Jeyan did not sleep well that night. She had achieved a degree of inner quietness by her resolution to watch, listen and wait, and to take her strange new life moment by moment, heartbeat by heartbeat, but the Gevethen’s brief visit had shaken her badly. There had been such menace in the words.
‘As you judge, so shall you be judged. Prepare yourself.’
What did they mean?
Was she to come to trial after all? Had the past two days been only the beginning of a punishment? Were they only taunting her with luxury and the promise of power? Raising her high so that her fall might be the harder?
It did not help that her body made no demands upon her for rest. She had spent the day in enforced idleness where normally she would have been wandering the Ennerhald and the city, preoccupied with her next meal and the avoidance of the Citadel Guards. Thus she woke many times, each time forgetting the sleep she had just had.
At one point, during the deepest part of the night, she found Meirah by her bedside; a dimmed lantern in one hand, a glass goblet in the other. She started violently, causing the woman to step back.
‘This will help you to sleep,’ Meirah said, offering the drink.
Jeyan nearly knocked it from her hand in a spasm of anger, but she caught herself in time. ‘Did I wake you?’ she asked. Meirah shook her head and offered the goblet again. Jeyan thought for a moment. Was this a kindness or some kind of trick? Who could say what was in that drink, what consequences might flow from addling her brain with it?
‘Put it on the table,’ she said. ‘I may take it later.’
And Meirah was gone.
The visit did little to ease Jeyan’s mood. How had the woman come so close without waking her? No dogs, of course, came the sad answer immediately. She set it aside with a small moue of pain and the question was replaced with others. How did these servants know what she was doing all the time? Were they spying on her even now? She made a promise to herself to search the room carefully tomorrow for spy-holes. The thought of tomorrow however, merely served to remind her of the Gevethen’s words and she was soon tossing and turning fretfully again.
She was thus jaded and weary when the servants woke her in the morning, at one stage even making a slight resistance to their endeavours. The ineffectiveness of this gesture brought her to her senses and she implemented the policy she had determined the previous day of saying what she did and did not want doing. It ensured her a marginally more private ablution, and made her feel that she had some semblance of control over events. It was the merest semblance however, she knew, and though her head relished the fine food that was placed before her, her stomach nervously protested otherwise.
‘What’s to happen today?’ she said casually, as though she had a whirl of social events before her. There was no reply. ‘You may speak,’ she added. ‘I should prefer it if you would.’ She risked a little menace, to test her authority. ‘I do not like to be ignored when I ask questions.’
There was a flutter of unease amongst the servants, but still no one answered. ‘What’s to happen today?’ she asked again.
Silence.
She caught Meirah’s eye but received no acknowledgement. She let the matter lie. The question had indeed given her a measure of her authority. She had very little. Speaking was not approved of by the Gevethen, and that was that.
She forced herself to eat something.
Jeyan was not the only nervous person that morning. Helsarn had been given the task of escorting the new Lord Counsellor. The euphoria following his sudden promotion was gradually beginning to wear off. Though no hint had been given, it must have caused considerable concern to the other Commanders, with its implications for the reduction of their own power, and to give the Commanders concern was to court mysterious and silent disappearance.
Of course, the very suddenness of the promotion gave him the Gevethen’s implicit protection, but that could not be relied upon indefinitely; they were notoriously indifferent to the jockeying for position that went on in the Guards, providing that it did not impair their effectiveness. It was important that he did not appear as a threat to his new peers. He must make himself useful and relatively inconspicuous, at least until such time as he had increased the size of his loyal following amongst the men. He had little anxiety about those from his own company; he knew their various ambitions and characters well enough by now, and he had already taken the precaution of raising them up along with himself. They would thus have enhanced status as and when other companies were brought under his command.
But more pressing concerns were troubling him that morning as he stood before the mirror and checked his uniform for the fourth time. He it was who had hauled the prisoner in and thrown her in the dungeon, and that was hardly likely to endear him to her now that she had become Lord Counsellor. He thanked his good fortune that that oaf of an Under Questioner hadn’t realized she was a woman, with all that would have meant, but the thanks dwindled into insignificance against his railing at the fate that had prompted the Gevethen to do such a thing. He had long ago learned that little was to be gained by trying to anticipate the Gevethen’s actions, but replacing Hagen with his murderer was unbelievable even by the standards of seeming arbitrariness that they set.
