with a weapon.’

  Some of the Knights moved as if to intervene, but a swift flurry of blows sent three of them reeling back crying out in pain and nursing elbows and wrists. The remainder lost interest in defending their fallen leader. Skynner pressed home his advantage. ‘And if it proves we’re under militia rule at the moment, then you know what the punishment for attacking a Keeper is, don’t you?’

  They didn’t. Nor did Skynner for that matter, but there was too much menace in his voice for debate.

  ‘Take those stupid masks off, drop those knives and get over there out of my way. And don’t move.’ Although the Keepers were outnumbered, Skynner’s authority and his grim-faced companions, watching them, batons drawn, ensured acquiescence, reducing the sinister masked Knights to a group of surly young men.

  Skynner turned back to Dowinne, who had stood transfixed as these events took place. What he saw almost unnerved him. It was as though he were looking into the eyes of a wild and cornered animal. Something deep stirred within him. ‘Kill this or flee,’ it said, but habit held him there and he simply took his eyes from hers.

  ‘Let’s look at your husband, lady,’ he said, kneeling down by Cassraw. At the same time he motioned one of his men to go to Vredech. Jarry, he could see, was dead. Before he could begin examining Cassraw, however, he was interrupted by an angry female voice.

  ‘Let me through, damn you.’

  Looking up, he saw Nertha pushing her way through the crowd. He snapped his fingers and two of his men went to help her. When she reached the podium, she stepped over Cassraw’s body without a glance, and went straight to Vredech. Dowinne made to move towards her, but Skynner discreetly detained her.

  ‘Where was he hit?’ Nertha demanded of no one in particular as she examined Vredech.

  ‘He wasn’t hit,’ one of the Knights volunteered. ‘He just fell over.’

  Nertha carefully lifted one of Vredech’s eyelids, then quickly released it and stood up. ‘He’s just unconscious,’ she said, though Skynner sensed an awkwardness about her. ‘Keep away from him, please. Give him air.’r />
  She looked sadly at Jarry’s body then moved to Cassraw. At first her examination was almost off-hand. Then she became alert. ‘He’s alive!’ she said, her voice soft and urgent. She looked around. ‘Get these people out of here and get me some proper light.’ She began unfastening Cassraw’s robe.

  Dowinne stepped forward. ‘No,’ she said forcefully.

  Nertha looked at her with a mixture of anger and amazement. ‘He’ll be bleeding like a pig under this lot,’ she said brutally. ‘Looking at where he was stabbed he’s lucky to be alive, but he won’t stay that way unless…’

  ‘The Chosen One will lose no blood,’ Dowinne said stiffly. She signalled to the Knights. ‘Take him up and bring him to the summit of the Holy Mountain.’

  ‘What?’ Nertha exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Are you mad?’ She turned to Skynner. ‘You can’t let her do this. She’s insane, for pity’s sake. He’s liable to die if we try to move him to the Sick House, let alone up the Ervrin Mallos.’

  Skynner looked at her. ‘Best for everyone if he did,’ she read in his eyes, and for a moment she faltered, understanding Skynner’s stern and practical compassion for what might follow if Cassraw survived, and remembering again all that happened over the last few days.

  But still she could not let him die if some effort on her part might save him.

  ‘Serjeant.’ Dowinne’s voice interrupted the silent exchange. ‘See that he’s taken as I’ve commanded. Immediately.’ She turned to Nertha and inclined her head towards Vredech. ‘You look to your… brother,’ she said, a sneer breaking through her cold haughtiness.

  Nertha’s eyes narrowed and her jaw tautened but she said only, ‘He’ll die if you move him.’

  ‘No,’ Dowinne said, cold still and categorical. She turned to the Knights with a commanding air. Skynner nodded, and they moved forward and picked up Cassraw’s body. Nertha winced at the action and looked again at Skynner, her eyes anxious.