Helsarn did not move. Indeed, he was scarcely capable of moving. Though he could not see anything, he knew that the Gevethen were approaching him – they sent fear before them like a shadow. At the edge of his vision he could see the legs of one of the stretcher party. They were shifting as Hagen’s body was hoisted up on to their owner’s shoulders as the Gevethen had ordered, but all Helsarn could see was that they were trembling. A visible reflection of his own inner feelings. He was glad he could not see the man’s face.
‘Stand firm, my children…’
‘… my children.’
‘Hold him steady and strong as he held you…
‘… held you.’
‘Where will this city, this land, be without the likes of him, brother?’
‘Where indeed, brother?’
‘Chaos may ensue.’
‘Chaos.’
‘Sure of touch, perceptive of heart, gentle arbiter of our will…’
‘… our will.’
‘Such men are as water in the desert, as diamonds in the mire.’
‘Rare beyond price.’
‘Where shall such as he be found?’
‘Who would seek to wound us so?’
Both voices came together to speak this last; cold, piercing and dissonant. They spoke again.
‘Who, Captain Helsarn?’
Helsarn had had comparatively few dealings direct with the Gevethen, but they had been enough to teach him that no bravado could disguise his feelings from them and it would be folly to try. Hagen himself had bent the knee before them, and he was not Hagen. The question skewered him like an icy spear.
‘I do not know, Excellencies,’ he said, his voice steadier than he had hoped. ‘People have been brought here from the scene for questioning, but I fear the true culprits had escaped even before we knew what had happened.’
‘Merely fled, Captain. Not escaped. Escape is not possible. Such a deed carries the inevitable destruction of the doer at its very heart. Time will bring him to us.’
Rain began to fall. Helsarn could feel large, cold drops striking his bent back. They threatened to release the violent shivering that he was holding pent within him. Dark robes came into his vision. The Gevethen were in front of him.
‘Rise, Captain. We would look on your face…’
‘… your face.’
Helsarn forced his legs to respond, but the fear of the consequences of disobedience only just outweighed the fear of facing his masters.
Pale moon faces and drifting watery grey eyes hovered in the darkness of the hooded robes before him, while white and flaccid hands floated against it, having what appeared to be a life and will of their own, moving in ways quite divorced from anything that was being said.
The Gevethen were identical.
They were never apart.
When they moved, they moved as one. Sometimes like shadows, each of the other, and sometimes like reflections, opposing one another, unsettling and disorienting for any who saw them.
When they spoke, one voice would often follow the other, trailing behind like a lingering echo, though at times they would speak simultaneously, and then their voices were jarring and jagged, tearing through the hearer like a barbed weapon.
None knew from where they came.
Nor could any surmise what they thought.
Since the ousting of the Count, they had set aside all that might have drawn away from their disconcerting appearance, wearing now only simple black robes, undecorated save for the shattered half of a small iron ring which hung about the neck of each on a fine black chain. Frequently, the restless hands would carry fingertips to run delicately over this broken remnant, then they would linger down the palm of the other hand, and sometimes across the face. And, at times, after this, each would touch the other, as if to assure themselves that they were truly there.
The only colour to be seen about them lay in red, voluptuous mouths, as full and sensual as their garb was ascetic and spare.
And where went the Gevethen, there went their mirror-bearers; mute servants whose own gaze, fixed, as it seemed to be, on some other place, was almost as disconcerting as that of the Gevethen themselves. They moved elaborately about their masters as if dancing to music that they alone could hear, carrying black-edged mirrors which they shifted and turned constantly. Sometimes these were held so close as to form almost a shield wall, while at others they straggled in loose, fluttering skeins as though they were being swept out by a buffeting wind. When talking to one another, the Gevethen would often address their images instead of each other until the conversation appeared to exist only between the images, and reality and reflection became indistinguishable.
Occasionally a soft, hissed command would send the mirrors into a frenzy, quivering and changing for no reason that was readily apparent. Always however, they were arranged so that many images of the Gevethen paraded in front of the hapless onlooker. Who the mirror-bearers were, and how they had come by their appointment, no one knew, and no one inquired. They disturbed Helsarn. They disturbed everybody, as did all the Gevethen’s close servants.
