‘My… apologies, Lord Counsellor,’ Helsarn stammered, lowering his hand awkwardly and bowing as he stepped back. ‘I was about to knock. Their Excellencies ask that you attend on them in the Watching Hall.’
Helsarn’s momentary confusion prevented him from noticing Jeyan’s.
Her stomach became leaden. What did they want? Had they been searching for her yesterday?
‘There are no servants to carry such errands, Commander?’ she asked sharply, forcing herself to remain at least outwardly calm.
Helsarn misunderstood the question at first, but provided the answer to one she was reluctant to ask. ‘Your body servants have been called to the mirrors, Lord Counsellor,’ he said hurriedly. ‘And it was not fitting that a lesser person carry such a message.’
Jeyan nodded and motioned him to lead the way. She noticed that he was dressed for travel, and was carrying a helmet under his arm. ‘The mobilization goes well?’ she asked as they walked along.
‘It does, Lord Counsellor. It has gathered pace through the night and new units are arriving by the hour. Such a Levying will enter Nesdiryn history as a truly great military achievement. A force is being gathered that will crush the outlaw Ibryen’s rag-tag followers once and for all, and bring him back to Dirynhald in chains.’ He took the opportunity to associate his own name with this glory. ‘It’s been a great honour for me to play my small part in such a venture.’
‘Indeed,’ Jeyan said coldly. The news added to the darkness growing within her. It wasn’t possible that Ibryen could stand against the forces being marshalled. More and more it was becoming apparent that she was the only one who could put an end to the Gevethen. ‘Ibryen will prove no easy prey,’ she said. ‘What is the condition of the men?’
Helsarn half-turned towards her. The question was unexpected and he started answering without thinking. ‘Those from the city and nearby are fresh. Others…’ He hesitated, realizing that he was on the verge of casting doubts on what was happening. This creature was beginning to unsettle him as much as Hagen had.
‘Yes?’ Jeyan pressed.
Cornered, Helsarn resorted to the truth for inspiration. ‘Others are sore and weary with the hard marching when they arrive, but the very nearness of their Excellencies sweeps all fatigue away.’ He began to walk a little more quickly, his body reflecting his anxiety to be away from this topic. In reality, the men in some of the units could barely stand and were on the verge of mutiny. The news was being kept from the Gevethen as their response was already known: ‘Execute one in ten.’ Helsarn wanted no part of that. Not that he suffered from any problem with his conscience in taking such an action, but what might be expedient in a single, isolated unit was another matter altogether when so many were being held in such close proximity to one another and in so disorganized a manner. He also had sufficient foresight to see that in the difficult mountain-fighting that was to come, opportunities for the discreet removal of unpopular officers would abound. They continued in silence, Jeyan preoccupied with what the Gevethen might want, Helsarn relieved not to have compounded his error.
As on the previous day, the Citadel was alive with activity, though to Jeyan it seemed to be a little more ordered. When they reached the Watching Hall, the Guards opened the doors without command and Helsarn entered as well. It took Jeyan a moment to orient herself amid the scattered lights and the crooked, dully glittering towers that rose, tree-like, into the dusty gloom. She was sure that these had been moved, but it did not seem possible, some of them were so large. Her eyes went first to the high throne platform at the far end, but it was empty. Then they were drawn to the only movement in the place. Turned into a milling crowd by the surrounding mirror-bearers, the Gevethen were standing at the centre of the hall, in what could almost be called a clearing in this strange forest. For a fleeting instant Jeyan felt the urge to turn and flee but her legs were already obeying the command she had given them, and were carrying her resolutely towards the waiting throng. She was aware that it was Helsarn who was now following.
As she drew nearer, the mirror-bearers continued moving. There were more of them than before, Jeyan thought, though it was difficult to tell, they moved so quickly and with such eerie precision. The Gevethen became a circle, then there were just six of them, and Jeyan became aware of converging lines of marchers on either side of her. She was approaching the Gevethen flanked by lines of herself. The marchers glanced at her surreptitiously.
