Whistler [A sequel to The Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  Vredech moved up the steps and took his arm. ‘Get your horse,’ he said, very gently. ‘We'll talk as we ride.'

  The journey down the mountain through the lengthening shadows of late afternoon was strained and awkward, with Horld struggling hard against what Vredech was saying, his common sense crying out continually that what he was hearing was patently impossible. But his dream, as he had considered it to be, had been too vivid, and lingered too clearly in his mind. And Vredech's knowledge of it was too thorough for him to take refuge in denial. Gradually he found himself obliged to accept that what had seemed to happen, dream or no, had actually happened, and that he and Vredech had held that conversation and made that promise to talk again. Though how or where it could all have been, he could not even begin to conjecture.

  'Ishryth's will,’ he concluded after a long silence as they reached the wider, less steep part of the path at the foot of the mountain. ‘This is hard for a simple iron and coals man like me, Vredech. I can't bring myself to accept that Cassraw's possessed in some way. It's what Laffran said at the outset and he's invariably wrong.'

  Vredech leaned over and laid a hand on his arm.

  'Perhaps he wasn't, this time,’ he said. ‘More has happened to me than I've told you or that I can tell you at the moment, my friend. But more than once these past months, I've thought myself going insane. Perhaps because you, too, were touched by something in that darkness you were drawn to me in your ... dream ... by your concern about what happened to Cassraw that day. Perhaps we're simply tools in a greater scheme, I don't know. But I could wish for no better ally than you with your simple iron and coals vision. And if you can provide me with an explanation full of reason and logic, I'll embrace it heartily, and publicly announce myself as a fool.'

  Horld grunted self-consciously. ‘Well, be that as it may,’ he said gruffly, ‘I'll admit that for all the strangeness of what's just happened, I feel easier now than I've felt for some time. It's been as if those black clouds were still hovering over my head. In fact, I'm still getting worrying tales from some of my flock about nightmares and the like which seem to stem from that day.’ He gave a dismissive shrug as his common sense drew in its stern rein. ‘But I think we'd best keep our own counsel, don't you? There's enough in the way of wild words flying about with Cassraw ranting like a mad thing, and all this business over Tirfelden in the Heindral. And our tale would strain the wits of even the calmest listeners.'

  'What are we to do then?'

  Nertha had been silent for most of the journey. Now she brought a practical voice to the debate that was quite the equal of Horld's.

  'We oppose him, my girl,’ Horld declaimed unhesitatingly. Nertha bristled and glowered at him, but Vredech discreetly signalled her to remain silent. ‘We've not been granted this insight to stand by and watch idly,’ Horld continued. ‘Ishryth helps those who help themselves.'

  'I'd be interested to know what you've got in mind,’ Nertha said acidly, though Horld was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice the tone.

  'Possession or no, we must put a stop to his nonsense before it gets completely out of hand,’ he said, suddenly stern. ‘The church will have to act.’ He looked at Vredech. ‘Tonight, I want to think about today and ... everything. Think about it very hard. But whatever the outcome of that, tomorrow we must see Mueran and have him call a special meeting of the Chapter to bring Cassraw to heel.’ He looked suddenly sad. ‘It's a great shame,’ he said. ‘He's a very capable man, but I always felt he'd been brought on too quickly. The Haven Parish is a big responsibility for even an experienced Brother.’ He sighed. ‘Still, if we can bring him to his senses, I'm sure there'll still be a fine future for him in time.'

  Vredech kept his doubts silent.

  A little while later they parted.

  Vredech looked at Nertha surreptitiously as they rode on.

  'I'm all right,’ she said defensively, catching the look. Vredech allowed his scepticism to show. ‘Well, I'll confess to still being a little ... bewildered,’ Nertha admitted. ‘Being calmly objective about your problems is one thing, being sucked up into them is another.'

  'Bewildered, eh?’ Vredech said. ‘The Whistler said that the response of most ostensibly civilized people when they are suddenly overwhelmed by barbaric, primitive forces, is astonishment. “You'll be gaping in disbelief at the sword that kills you,” he said. An appropriate comment, do you think?'