Who was this woman? What did they know about her? What qualities had they seen in her that would make her a substitute for a sadistic fanatic like Hagen? It was a chilling thought even for him, and it brought back vividly the sight of her face as she struggled to choke the life out of the wounded soldier who had captured her. And there were the others. The patrol that her dogs had savaged, and the other two soldiers who had been left on guard. Where were they now? Doubtless rotting somewhere in the Ennerhald with knife wounds as the marks of her benediction. He struggled to contain a shudder. The depths in a woman were far more fearful than in a man once they were plumbed. It was no new insight, but it did little to calm him and he set about checking his uniform yet again.
He had prepared one or two excuses – explanations – for his conduct in case the need might arise. ‘Only doing my duty, ma’am.’
Ma’am? He tested the word and wrinkled his nose. Lord Counsellor, he decided. That was, after all, what the Gevethen called her. ‘Only doing my duty, Lord Counsellor.’ That was better.
Then there was, ‘Very dangerous characters in the Ennerhald – safety of my men – not got the vision of their Excellencies, didn’t recognize who you were.’ Quite a good one, that last, he thought, though he wanted to say none of them. Nor would he, if opportunity allowed. It would be better by far if he could confine himself to the clipped courtesies of his office as official escort. Behave as though they had not shared such an unfortunate history. As though she had always been Lord Counsellor. Yes, he decided, that was what he would do.
He turned away from the mirror angrily as he caught himself fiddling yet again with his uniform.
Jeyan waited before the door. She had been dressed in the familiar replica of Hagen’s uniform when she woke, but after her breakfast the servants placed a cape about her shoulders. It glistened golden even in the subdued lighting, and it was decorated with a single silver star. ‘What is this for?’ she had asked, but as usual, had received no reply. Then she had been stood in front of the door.
Almost immediately it opened, both leaves swinging wide to reveal Helsarn, immaculate and standing stiffly to attention. Behind him were two ranks of Citadel Guards in equally formal uniform. The servants closed behind and to the side of her and her stomach lurched. Was this the moment? Had they come to take her for punishment? To strip her of all this finery before destroying her?
But Helsarn was saluting. ‘Commander Helsarn, Lord Counsellor. I have the honour to present your escort for the day.’
She recognized him. It was the one who had captured her. Whatever game was being played here she would give no one the satisfaction of seeing her fear. She fixed him with a cold gaze. Unexpectedly she caught a flicker of nervousness in him.
‘Their Excellencies have asked me to take you to the Judgement Hall, Lord Counsellor,’ he said.
‘Why?’ Fear, and the control of it, made her response sharp and commanding.
Helsarn hesitated. The Gevethen’s orders were to be obeyed immediately, not debated, but he couldn’t remain silent in the face of a direct question. ‘Many have been arrested in the purging, Lord Counsellor,’ he said. ‘They are to be brought before the law for trial and judgement.’
What do I know about the law? Jeyan screamed inwardly. And I’ll be no one’s judge.
As you judge, so shall you be judged.
The memory of the Gevethen’s words strangled any response and held her rigid. Helsarn, anxious to avoid any further questioning, saluted again then turned about. The Guards turned with him. A soft drumbeat behind her startled Jeyan, but before she could turn to see what it signified the servants hedged about her, obliging her to move after Helsarn and the Guards who had set off at a slow march.
The procession wound its way through the Citadel’s interminable corridors, the drumbeat relentlessly setting its pace and marking its progress. Eventually they came to the part that, in the Count’s time, had often been open to the people of Dirynhald who would come to marvel at both its high arches and ornate architecture, and the magnificent paintings and statues that decorated it – some of the finest works of art to be found in the whole of Nesdiryn. Then, the place had been made to seem even more spacious and open by the light which came from innumerable, subtly crafted mirrorways. Now, with the paintings and statues either removed or replaced by mocking pastiches, and the mirrorways sealed, it had been transformed into an echoing, gloomy cavern, full of concealing shadows, their darkness increased by the occasional shafts of mote-filled light that escaped the sealing of the mirrorways to shine through the interlaced woodwork of the ceiling.