A thought came to her, sudden and vivid. Should she strike now? Should she spring forward instead of kneeling, and drive her knife into the throat of one of them? The answer crashed upon her with such force that she almost stumbled. Yes! This was the moment. Another might never come. Who could say what they wanted her for, or when she might come so close to them alone and armed again? She embraced the resolve. This day in Nesdiryn history was going to be very different from the one that Helsarn imagined, though he would indeed be mentioned in it – if he lived, for she was steeling herself for a frenzy of killing that would not stop until she was exhausted or dead.
She straightened up and ran a hand casually down her tunic as if smoothing it. The actions brought her hand close to her knife. Her heart began to race. Soon it would be over. She wished Assh and Frey were with her. What an end to these creatures they’d make together!
Then something seemed to be wrapping itself about her legs. It was as though she was wading through water or deep soft sand. The resistance increased with each forward movement and within a single pace she was completely halted. She recognized the force that had possessed her on the march from the dungeons. She was powerless against it. Her tight-wound intent twisted and screamed within her at this unseen and unexpected frustration and turned instantly to terror. Did they know about the knife? Had they sensed her intention? She did the only thing she could. She dropped to her knees and bowed her head.
‘Rise, Lord Counsellor,’the two voices grated out.‘We are to the battlefield today. The worm eating at the heart of our new order is soon to be torn out.’
It took a moment for the words to register, so prepared for an assault was she, and then it was a strange excitement in them that reached her first.
‘I go where you will, Excellencies, though I am no soldier,’ she managed to say, though she remained kneeling. The excitement filled with a repellent amusement.
‘You are a life-taker, it is sufficient.’
Jeyan felt naked, exposed and suddenly sick. For a moment she could neither speak nor move. Then relief swept over her – she had not been discovered! In its wake, her hatred returned to make her wholly herself again. Let them take the consequences of bringing a life-taker so close to their scrawny throats then, she blazed silently. But it could not be now, for all about her she could feel the force that was keeping her from moving closer, like a glutinous expression of their will.
As she was about to stand, Helsarn said, ‘May I speak, Excellencies?’
‘Commander.’
‘Excellencies, I’m concerned for your safety in the mountains,’ he began. ‘Several of your servants within the city have returned with the same rumour. It’s said that the outlaw Ibryen has left his secret camp and that he plans to come upon you from a direction that cannot be guarded against.’
The amusement grew.‘Your concern is unnecessary, Commander. We are guarded in all Ways.’
Helsarn persisted. ‘I have never known so widespread a rumour before, Excellencies. It is most unusual. And there are many narrow and dangerous places in the mountains.’
Jeyan sensed the mood about her changing towards one of impatience, then abruptly there was stillness and silence.
‘Leave us, Commander.’
The command was like the snapping of dried twigs under a soft and long-feared footfall. Jeyan heard Helsarn leaving. The silence remained. Then a soft hissing filled it. The Gevethen were whispering – it was like the wind across a graveyard. She strained forward. The power that was holding her at bay had eased, but it was still there. She made no further effort. She was too far away, and besides, could do nothing from her knees. She remembered too well how quickly the mirror-bearers had moved when she was being escorted from the dungeons. She caught snatches of the conversation.
‘He is coming through the Ways.’The wind rose and fell, punctuated by gusts of panic but gradually changing to an uneasy confidence.
‘He fled from us…’
‘But he was there. And with a strange companion.’
‘Could his army come thus?’
‘Let him come.’
‘We are guarded.’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes.’
The whispering faded and she was the focus of their attention again.‘Rise, Lord Counsellor. And follow. The hand of our law must be seen to reach into all places.’
Then there was confusion and movement, and while, the previous day, she had floated idle and neglected at the edge of the Gevethen’s great enterprise, now she stood near its centre, as they moved through the Citadel. She watched, fascinated and scornful, as senior army and Guards’ officers, and high-ranking officials, came and went seeking advice about this, bringing news about that, wanting to know ‘their Excellencies’ will’. And all were afraid. It was good.
Yet, though she was by the Gevethen’s side, still she could come no nearer to them; still their mysterious power held her away.