  Unexpectedly, Nertha's face contorted and for an alarming moment Vredech thought she was going to burst into tears. The spasm passed. ‘He's done something to me, Allyn,’ she said, through gritted teeth. ‘I'm so full of anger and hatred, it's frightening. I don't know where it's coming from.'

  'It's coming from inside you,’ Vredech said coldly. ‘The only thing He did to you was make you aware of your darker nature. Weren't you the one who was telling me not to fret about my dark thoughts only a little while ago?’ He waved his hand towards the top of the mountain. ‘Don't worry about it, it's a good thing.'

  'What? How can this be good?’ Nertha made a jagged gesture of self-loathing. ‘I've not felt anything like this since ...'

  'Since you were a child.’ Vredech completed the remark. ‘Before you became civilized.'

  'Damn you! Will you stop presuming to know what I think,’ Nertha shouted.

  Vredech held up both hands in surrender, but pressed on. ‘It's neither good nor bad,’ he said. ‘It simply is. Just like it's always been, except now you've seen it again. Now you know. Now you're wiser. You understand, so you'll not be afraid. You'll have another weapon in your armoury of defence if you choose to use it.’ He leaned across to her and added grimly, ‘You won't be astonished the next time He tries to use you, will you?'

  And where did you get this coldness in your soul from, to harrow the woman so, Priest? came a merciless thought. Vredech reined his horse to a halt and lowered his head, shocked by this new insight into his changing inner landscape. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said. ‘I've no right to talk to you like that. I'm hardly in control of affairs, am I?'

  Nertha, girding herself for an argument, faltered. ‘It's all right,’ she said. ‘We are probably still shocked after all that's happened to us.’ She smiled weakly. ‘In fact, I must be in shock, or I wouldn't be trying to diagnose it in myself.'

  Vredech looked at her, waiting a little way ahead, and half-turned towards him. Stained with the soil of their journey up the mountain and her face deep-shadowed by the sinking sun, the sight of her nevertheless lightened his heart. It occurred to him that only a few hours ago there had been some kind of a future ahead of him which, while it might have twisted here and turned there, like the past behind him, ran along a broad and reasonably knowable path. Now there was darkness, doubt, and confusion before his every step. And the changing character of his affection for Nertha was beginning to unsettle him also. Yet the calmness that had come to him in the mysterious world he had drifted into ... been thrown into? ... remained with him, though it gave him no easy peace. It was the calmness of a man who knew that he could do no other than turn to face whatever was about to happen, however fearful, and struggle to make right what was wrong.

  The Whistler's words echoed in his head. ‘There's not a great deal of difference between a priest and a true warrior.’ Vredech shook his head. He was no warrior by any definition, he was sure. But he understood.

  'Let's just say we're tired,’ he said. ‘That's simple enough, and probably true. Such a lot has happened over the last couple of days, and tomorrow's going to be very busy. Let's walk slowly home, and let House fuss over us. That'll make three of us happy.'

  * * * *

  Albor sat down on the flat-topped wall that fringed a basement stairway, and swore softly. These wretched night patrols around the warehouse district were as boring as they were time-wasting. It was an area that was quiet under normal circumstances after the businesses closed their doors each day, but it was quieter than ever following the two murders. Such few people as were
here at night, mainly watchmen and caretakers, were confining their patrols to the insides of their particular properties, making doubly certain that all doors and windows were securely bolted.

  He drew out a kerchief and wiped it across his forehead. The boredom he could tolerate; on the whole it had to be better than encountering the lunatic who was committing these crimes. But this heat!