Jeyan had been there as a child and vaguely recognized where she was. The contrast with her childhood memory weighed on her and the grotesque events of the past few days became almost unbearable. For a moment, she thought her legs were going to buckle and she staggered slightly. Hands discreetly supported her but she was herself again almost immediately.
They moved into a wide entrance hall which led to what had once been the Banqueting Hall. Along the sides, shadows amongst shadows, were rows of people. The drumbeat pulsed on, unforgiving, shrivelling with its touch the faint murmur of voices that had preceded the arrival of the Lord Counsellor. Jeyan, at once curious, fearful, and full of anger, looked from side to side as she passed by. It was not easy to make out details in the gloom but she could see that heads were bowed. As she peered more intently, those onlookers who felt the weight of her examination sank to their knees, like grass before a withering flame. It took her a little time to associate the two events and when she did she felt first shame, then elation, then shame again.
She became aware of more Guards falling in behind her and then the crowd itself. The sound of shuffling feet and rustling clothes rose up to fill the shadows with dark whisperings that scurried to and fro at the goading of the unyielding drum.
Then they were at the Gevethen’s grim Judgement Hall – the Count’s once glorious Banqueting Hall – another example of the Gevethen’s wilful corruption of the richness that had preceded them, their brutal fist replacing the Count’s open-handedness.
Towering doors, already opened, led to a wide aisle that ran straight down the centre of the Hall between the tiers of banked seats that now filled the place. Clusters of sallow lanterns hung from the ceiling and walls, replacing the glittering chandeliers and mirrorways that had brought light to innumerable past celebrations. Now, as though lit by a jaundiced moon, the Hall was pervaded by cold pallor and deep, concealing shadows.
Jeyan saw there were already a great many people present. Faces, rendered corpse-like by the light, turned to greet her entrance, then faded into the shadows as they bowed. Those following the procession drifted silently sideways up stairs and along walkways to fill the standing galleries at the rear and sides of the hall.
The tone of the drum became sharper and more jagged, attenuated by the shape of the Hall and the number of people occupying it.
As they reached the end of the Hall, Helsarn and his Guards moved to each side to form a line between the people and a dais on which was mounted a wide judicial bench. It had two levels. Behind the lower, standing motionless, was a group of people whose dark robes identified them to Jeyan as scribes and clerks. Like many officers of the Gevethen’s regime, they looked little different from those who had served the Count. Indeed, many of themwere those who had once served Ibryen, their new leaders keenly appreciating that there is no better device for the working of human cruelty than the belief that service to another or to an institution in some way absolves individuals from personal responsibility for their actions. But Jeyan noted these clean-handed toilers in the Gevethen’s charnel-house only in passing, as her attention was drawn inexorably to the bench itself. Unlike the clerks, this was markedly different from the one that had served the Count. That had been simple, elegant and workmanlike in its design; a symbol of the clarity and honesty that the Count strove for as he dispensed Nesdiryn’s law. The bench now facing Jeyan however, was a tangled mass of intricate carving; elaborately woven branches, full of barbed thorns and sinister blooms, formed recesses and shadows from which sharp-featured faces peered and tiny mirrors glittered like predatory night-eyes. The whole was obsessively symmetrical, patterns unfolding within patterns and all seeming to grow from a golden escutcheon at the centre which, like Jeyan’s cloak, bore the symbol of a single silver star. Unlike Jeyan’s cloak however, the star was surrounded by two sections of a ring, broken in the same manner as those which hung about the Gevethen’s necks. The bench was obviously the work of a considerable craftsman – a considerable, but tormented craftsman.