And always, the mirror-bearers were about them, moving relentlessly to their own unheard tune. There were more than there had been before, she decided, for she noticed several if not all of her own servants amongst them, including Meirah, the only one with whom she had spoken. Twice she deliberately caught her eye, but there was no response. The woman’s face was as blank and cold as all the other mirror-bearers. Somehow their behaviour was almost more frightening than any of the overt menace of the Gevethen. Was this what was in store for her? Was this what was in store for everyone? An eerie, pointless perfection? The question tugged at her incessantly even though she knew she would never know the answer. By one means or another she would be dead before such a thing could come about.
Then, at the front of a crowd of officials, she was witnessing the departure of the Gevethen. It was an event without formal ceremony, though there was a large escort of Citadel Guards, armoured and carrying short, axe-headed pikes which gleamed viciously even in the grey light. Apart from the group behind her, such onlookers as there were did not linger, for fear that their dawdling would be taken as a lack of enthusiasm for the Gevethen’s grand design. There were however, many discreet glances made from the safety of the Citadel’s curtained windows. For the most part these were to satisfy the watchers that their beloved masters were indeed leaving – it was a rare occurrence – but there was also great curiosity about the Gevethen’s strange carriage. Not that ‘carriage’ was a particularly fitting word for the contrivance that was to carry them to the mountains, except in so far as it resembled a funeral carriage. Black and huge, and in two articulated sections, it was pulled by six horses. Its sides flared up and out, curling over at the eaves into ornate carvings like a tangle of thorns from which wild-eyed faces gaped down at passers-by. There were apparently no windows in it though there was a platform at each end large enough to carry the Gevethen and several of the mirror-bearers had they so desired. Toiling figures decorated the rims of the wheels and the spokes and hubs were carved into angles and barbed spikes. The whole was covered in intricate carvings, though, being black on black they could be examined only by standing very closely. The only relief to the dark complexity was a single silver star set on each side. They were identical to that which adorned Jeyan’s judicial bench, though here there were no gold escutcheons nor broken rings. The effect was stark and frightening.
A row of more conventional carriages waited behind it. Jeyan watched as the Gevethen moved down the stone steps and into the back of their menacing vehicle which opened silently at their approach. The mirror-bearers moved round them as ever, only much closer than usual and in such a way that they could not be seen. Nor did any of their confusing images emerge into the dull daylight. Jeyan was reminded again of some soft-shelled creature scuttling for the darkness of its lair. Many of the enlarged contingent of mirror-bearers did not enter the carriage but moved alongside it, standing between it and the Guards. As the carriage moved off, the mirrors began to move again, making it seem that the carriage was being carried on many legs. It was an unsettling sight.
Jeyan turned away from it and looked back up the steps to the door through which the Gevethen had come. It occurred to her that before the mirror-bearers had closed about them they had seemed so much smaller, so much more fragile, so much more easy to kill. The recollection brought with it a sudden sense of incongruity about the Gevethen’s great black carriage. What use would that thing be in the mountains? she thought. There was many a street in Dirynhald that it couldn’t negotiate, let alone the terrain they would encounter once over the river. How were they going to cope then? She remembered Helsarn’s concern about the narrow passes. She shared it. The Gevethen were hers, they mustn’t fall to some nameless ambusher.
Then Helsarn was discreetly ushering her into a carriage of her own. As she was entering it she saw the Citadel officials who had been standing behind her dashing with unseemly haste for the other carriages. It was not until she had been inside it for some time and it was rattling out of the courtyard that she realized it was the one in which she had murdered Hagen. The thought amused her greatly and, leaning back, away from the window, she laughed silently to herself and laid her hand on her knife.
The journey through the city was uneventful, news of the Gevethen’s passage having sped ahead and emptied the streets more effectively than a sudden thunderstorm. Such people as were about were kneeling, heads bowed by the time Jeyan’s carriage passed them. That added to her amusement though her main interest lay in the familiar buildings passing by. This had been her territory once, or, more correctly, it had been the rich neighbour to her territory upon which she was free to prey for whatever needs she had. At one point they came near to the edge of the Ennerhald and several times it occurred to her that a bold leap from the carriage and a few strides would lead her into the confusion of alleys, cellars and derelict buildings that had long served as a protective labyrinth to her land. But it would indeed have to be a bold leap for it would have to carry her through two lines of Guards, and Helsarn and other senior officers were also moving up and down the columns on horseback. And what would be the point? Now that the possibility of escape was nearer than it had been at any time since she had been captured, she realized its futility. The Ennerhald held nothing for her now. It had served its turn. It had trained her in the skills she needed and carried her to the heart of her enemy.