Helsarn came to attention and fixed his eyes forward. The Gevethen being shorter than he was, he hoped that way to avoid looking directly at them. Who could tell what they could see when they looked into a man’s eyes? Or, worse, who could tell what he would see? It was said that men had been driven insane by their gaze. But he knew that the attempt would be in vain; the gaze of the Gevethen was not to be avoided. The rain began to fall more heavily.
The mirrors twitched and the many heads of the Gevethen, tilted and viewed their Captain.
‘He is true and loyal.’
‘He served the traitor Count.’
‘He was not cherished, nor did he cherish. And he has the mark of Hagen about him.’
‘He let the Lord Counsellor die.’
There was a long silence. The heads tilted again. Grey eyes, streaking now in the rain, washed over Helsarn. He began to sweat.
‘He will account in time, will you not, Captain?’
‘I am yours to command, Excellencies.’ Helsarn tried to keep the fear out of his voice.
There was a long silence, then:
‘Indeed.’
‘Indeed.’
The scrutiny was gone. The mirrors drifted sinuously after the Gevethen and all attention was turned to the body of Hagen. A floating gesture from the hands brought the stretcher unsteadily down again and the two figures, rain falling grey and straight about them, bent over it like riverside willows. Fingertips touched, and there was a soft muttering.
‘Bring the Lord Counsellor to the Watching Chamber…’
‘…Watching Chamber.’
‘We will guide you…’
‘… guide you.’
Then, Helsarn felt the focus return to him. Two voices spoke as one.
‘Captain, we require the Physician Harik to be with us now.’
Abruptly released, Helsarn saluted smartly, turned on his heel, and started off at the double across the courtyard. He did not dare to look back, but as he passed a window he saw a reflection of the Gevethen and their mirror-bearers passing into the shade of the ornate canopy, followed by the Guards struggling to keep the stretcher level. Even as he looked, the images of the Gevethen seemed to stare back at him, probing still, urging him forward.
Get used to it, he thought. There was no worthwhile future to be had here other than by their side, and on the whole, they looked after their own well enough. It was not as satisfactory a conclusion as he would have wished, but he was spared any further inner debate by the appearance of Harik coming around the corner. With the hood of his cloak pulled up against the rain he looked even taller than ever.
‘Where?’ the Physician asked before Helsarn could deliver his message.
‘The Watching Chamber,’ Helsarn replied. He fell in beside him, matching as well as he was able the long steady strides. It was uncomfortable for him. He felt the need to speak. After the Gevethen, even Harik seemed approachable. ‘They came out for him. Into the courtyard. Into the light,’ he said.
Harik glanced up at the Citadel’s main tower. ‘Tolled the Dohrum too. Nine times,’ he said, apparently ignoring Helsarn’s remarks. ‘Could have brought the tower down on their heads.’ He became pensive. ‘Nine times, eh?’ And after a moment, he intoned softly to himself.
‘In the ninth hour of the Last Battle…’
His voice faded.
Helsarn craned forward. ‘Pardon?’
Harik shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just the beginning of a story I used to know,’ he replied. ‘Came to mind for some reason.’
Helsarn felt almost as though he had shared a great confidence with the Physician. Harik never made small talk. He must be as shaken as the rest of us, he thought. Probably scared witless under that stony exterior. Yet even as the idea came to him, he knew it was wrong. Harik might well have been shaken by the death of Hagen, but any fears he had would almost certainly be for other than his own skin. He was that kind of man. This insight merely added to Helsarn’s discomfort and he made no effort to continue the conversation as they walked across the courtyard and up the broad steps that led to the entrance the Gevethen had used. Guards opened the doors and snapped to attention.
Inside, the silence seemed even more intense than that which had pervaded the courtyard. Though more spacious than the corridors that served Harik’s quarters, those they were walking along now, in common with most of the interior of the Citadel, were claustrophobic, menacing almost, as though the air itself were afraid to move for fear of bringing down retribution. This had, in part, been brought about by the gradual but relentless removal, or defacing, of the many pictures, sculptures and furnishings that had adorned the place in the time of the Count. But added to it was the indefinable but quite identifiable quality that the Gevethen brought to everything they touched. Like a disease-bearing miasma, it clung to everything.