Jeyan hesitated as the Guards parted, but she was allowed no uncertainty about where she was to go as the servants manoeuvred her up on to the dais and thence to a chair behind the bench. Even when she sat down, the servants remained close to her, two of them flanking her, standing slightly behind. The chair was the centre of three and a partner to the bench, its straight, carved spine unwelcoming as she leaned back against it. Someone had placed a deep cushion on the seat. Presumably to allow for the difference in height between herself and Hagen, she decided, but the impromptu character of the adjustment heartened her a little – it was a peculiar flaw in the fearful perfection that surrounded the Gevethen, the perfection that had made the copy of Hagen’s uniform for her, that had turned servants almost into automata, that had turned the mirror-bearers into who could say what… and that reflected itself perhaps above all, in their meticulous, disturbingly symmetrical movements. She squeezed the cushion as if it might give her some kind of reassurance as she stared out at the moonlit rows of watching faces. It did not, though she valued the effort if only because it smacked of secret personal independence. Such small benefits as accrued from this rebellion however, were set at naught by the intensity of the focus she could feel boring through her.
Let me faint, she thought. Let me sink into darkness and wake up somewhere far from this. The thought had a pathetic, childlike quality to it such as she had not experienced in many years, and it brought a snarling scorn in its train. Let them stare. Cravens! Lickspittles! Sustaining this grotesque pair with their fawning cowardice. Her long hatred flared up suddenly, almost snatching her breath away. The Gevethen had murdered her parents and many of her friends and, whatever game they were playing with her, she would play it too, until eventually some further flaw in the seeming perfection of their rule would give her that one opportunity that would bring her revenge. She was not aware of any of this showing on her face, but the atmosphere in the hall changed perceptibly.
Her gaze drifted from the watchers to the bench in front of her. Save for a part of the top which was smooth and level and on which various papers were laid, the rest of the bench was a continuation of the elaborate carving that formed the front. It was as though the entire bench was a world of its own, a solid mass of labyrinthine weavings housing a myriad strange populations, all darkness and hidden movement. It added to her unease.
She had little time to ponder about the desk however, as a fluttering disturbance caught her eye. She did not need to look to know that it was the mirror-bearers presaging the entrance of their masters.
No drums to herald them, no guards to protect them, she thought. Fear announced them and the enigmatic mirror-bearers shielded them. There was a rustling from the assembled people as they slipped from their seats to kneel. The clerks below her bowed also. Presuming that she was expected to do the same, Jeyan made to move from her chair. However, though the servants on either side of her scarcely seemed to move, purposeful hands took her elbow and motioned her to stand. She had already felt the intent in such hands too often to dispute with them though she was half-expecting a further hand to push her head down into a respectful bow. None came however, and in its absence, she kept her gaze on the approaching group.
It was the first time she had looked at the Gevethen clearly from a distance, but it gave her no insight. The mirror-bearers moved about them with a precision and deftness that was chillingly unnatural. And even though she was aware of what she was looking at, it became difficult for her to differentiate the two principals from the images that hovered about them. Now a throng, now ordered rank and file, now a twisting line of pilgrims vanishing into an infinite distance…
The movement and constantly changing perspectives made her feel dizzy. Focus onthem, she demanded fiercely of herself. On them. Everything else is transient. Whatever purpose this endless reproducing of themselves served, whatever need it fulfilled, she could not begin to imagine, save that it was diseased, but any killing stroke she had to deliver eventually would have to be to the heart, and that is all she must see. Nothing must distract her.
Then, glowing inside her, came the revelation that she need only destroy the one to unbalance the other beyond recovery.
Only the one!
The Gevethen had reached the end of the aisle and were directly in front of her. A long row of dead, watery eyes stared up at her. No prompting came from the servants and she did not move. Instead, she looked at one of the two figures at the centre of the row.
Imbalance. The word came in the wake of her revelation. What it implied she could not hazard, but it was important, she knew.
Then, alarmingly, the two figures were moving apart, walking towards steps on either side of the dais. Though it was only a few paces, she sensed a tension growing as they moved further away from one another. As if to calm it, the mirror-bearers glided to and fro so that the diverging figures became merely the vanguard of two striding columns emerging from a busy cluster of their own kind at the centre, immediately before their Lord Counsellor.