When they came to the outskirts of the city, the carriage began to slow and Jeyan had to fight back an urge to lean out of the window to see what was happening. It soon became apparent as they began to pass ragged lines of soldiers moving in the same direction. Travel-stained and obviously exhausted, they contrasted markedly with the immaculate Guards escorting the Gevethen’s train. To Jeyan it seemed not that they were about to fight a battle, but that they had already fought one and were in retreat. What condition would these people be in by the time they reached the mountains? Briefly and somewhat to her surprise, she was torn. How many of these people would die needlessly in the Gevethen’s sudden manic need to capture Ibryen? How many of them had wives and families dependent on them, fretting for them? Visions of sad faces and weeping eyes began to come to her. She crushed them as violently as if they had been so many snakes. These people had betrayed their lawful lord and chosen to follow the Gevethen, now they could suffer the consequences, now they could feel the weight of the Gevethen’s justice. Had anyone seen her face at that moment they would indeed have believed that Lord Counsellor Hagen had returned to possess her.
The informal escort to the train grew as they continued, more incoming troops joining at every crossroads they came to. Not all were in the same sorry state as the first group they had encountered, but all were obviously tired.
Then there was cheering ahead and into Jeyan’s view came the transit camp whose fires and lanterns she had seen lighting the sky on the previous night. It was an inglorious sight. Bedraggled tents had been thrown up, to all appearances at random, to stand like decaying fungi on what had been rich meadow-land, but which was now an expanse of brown earth, churned into mud by foot, hoof and wheel. It seemed to Jeyan that there were hundreds of men involved in almost as many activities. More tents were being erected, carts were being wrenched through the clinging mud, equipment was being carried hither and thither, put down, picked up and carried somewhere else, reluctant horses and mules were being sworn at and whipped, reluctant soldiers were being sworn at and threatened with whipping. Harassed officers and officials were stumbling through the disorder watching the confusion increase with each step they took to bring order. Men were walking, running, marching, standing on guard, standing around fires, or just wandering aimlessly.
The cheering was coming from groups of soldiers lining the road, though there was little enthusiasm in the sound and still less in the faces that Jeyan saw as her carriage moved past them. She noticed officers standing at the rear, obviously there to ensure that this spontaneous burst of loyalty to the Gevethen and their entourage went as planned.
She glanced towards the mountains. The grey mistiness hiding them was nearer. Rain was coming. Good, she thought. The camp would be like a swamp before the day was out.
It took the Gevethen’s train some time to pass the camp, then it was moving along the road that would carry it to the mountains. Once this had been little more than a winding track used by local farmers, leading eventually to a modest bridge which served the few people who chose to live on the other side of the river. It had been adequate. It was, after all, a road to nowhere.
Now, to facilitate the regular campaigns into the mountains, the bridge, hitherto capable of carrying a few cows, had been replaced by one which could carry columns of marching men, provided they had the wit to break step. The track too, bore the marks of progress. It had been widened and straightened and metalled, so that in parts it was the equal of some of the finest avenues within the city itself. It was still a road to nowhere, however.
And it could not cope with the traffic that was passing along it now. From time to time the carriages stopped. Jeyan gave little thought to such interludes though the causes often made themselves known as she passed carts with shattered wheels and broken shafts languishing by the roadside, their contents tipped out haphazardly and their escorts struggling to make temporary repairs or standing round staring vacantly at the damage. What price your great army, Gevethen, halted for lack of a wheelwright? she thought darkly, though her amusement was tempered by the knowledge that the halts were only temporary and that the many soldiers walking alongside, never stopped. The army, though weary, was making relentless progress.
Then it was raining. Steady, vertical rain. It rattled on the top of her carriage, splashed on the close-paved roadway, and drenched the escorting Guards. She leaned back into the comfort of the well-upholstered seat and imagined the rain making its leisurely way along to the camp, ignoring the prayers and curses of the occupants as they saw it approaching. It would take very little to turn the camp into a quagmire and, she judged from the sky, this would continue all day. It was all very satisfying.