  The tall brick and stone walls, having soaked up the sun's warmth throughout the day, were releasing it into the night, and where their presence did not actually still the night breeze that was soothing the rest of the town, it warmed it so that its touch was like that from a suddenly opened oven. Albor wriggled his damp shirt off his back again. Still, doing this duty was probably better than keeping an eye on the crowds that had been swarming all around the Haven Meeting House today, and it was certainly better than doing crowd control duty in the PlasHein Square tomorrow. He frowned. Memories of that crushing, panicking crowd and its aftermath still hung about him, subtly draining him and making him nervous and edgy. He and most of his colleagues had either panicked or simply floundered helplessly when the crowd had started to move. None of them had known what to do. There were no official procedures laid down for dealing with such eventualities. Why should there be? There had never been anything like it before. He shook his head to dismiss the thoughts that were beginning to circle again. He knew that they would only make him frustrated and angry and it was hot enough already. It was not as if he could do anything about it. The Chief and the High Captains and the Captains would doubtless hand down their collective wisdom in due course, without asking his advice, though, with a bit of luck Skynner and the other Serjeants might have the chance to colour it with a little practical experience before it became set in stone.

  Dismissing the thoughts yet again, he growled, and laboured himself upright to continue on his patrol. He had scarcely gone ten paces, however, when a noise reached him. Thin, high-pitched and shrill, it bounced from wall to wall, until it surrounded and encased him. He could not begin to identify it, but its tone made the hairs on his neck rise up and he drew his baton as he looked around to try to identify the source.

  It stopped.

  And started again, coming now in short gasps which were all too recognizable. It was a human voice, and it was terror-stricken. Painfully, it twisted into a mewling, ‘Help,’ then disintegrated again. As it rose and fell, so it entered deep into Albor, mingling with the scream that he could feel forming within himself as he ran towards where it was loudest. But even as he ran, so the intensity of the scream shifted from place to place.

  Over here...

  Over there...

  Albor turned round and round in the middle of the street, the sense of panic and failure that had possessed him two days earlier in the PlasHein Square, returning in full force to condemn him for his inability to go to the rescue of the tormented soul that was filling the street with its awful cry.

  Then it fell abruptly into a long sobbing whimper and as it faded so did its many echoes until there was only a single thread. Grim-faced and full now of fighting rage, Albor ran through the clinging night warmth towards its source. As it died, so he gathered speed until he found himself tumbling into one of the dark alleyways between the warehouses. The sudden disappearance of even the faint street lighting brought him to a staggering halt. The sound, almost inhuman now in its desperate pleading, was directly ahead of him, but full of fury though he was, his years of experience on the streets exerted themselves. He snatched his lantern from his belt and struck it.

  As it hissed gently into light, so another hissing rose to greet it, and something flashed towards him...

  * * *

  Chapter 29

  The sun was rising as Privv dropped into his favourite chair, swung his feet up on to his desk and lifted his hand to his mouth. After a brief, half-hearted chew at his thumb, he let the hand fall to swing idly by his side. Leaning his head back he stared vacantly at the ceiling.

  'I'm not going to be able to carry on like this,’ he said. ‘The responsibility of running this Sheet is getting far too much. I am exhausted.'

  'Yes,’ Leck replied sympathetically. ‘Counting money is such a wearisome chore. I really can't imagine how you've managed to get this far without positively collapsing.'

  'Do I detect an element of sarcasm in that remark?’ Privv said, turning his head slightly to eye the cat.

  'Ishryth forbid,’ came the reply. ‘I stand in true awe of your selfless dedication to the presentation of the truth to the good people of Troidmallos ...'

  'And surrounding shires,’ Privv added.

  'Oh yes, we mustn't forget the surrounding shires, must we?’ Leck waxed. ‘"First Sheet in Canol Madreth to reach out into the countryside.” Quite an accolade, that. Quite fortuitous, too, that a peasant's coin is as sound as a merchant's.'

  'One has to eat,’ Privv replied haughtily. ‘And a labourer's worthy of his hire.'

  'Better not let your new assistants catch wind of that,’ Leck said.

  Privv returned his gaze to the ceiling. ‘I can see that you don't truly understand my motives in this endeavour.'

  Leck was suddenly sombre. ‘Quite possibly,’ she said. ‘I don't even understand my own. Since all this business started I've been thinking that a gift like ours was intended for more beneficial things. I feel as though something's missing.'