Despite her new resolve Jeyan found herself still staring at this oddly shifting crowd when it abruptly disappeared, and the two Gevethen were at the chairs on either side of her. Hands took Jeyan’s elbows again and eased her down on to her seat. Only when she was sitting did the Gevethen sit, and only then did the audience rise from its knees. Though she did not look, she was aware of mirror-bearers seeping into the edge of her vision, as they began to hover at the ends of the bench. Others she could just hear moving behind her. Then merely by turning her eyes she saw more of them at the ends of the bench. What ghastly display was she part of for the benefit of this audience? she wondered.
Without any hint of an introduction, the Gevethen suddenly began speaking. Their harsh, simultaneous tones rasped across the Hall.
‘The Lord Counsellor Hagen has been translated from this place. It was his time. He has been taken so that he might better serve He who is to come. No greater honour can be granted. Yet too, he serves us as faithfully and diligently as ever, for his spirit remains with us still, in the body of his successor, Lord Counsellor Jeyan Dyalith.’
The power that had carried Jeyan from the dungeons now straightened her legs and slowly brought her to her feet. She reached forward and rested her hands on the bench to catch her balance. The force that had lifted her from her seat took her arms also then held her solid and leaning slightly forward in a posture of silent menace. Although she was a little calmer now than she had been when she first encountered the Gevethen, the complete absence of control over her own limbs was nevertheless terrifying. She could not begin to imagine what ghastly power it was that these creatures possessed, that enabled them to manipulate her thus, but it was overwhelming. The thought of disputing with it did not even occur to her. The part of her mind that was still thinking coherently tried to tell her that it was just something else about the Gevethen she would need to study, quietly and carefully, but it was the merest whisper of rationality in the tumult of panic that was suddenly clamouring inside her and she barely heard it.
It seemed that only her eyes could move, and as they searched through the coldly lit assembly she became aware of a movement rippling through them. It was like a wind blowing across a field of tall, dark grasses. They were standing and bowing. When the wind had passed and there was stillness, Jeyan’s head inclined forward a little as if in acknowledgement of this obeisance. Then she was seated again and released, and the dark grasses were swaying as the audience too, resumed their seats.
‘The forms must be observed, Lord Counsellor,’came the voices from either side of her, soft and sibilant.‘Remember this well. Without them, all is disorder and chaos, and His way is the bringing of order, of perfection, in all things.’
The question, ‘Who is this person you serve?’ formed, and despite herself was almost spoken, but the voices turned from her and raked out across the Hall.
‘Bring forward the first accused.’
There was a brief flurry of activity from the clerks just beneath her, then heavy rhythmic footsteps heralded the arrival of a solitary individual escorted by two Guards. He was barely capable of standing and his swollen face gave testimony to a severe beating. Blood was seeping through his torn shirt even as Jeyan looked at him.
One of the clerks intoned the man’s name, to which, after a none too gentle prod from one of the Guards, he nodded. The clerk continued. ‘You are charged with fomenting disorder and with the preaching of rebellion against the will of the people and to the detriment of the peace, in that you did aid and abet the followers of the outlaw Ibryen.’
The man gazed at the clerk blankly.
‘Serious charges,’the Gevethen said, their voices even more acid than normal. The sound seemed to bring the man to his senses.‘Who is Pleading Voice for this man?’
‘I am, your Excellencies.’
It was another of the clerks. He stood up, turned to face the Gevethen and bowed. Jeyan noted that his robes were of a different style to those worn by the others and of a conspicuously better quality. Further, his voice indicated a superior education. Anger began to curl inside her. A lawyer of some kind, she surmised. Are you one of those on whom my father leaned for support only to be abandoned? she thought viciously, memories flooding back to her.
‘Have you anything to say that will prove your innocence…?’
‘… your innocence?’
The voices, addressed directly to the prisoner, brought Jeyan sharply back to the present.
Fear filled the man’s face. He looked towards the lawyer who had stood up on his behalf but the man was apparently engrossed in some papers.