Eventually they were moving over the bridge. The river was high with water from the melting snows. Like a panicking crowd fleeing from a great terror, waves rose and fell, grey and spuming white, as they shouldered one another aside to force their way through the constricting arches of the bridge. The sight made Jeyan thankful that she had not attempted the journey to the mountains. At some point she would have had to cross this and even at its least turbulent, during the summer, it would still have been very dangerous.
She did not dwell on the thought. All such conjecturing had been taken from her now. The bridge, however, caught her attention. It was the first time since they had passed the camp that she realized the changes that had been made to the road. How far did it go? she wondered. She tried to remember the model that she had seen Helsarn studying, but without success. Almost without thinking what she was doing she began raking through long-buried memories of childhood when she had occasionally been brought here by her parents. A vague picture of a wide cart-track winding through the increasingly hilly countryside came to her. It passed by a few farmhouses, then became narrower and narrower until it just petered out. A flood of other memories came in the wake of this, all of them painful, and she shied away from them violently, pressing herself tight into the corner of the seat as if to hide there. From here she found that she could peer through the window without being seen from the outside. The road was turning slightly and she could just make out one side of the Gevethen’s black, lumbering carriage. The discovery availed her little however, for the mist and the rain obscured not only the mountains but everything beyond a hundred paces or so.
The carriages rolled on. The escorting Guards marched on. The army trudged on.
And Jeyan learned the answer to her question; how far did the road go? It was a long way – and she soon stopped searching into the mist ahead. By the time the carriage came to a final stop, it was late afternoon and the overcast sky was bringing night early. Despite the comfort of the carriage, Jeyan found she was stiff and tired when she tried to move. As a consequence, she had no difficulty in maintaining the stern expression that she had chosen to affect when Helsarn opened the door. He was soaked.
‘This is our base camp, Lord Counsellor,’ he said. ‘Quarters have been prepared for you.’
As Jeyan stepped from the carriage she found herself under an awning supported by four Citadel servants. She took a deep breath. Unexpectedly, the damp coldness of the mountain air rushed into her like a bright morning wakening and she felt her every muscle and joint crying out to be stretched so that this would fill her entire body. She forced herself to stillness. She must show as few signs of her humanity as possible. It took her some effort and it showed.
‘Is anything wrong, Lord Counsellor?’ Helsarn asked, a small cascade of rainwater running from his helmet as he leaned forward.
Jeyan slowly glanced back along the line of carriages. Servants carrying awnings were also protecting the contents currently being disgorged, and the grey mountain light was spreading a demeaning hand over the cream of the Gevethen’s administrators and officials. It reduced them to creaking, arm-waving, bent-backed shadows, floundering pathetically now they were away from the musty twilight of their normal environment. Jeyan was glad that she had forced herself not to respond to her natural instinct after leaving her carriage. Helsarn surreptitiously followed her gaze. Seeing themselves so examined, the nearest officials stopped their fussing and bowed respectfully. Jeyan allowed her mouth a small twist of contempt as she turned away to look at the Gevethen’s great carriage. By contrast with the others, there was no activity about it at all save for the steam that was rising from the motionless horses.
‘Their Excellencies’ quarters could not be prepared until they arrived, Lord Counsellor,’ Helsarn said, anticipating her question.
The remark meant nothing to Jeyan. ‘Take me to mine,’ she said curtly.
As they moved off, the servants carrying the awning moved with them, like a poor imitation of the Gevethen’s mirror-bearers. The carriages had stopped on an area just to one side of the road along which the army was still passing. It was covered with crushed stones. They were loose underfoot and obviously had not long been laid for only a few small puddles had gathered. Around the area was an array of tents. They were black and rectangular and, to Jeyan, looked like so many rotten teeth set in pallid gums. Helsarn led Jeyan to the largest. As she stepped inside it was as though she had been transported back to the Citadel. Not because of the furnishings which, though similar to those in her room, were simpler and more sparse, but because of the gloomy lighting and the general atmosphere. How could that clinging heaviness have survived the journey and the rain-sodden erection? she thought. Perhaps it was the low sloping ceiling that heightened the sense of oppression, perhaps the black walls, perhaps the many mirrors. She did not dwell on the question. All she knew was that she did not want to stay here one moment longer than was necessary. She needed to be out in the fresh clean air.