Even Harik looked as though he were having to wade through some unseen resistance, and Helsarn had almost to remind himself to breathe. He pulled out a kerchief and tried to disguise his unease by wiping the rain from his face. The Guards that were posted at intervals along the corridors were so still and pale that it seemed that the earlier passage of the Gevethen had turned them to stone, and such servants and officials as the pair encountered were moving very resolutely, very quietly, and with their eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
They came at last to the wide corridor that led to what had once been the Count’s Audience Chamber. Elaborately decorated, with its arched ceiling lit by daylight brought along the Citadel’s many mirrorways, it had once been as welcoming and open as the Count himself. Now the mirrorways had been sealed and the decorations draped with dark cloths, and the effect was of a descent into darkness. Count Ibryen’s Audience Chamber had become the Gevethen’s Watching Chamber.
Helsarn was relieved to see Commander Gidlon waiting by the tall doors at the far end, but his relief became concern when he realized that, apart from the door Guards, he was alone. Where were the other Commanders? He cursed inwardly and began preparing a list of names should punishment be called for. What had his men been playing at? He was not assured as he reached Gidlon. His Commander was pale and trembling, and very agitated. Quickly, he said, ‘I sent men to find the other Commanders, sir. They should have been here some time ago.’
Gidlon scowled, as if he were being pestered by an irritating child. ‘They’re organizing the purging,’ he replied off-handedly as he acknowledged Harik. ‘Their Excellencies wish you to enter, Physician.’ He nodded to the rigid Guards. They opened the doors and Harik entered.
Helsarn was about to relax a little in anticipation of a long wait in the gloomy corridor while whatever the Gevethen wished to transact with Harik was completed, but Gidlon urgently motioned him to accompany the Physician. The order disconcerted him momentarily, but using another salute to disguise any outward sign that might betray his alarm, he strode after Harik.
Like the greater part of the rest of the Citadel, the Audience Chamber had been transformed into the opposite of what it used to be. Where there had been light and openness, there was now darkness and oppression. The low dais where the Count had sat on formal occasions, and the few gentle steps by which it could be reached were no more. They had been replaced by a high throne platform, bounded by sheer curving sides, on which the Gevethen could stand aloof overseeing all and quite unapproachable.
The windows having been curtained and the mirrorways sealed, such light as there was came from a host of small lanterns. These hung at many levels from the ceiling, rested in niches and alcoves, swung from brackets which jutted, spiky and gibbet-like, from the walls, and stood also on slender, twisted columns which grew at random from the floor like so many storm-blasted trees. The lanterns burned with a cold, unwelcoming light, which heightened shadows rather than brought illumination, and they flickered from time to time, though no draught of air could find its way into the place. They also tainted the air with a fine, throat-catching smoke.
Multiplying the images of these lanterns were mirrors. Like the lanterns they reflected, many were hung from the ceiling and the walls while others leaned crookedly against one another in balanced arrays around the floor, some reaching up into the hazy ceiling. There were mirrors of all sizes, set at many angles, but they brought only further confusion to the scene.
Helsarn did as he always did when he entered the Watching Chamber; he tried to focus on the Gevethen – to concentrate on the heart of all that flickered about the hall. For even when the Gevethen themselves were motionless – which was rarely – the mirror-bearers continued their elaborate ballet about them so that the images of Nesdiryn’s new Lords moved constantly. And all movement in this unsettling gloaming flew from mirror to mirror, deep into their flat and glistening depths before returning, unchanged, save that left had become right and right, left.