There being no help from this quarter, the man spoke for himself though with difficulty through his swollen mouth. ‘I’ve not done anything, Excellencies,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ve always supported you. I helped in the riots… the liberation… when the count… the outlaw Ibryen… was exposed and driven from the city.’
‘How are you here, then?’
The man shot another glance at his Pleading Voice, again to no avail. ‘I don’t know, your Excellencies. I was nowhere near the place where Lord Counsellor Hagen was…’ he faltered, obviously searching desperately for the word that had been used. ‘… where he was translated. I kept the curfew that followed. I was sitting peacefully in my house when, for no reason, the Guards broke down my door and started smashing everything and beating me and my family.’
The Gevethen leaned forward.
‘If this is so, then it may be that you have indeed been brought here unjustly. Order is our way, citizen. We cannot tolerate random and arbitrary behaviour by our servants…’
‘… our servants.’
Jeyan started and glanced quickly from one to the other. Their harsh tones were suddenly avuncular and concerned. The man became pathetically grateful. ‘Thank you, your Excellencies. Your justice is legendary. I knew you’d see that a mistake had been made when it was explained.’
A reassuring wave from the Gevethen silenced him and their voices became harsh again.‘Bring the Commander responsible for this man’s arrest before us so that these accusations can be put to him.’
There was a short pause, then Commander Gidlon appeared from somewhere at the side of the Hall. He moved hurriedly to the side of the prisoner and bowed deeply to the Gevethen.
‘You have the official account of this man’s arrest, Commander?’
‘I have, Excellencies.’ He held up a thick file of papers.
‘Read it then. In full. Omit nothing. Serious allegations have been made against the men in your command and they must be answered…’
‘… be answered.’
Their voices bore down on Gidlon powerfully and he began to look decidedly uncomfortable. The prisoner however, was brightening at each word, looking from the Gevethen to Gidlon in growing triumph.
Jeyan, orphaned by the Gevethen and moulded by the Ennerhald, watched the man in disbelief. Surely he couldn’t be taking this black charade at its face value? She did not know exactly what was happening, but she wanted to scream out to him, ‘Don’t listen to them, they’re taunting you! There’s no justice here, only treachery and death! Spit in their faces!’ But she knew that if she moved, either the hands of the servants or the Gevethen’s strange power would pinion her to the chair before she could utter a word. Yet, something else was restraining her. Then, from the darkness within her, where murder had hatched, it came. It was unexpected but not unfamiliar. It was a withering contempt. The man was a fool. He deserved whatever was going to happen to him. He’d been stupid enough to get himself arrested and he’d grovelled before the Gevethen and now he would see the measure of their gratitude. Watching him learn would be amusing.
Gidlon began to read. ‘The prisoner refused to open the door to your Guards, making it necessary for them to force an entry. He then assaulted them, injuring two before being overpowered. On searching this house, extensive evidence of his support for the outlaw Ibryen was found. Subsequent to his arrest, freed from the fear of his dangerous presence, witnesses have testified that on numerous occasions he has actively tried to persuade them to join him in plotting for the overthrowing of your Excellencies and the reinstatement of the outlaw Ibryen.’
His voice was brisk and formal and he stood smartly to attention when he had finished.
As Gidlon spoke, the prisoner’s face registered first disbelief and then indignation. Still having difficulty in speaking, he spluttered. ‘Lies! All lies! That wasn’t what happened. I never refused to open the door. I didn’t even know they were in the street until they smashed the door in. And they set about me… and my family… without any provocation.’ He turned to Gidlon. ‘You lying…’ He stopped himself and after a struggle to regain some composure, looked up in hopeful appeal to the Gevethen. ‘Your Excellencies. The officer is mistaken. Perhaps he’s confused my name with someone else’s. There was a great deal of confusion following Lord Counsellor Hagen’s… translation.’
‘Indeed,’the Gevethen agreed with sympathetic nods. They motioned to one of the clerks. There was a brief exchange between the prisoner, the clerk and Gidlon followed by a comparing of documents, then the announcement, ‘There is no error, Excellencies. All the papers are in order. Commander Gidlon’s report refers to this particular accused.’