‘Get me a cape and hood,’ she said as she took in the scene again.
Helsarn, who was standing at the entrance, dripping respectfully, looked uncertain.
Receiving no reply, Jeyan turned and repeated her request with an edge to her voice. ‘I wish to inspect the camp and the men,’ she added.
Helsarn started. ‘Lord Counsellor, this section is for their Excellencies’ staff,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘The main camp is further up the valley. It’s…’ He was about to say, ‘very disorganized’, but caught himself in time. ‘There’s a great deal of activity going on up there – men, equipment, animals, moving everywhere. And the weather’s made the ground very treacherous. We’ve had several serious accidents already…’
‘A cape and hood,’ Jeyan repeated coldly, cutting across his explanation. Helsarn hesitated, then saluted and strode off. Jeyan looked around her new quarters again, and she had to fight down an urge to lay about her, to smash this wretched remnant of Hagen’s personality, to shatter all these mirrors, to tear down the walls and let an honest light into the place.
Helsarn was not long and when he returned, Commander Gidlon was with him. Helsarn was carrying a cape, but both men looked decidedly uneasy. They had had a swift and uncomfortable conference. Even Helsarn’s unspoken remark that the camp proper was – very disorganized had been a euphemism. It was a little way short of complete chaos and it was only ruthless action by the army and Guards’ officers that was bringing any sense of order to it. It was true there had been several serious accidents. There had also been a far larger number of summary executions, for offences ranging from the questioning of orders to preaching mutiny and actually attacking officers. It was no brave-hearted soldiery that was going boldly to face the outlaw Count and free their land.
By far the greater part of it was a bedraggled and conscript army whose only choice was to move forward and take their chance against the Count’s followers, or risk the swords of their officers if they retreated.
For Gidlon and the other Commanders, the idea that the Lord Counsellor should see any of this and thence confide it to the Gevethen was unthinkable, not to mention the fact that they might not be able to guarantee her safety, so uncertain were conditions there.
‘Lord Counsellor,’ Gidlon said, saluting, then dropping to one knee. ‘I’ve brought the cape as you asked, but may I respectfully request that you remain here. As Commander Helsarn has doubtless told you, so much is being done so quickly to implement their Excellencies’ orders and conditions are so bad that the camp is very dangerous.’
For a moment Jeyan considered debating with him. As Helsarn had gone running for help, it was obvious that there was something they did not wish her to see. Instead however, she decided on silence and, walking past him, she took the cape from Helsarn.
Gidlon rose and tried again. ‘Lord Counsellor, please allow me a little time to select an appropriate escort of Guards for you…’ He stopped. As did Jeyan.
She was standing with the cape draped over one shoulder, staring at the activity now filling the area centred by the Gevethen’s carriage. Silent figures were rapidly erecting a further tent, though it was very different from the ones already built. Black canvases were already spanning from the high eaves of the Gevethen’s carriage to those of Jeyan’s tent and those of her immediate neighbours, and others were being run out even as Jeyan and the two Commanders watched. An unnatural nightfall was descending ahead of the premature one being brought by the weather. Jeyan felt as though she were watching the building of a great spider’s web. She felt also, the oppression within her tent slowly growing around her, threatening to enclose the entire area. And the smooth efficiency of the silent builders was deeply unnerving. It was as though they were part of a machine rather than the people they appeared to be.
Gidlon recovered his composure first. He did not know what was happening but, in his time, he had seen many strange things happen around the Gevethen and he had schooled himself to accept them without comment. ‘Lord Counsellor,’ he said, after a while, lowering his voice as though he were in a holy place. ‘Any danger aside, should their Excellencies wish to seek your advice it will be difficult for us to find you quickly if you’re wandering about the main camp.’ Receiving no immediate rebuff he risked embroidering his tale. ‘I will tell the men of your wish to visit them. They’ll find it heartening.’
Dull lanterns were being hung from the ceiling. The hiss of the rain striking the stones was becoming a low drumming note. Jeyan motioned the two Commanders to leave her.
She stood as if unable to move, until the great dark tent was completed. Then, head bowed, she turned and went back into her own.