Helsarn’s eyes thus moved automatically upwards to the top of the high throne platform. It stood dark and empty however, and for an instant the confusion of the hall threatened to disorientate him. Then he saw that the Gevethen were at the foot of the platform, as were his men, though they were no longer carrying Hagen’s body. Keeping a discreet distance behind, Helsarn followed Harik, his eyes fixed on the group ahead, trying to make out what was happening. As ever, there were other figures standing about the hall. These were yet more mirror-bearers, and some of the strange servants who tended the Gevethen. What function they fulfilled no one knew, and, like the mirror-bearers, their seemingly soulless manner disturbed all who had contact with them. Helsarn found their current inaction particularly unsettling. How could they not be drawn to what was happening?
When he reached the foot of the throne platform, he saw that four of the mirror-bearers were crouching on the floor. They were carrying their mirrors on their backs, to form an uneasy table on which was laid Hagen’s body. The Gevethen, hands clenched in front of them, were swaying back and forth slightly. Helsarn kept some way away from the scene, suddenly superstitiously fearful of what he might see reflected in that smooth and shining bier.
‘He is gone, Physician, is he not?’
‘Our right arm has been hacked from us?’
‘The Lord Counsellor is dead,’ Harik said flatly.
Hands floated towards him, beckoning.
‘You cannot draw him back?’
‘Quicken those dead eyes?’
‘Make supple these stiffening limbs?’
‘He is dead,’ Harik repeated. ‘He would have died from those injuries had I been at his side when they were struck.’
‘By his side. Ah!’
‘Ah!’
Briefly all the images turned to Helsarn. He stiffened.
Then they were gone and a score of images of the Gevethen were peering up out of the mirrors on which Hagen rested, as though they were waiting to receive him. There was a long silence. Helsarn became aware that the dark figures about the hall were slowly gravitating towards the scene.
Innumerable pale faces turned to one another and spoke in hoarse whispers.
‘Shall we go after him, brother? Into the darkness. Beyond.’
‘Those Ways are tangled and broken, brother. We would be lost.’
‘He tests us yet.’
‘He tests us yet.’
‘We must have faith…’
‘… faith.’
‘Nothing can be done, but to lay the Lord Counsellor to rest.’ Harik cut across the hissing dialogue. The images were gone and a myriad grey eyes were focused on the Physician.
‘How can he rest? His work here scarce started. So many promises unfulfilled.’
Fingertips touched the harsh face. They lingered.
‘Will you not bring him back?’
‘I cannot,’ Harik said. ‘Nor could any that I have known, wiser than I by far.’
Though Harik’s manner was unchanged, and his voice still flat and without any semblance of emotion, Helsarn sensed a battle of wills being fought. Not for the first time he felt almost as frightened of Harik as he did of the Gevethen. What was there in this man that he could stand against these two when even the strongest and most ruthless quailed?
He glanced around the hall discreetly. As ever, lights and shadows were moving and changing at the will, or the whim, of the mirror-bearers. All that appeared to be motionless were the dark and silent shapes of the servants. Yet, though he saw no movement amongst them, Helsarn knew they were drawing closer.
The Gevethen were muttering softly to each other – or were they singing?
Then, whatever tension there was between Harik and the Gevethen was gone and the two figures were bending over Hagen’s body again.
‘He is truly going.’
‘Leaving us.’
‘We must delay no further.’
And the mirrors were alive with beckoning hands urgently drawing the spectators forward.
‘Come!’
‘Come!’
‘All of you…
‘… of you.’
‘Pay your respects…’
‘… respects.’
‘The Lord Counsellor must enter the Ways before his spirit is lost.’
‘Grieve not.’
‘His wisdom will guide us still.’
Then, scarcely knowing how he came there, Helsarn found himself in a line moving slowly past the body: mirror-bearers, unfolding from around the Gevethen then returning to them, the Guards who had carried Hagen from the carriage, and all the others in the Hall who had at last silently come together. Only the Gevethen and Harik did not move, standing respectively at the head and the foot of the dead Counsellor. As each person passed, Helsarn noticed that they laid a hand on Hagen’s forehead and the Gevethen mirrored the gesture. It was no Nesdiryn ritual and Helsarn had not noticed who began it, but he felt constrained to do the same. It took him a considerable effort of will. Not because Hagen was dead – he had handled plenty of corpses in his time – but because, even in death, he was frightening. Yet even as he looked, he saw raindrops, caught in the cold lantern-light and resting whole and undisturbed on the dead face. They looked like tears and they added, for Helsarn, an unexpected and almost incongruous poignancy to the scene.