The prisoner burst out, ‘Your Excellencies, you must believe me. This man is lying to protect himself. His men looted my house, beat me and my wife and son. And you can ask anyone who’s ever known me – my neighbours – my friends – I’ve never spoken against you, ever. You have no more loyal subject…’
But the little game was over. Jeyan sensed the mirror-bearers moving behind her. The Gevethen were themselves again, and the man’s words were frozen in his throat by whatever it was he was now looking up at.
‘Be silent. You add to your offences by continuing to lie thus and by impugning the integrity of our officers.’
‘We have already spoken to many of your friends and neighbours.’
‘They have denounced you.’
‘As a liar.’
‘As a follower of the outlaw Ibryen.’
The prisoner’s mouth dropped open as his gaze swung between the two Gevethen, then he turned to the lawyer. The Gevethen followed his lead.
‘Pleading Voice, is anything to be said to mitigate the guilt of this man…’
‘… this man?’
‘I’m guilty of nothing, Excellencies,’ the prisoner protested.
He was immediately the focus of the Gevethen’s attention.
‘You are perfect?’
‘Without flaw?’
The questions were spat out, their vicious tone striking the man like a spear. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came. Not that the Gevethen were waiting for an answer.
‘All are flawed, thus all are guilty. All that is to be determined here is the extent of your guilt.’
‘That is the law.’
‘Pleading Voice, what is to be said for this man?’
The lawyer slowly stood up and turned to the Gevethen. ‘Excellencies, the prisoner begs forgiveness and throws himself upon your mercy,’ he said portentously.
Jeyan suddenly found herself being addressed on either side by the Gevethen.
‘Thus it is, Lord Counsellor.’
‘Such are the imperfections that we have to deal with.’
‘Flawed…’
‘… Flawed.’
Their tone was confiding, encouraging, and hung about with the pains that the responsibilities of office brought. It told her that she was one of them now – or soon could be. One of those who held the power. But there was a question there also.
Jeyan looked down at the prisoner; his battered face was a mixture of anger and fear which gave it a sulky appearance. His manner invoked no sympathy. The man shouldn’t have got himself in this predicament. Her mind was racing. What was she being asked? She knew nothing of such proceedings, still less what she was doing here. What grotesque farce was being played out as part of her punishment?
‘He betrayed the usurper Count.’
‘Now he betrays us.’
‘He is on the verge of betraying those same neighbours and friends whose goodwill he just referred us to.’
‘What is the worth of such?’
‘He and his kind betrayed your father.’
‘Sentenced you to the Ennerhald.’
‘Denied you your place at our side.’
‘Should not the stable be cleansed, Lord Counsellor?’
‘Made pure?’
The disdain in their voices chimed with the contempt that, despite her own fear and confusion, was still dominating her thoughts. They were right, she knew. It was the likes of the man before her who had rallied fearfully behind the Gevethen when they had seized power. Had they shown some spirit, some determination, some loyalty to the Count, then perhaps the Gevethen’s coup would have foundered. But they hadn’t. They had run before the sight of the disloyal Guards, then they had bent the knee, and the Gevethen, having once taken hold, assiduously tightened their grip daily.
What did it matter if this wretch was disposed of? Left to linger in a dungeon somewhere. He was not the first, nor would he be the last, whether she was there, masquerading as Lord Counsellor, or not. The thought of the death pits passed suddenly through her mind, but she turned away from it. It wasn’t relevant. Whatever she said, this man had done nothing that would warrant execution, surely?
Her thoughts hardened and her contempt for the prisoner merged into that which she had for the Gevethen. Whatever else happened, she must keep the privileged position that they in their arrogance, or folly, or rank madness, had thrust her into. Sooner or later, an opportunity would present itself for her to destroy them.
The Gevethen were leaning towards her, staring intently. Once again their words returned to Jeyan.‘As you judge, so shall you be judged.’
‘What is your will, Lord Counsellor…?’
‘… Lord Counsellor?’