  Privv gave a weary sigh. ‘Oh spare me the feline philosophy. Just tell me what you've unearthed on your nightly travels.’ A wave of deep sadness from the cat passed over him, but before he could react, he felt Leck deliberately withdrawing from him.

  'Not a great deal,’ she said flatly. ‘There's endless comings and goings at the Haven Meeting House —Preaching Brothers—lots of his precious Knights, especially that lout Yanos who seems to have found such favour with the good Brother.’ The last trace of Leck's dark mood faded as she extended her claws, clicking against the wooden sill. ‘Threw a stone at me, he did—and he's a damned good shot. I'll have his throat open if he's unlucky enough ever to get hold of me.’ She became grimly pensive. ‘In fact, I've half a mind to find out where he's sleeping and sneak in and lie across his face—nice and heavy, relaxed and warm.’ She stretched herself and chuckled malevolently.

  Privv was not disposed to pursue the singularly unpleasant images that were drifting into his mind. ‘Well, what's it all about then?’ he demanded.

  'I've no idea,’ Leck snapped, angry at this disturbance of her sweet visions of vengeance. ‘I couldn't get inside.'

  'Why not? You can fawn with the best when you want.'

  Leck became defensive. ‘I'm not keen on that wife of his. She's as bad as he is if you ask me, if not worse. I didn't want to get near her.'

  Privv waved a scornful hand. ‘It'll be church politics with the Brothers, I suppose. But what about the Knights?’ He sat up and rested his head in his hands. ‘I'd dearly like to know what he's up to with those young men.'

  'Why don't you do what you normally do then, and make it up?’ Leck said acidly.

  Privv didn't even hear the sarcasm. ‘What, and breach the trust he has in me?’ Leck looked out of the window. ‘No. He'll tell me when he's ready.'

  'Better you know in advance though,’ Leck warned. ‘I've told you, he's using you, you know.'

  'You worry too much,’ Privv replied, catching the tone. ‘And it's me who's using him, don't forget that. Who's the one who's getting rich, eh? And I mean, rich,’ he said, tapping his chest. Faintly he felt her strange introspection returning. He dismissed it and lay back in his chair again, smug now. ‘I shall take a well-earned nap, and then get down to the PlasHein to listen to the great debate.’ He rubbed his hands together gleefully and yawned.

  * * * *

  Others were making plans too, that day—Toom Drommel for one. He had a splendid speech prepared, one which would see the Castellans suffering appalling political damage as they were at last obliged to retreat from their avowed intention of expe
lling Felden nationals and seizing Felden assets. The only problem he was having was some stiffness in his back as a result of trying to stand even straighter than he already was, and some discomfort in his throat due to withdrawing his chin further and further as he was speaking, in an attempt to make his voice still more solemn and statesmanlike. Such Heinders who were of both a musical and a frivolous bent had noted that he had lowered his voice by the best part of an octave since the first debate, and were now laying wagers on whether or not he would attempt the full span. Drommel himself was quite oblivious to such levity, however; self-satisfaction and unctuousness filling almost every part of him. Beyond the inevitable retreat of the Castellans today he saw an early Acclamation and a rise in the fortune of his party such as it had not experienced in generations. He would have the support of the church, too, for though he had affected to dismiss Cassraw's patriotic tirade after their meeting, it had struck chords in him that resonated still and which had played no small part in the preparation of his speech. He could already hear his name being spoken of along with the great leaders of the past.

  Sitting at his desk as he glanced once again through his speech, he moved one hand here, the other there, inclined his head this way then that, crossed and uncrossed his legs, for the benefit of the official portrait painter who must surely be calling on him within the year.

  * * * *

  As Drommel preened himself and larded his present with the glories of his future, Vredech was saddling his horse prior to riding to Horld's Meeting House, and thence to the Witness House. As they had intended, he and Nertha had allowed House to fuss over them on their return the previous day, and when he had finally retired he was relishing the warmth and security that this had brought back to him from his childhood. He relished them all the more because he knew that while they were quite false, they were nonetheless a measure of the selfless affection of another person for him, and as such, protected him in far more subtle ways.