Jeyan hesitated, uncertain what she should say, then, almost as if someone else were speaking, she said coldly, ‘Betrayal cannot go unpunished, Excellencies. Nor can defiance.’
‘Ah!’
The two moon faces swam away from her as the Gevethen sat back in their chairs again.
‘Guilty,’they said.‘Send him to the Questioners to discover the extent of his betrayal then bring him before us again.’
Jeyan felt a coldness inside her at the word, ‘Questioners’, but she steeled herself. The Gevethen would do what they wanted to do and nothing she said or did would make any difference except to cost her her new-found advantage.
The two Guards closed about the man and marched him away. Just as they passed out of sight, Jeyan saw him stumble and to the sound of the marching was added that of feet being dragged over the close-timbered floor. She closed her ears to it.
Several hours later, Jeyan was back in her room sitting dully in front of a lavishly spread table. The Gevethen had accompanied her there in a formal train.
‘You have learned much, Lord Counsellor.’
‘You will be a worthy successor.’
‘Eat.’
‘Rest.’
‘More are to be judged tomorrow.’
As she sat motionless, the happenings of the day passed relentlessly through her mind, over and over. An endless line of prisoners paraded before her. She could feel their eyes on her still: expectant, contemptuous, angry, a few full of hatred, most full of fear. As for her own part in the proceedings, she was still no wiser. There had been some sadistic toying with each prisoner by the Gevethen, ably assisted by the clerks and the Guards, then she had been turned to for‘her will’. Each time she had intoned to herself, ‘As you judge, so shall you be judged,’ and then uttered the condemnation that she knew was expected. And each time the Gevethen had passed sentence as though they had been enlightened by her in some way.
Alone in the silence of her room, other thoughts came to trouble her, for, more than once that day, she had found herself enjoying the tormenting of the prisoners, enjoying the revenge she was taking on the people who had betrayed her and her family and the old Nesdiryn, and who now found the new Nesdiryn betraying them in their turn. She could not avoid relishing the idea that from where she now was, vengeance could be taken on more than the Gevethen.
Nevertheless, though she drank a little water, she ate nothing and she spent a restless night.
The following day was no different, though this time several of the prisoners had been to the Questioners and were being returned for sentencing. They were in an appalling physical condition and Jeyan wilfully gazed past many of them rather than risk meeting their gaze. Each one however, freely admitted a raft of crimes against the Gevethen and bowed when they were sentenced.
It came to Jeyan during that second day that whatever else they were doing, the Gevethen were showing her one of her own possible destinies. It strengthened her resolve to retain her present position at any cost.
That night she ate, and she slept more quietly.
It was before dawn when she was awakened. The servants were moving about the room with unusual urgency and she was dressed before she was fully awake.
‘What’s happening?’ she managed to ask eventually.
Even as she asked the question however, the Gevethen were in the room. Though their round, pale faces were expressionless, there was an agitation about them that she had not seen before, and indeed, the mirror-bearers were transforming them into a trembling crowd.
Fearfully she dropped on to one knee and bowed her head.
‘Lord Counsellor, you have judged well…’
‘… judged well.’
‘But there is a lack.’
‘A vision is missing.’
‘Hagen has not taught you well enough.’
Memories returned of falling through the darkness with Hagen’s spirit all about her. But what were they talking about? Though Hagen’s presence had undeniably been there, he had communicated nothing to her. He had simply been there.
And so too, in whatever passed for distance in that strange world, had been Assh and Frey – hunting. Though she could not understand what had happened, the idea began to form that in some way the Gevethen’s intentions in taking her into the world beyond had been thwarted, and they were not aware of it.
Not yet! The realization brought her fully awake. ‘Excellencies, have I failed you?’ she asked. ‘My wish is only to serve.’
There was an agonizing pause during which Jeyan saw herself being dragged to the Questioners and returning to confess in the Judgement Hall, looking up at the Gevethen and admitting to any crimes that were put to her.
‘Hagen must complete his work. We will hold Vigil, now. Come, rise.’
As Jeyan stood, the Gevethen moved to her side, and the two large mirrors came together in front of her.