Throughout this eerie wake, the mirror-bearers moved constantly, transforming the motley handful of mourners now into a throng, now into a line that spiralled off into a lantern-lit infinity. Then, abruptly, they were still and their mirrors turned about. For a moment the Hall was suffused only with the light of the lanterns that were truly there. Individuals were individuals again, with no gliding reflection moving independently. Only the Gevethen, side by side, white-faced and watery eyes glistening, seemed like reflections. The sudden cessation of all movement, and the disappearance of the milling images twisted a spasm of panic inside Helsarn.
‘Know then our trial’
‘… our trial.’
And the movement began again. The group of eerie servants and mirror-bearers about the body began to disperse as silently as it had gathered. Helsarn could feel the eyes of the stretcher party looking at him, waiting desperately for him to make some move that would enable them to leave this place. The Gevethen were talking softly to one another again.
When they fell silent, he ventured cautiously, ‘What do you wish to be done with the Lord Counsellor’s body, Excellencies?’
‘Leave us, Captain,’came the simultaneous reply from both of them.‘All that can be done here has been done. Now the Lord Counsellor must enter the Ways.’
Questions formed in Helsarn’s mind, but he did not voice them. ‘As you command, Excellencies,’ he replied.
The eyes turned towards him, as did rank upon rank of others, motionless and staring.‘It was pertinent that you who bore the awful burden of finding the Lord should attend these obsequies. That your tongue did not swell and choke you rather than bring such news to us speaks well of your courage and loyalty. We will question you later, Captain. And your men. And too, those others of our children who were present. Culprits must be found. Retribution administered as he would have wished. The disease that was the way of the Count Ibryen survives still, despite our blessed rule, and we must be ever vigilant in seeking it out. The perfection and order of true justice that Nesdiryn, and beyond, require, will elude us for ever while this corruption remains amongst us.’
Then the eyes were gone, and a limp hand was waving him away. The stretcher party needed no urging and, at his soft-spoken order, they formed up and marched from the Hall. Harik looked at the Gevethen then at Hagen’s body, then turned and left without waiting for a more formal dismissal.
The light in the corridor beyond the Hall, though dull, was almost dazzling after the oppressive gloom of the Watching Chamber, and it took Helsarn a few moments to adjust to his vision being free of the endless, shifting images.
Uncharacteristically, he dismissed the stretcher party with congratulations for their conduct in the Hall, albeit he ordered them to return to their quarters immediately, pending further orders.
Gidlon, pacing anxiously in the background, strode up to him as they left, but Helsarn turned first to Harik, just emerging from the Hall. Behind the Physician he could see the Gevethen and the mirror-bearers forming a tight circle about the corpse.
‘What about the body?’ he asked. ‘It can’t just be left there.’
Harik looked past him. ‘I know no more than you,’ he said coldly. ‘Doubtless if we’re required for anything we’ll be called.’
‘But… ’
Harik shrugged and strode off without comment. It seemed to Helsarn, staring after him, that the Physician’s stride was more urgent than usual. Whatever relationship he had with the Gevethen, he wanted to be away from this place as quickly as possible.
‘Captain!’ Gidlon’s hissed command ended Helsarn’s reverie. ‘What happened in there?’
Helsarn cast a quick glance at the door Guards and, motioning Gidlon to follow him, began walking back along the corridor. As they gradually moved towards the light, Helsarn told Gidlon all that had happened. When the tale was finished. Gidlon’s immediate comment was the same as Helsarn’s. ‘What about the body? It can’t be left there.’
And Helsarn’s reply was largely the same as Harik’s. He shrugged, as respectfully as he dared. ‘We’ll just have to wait Their Excellencies’ pleasure.’ He changed the subject; he had no desire to dwell further on what had happened in the Watching Chamber. ‘What orders did they give about the purging?’ he asked, seeking refuge in matters practical.
‘Full curfew with immediate effect. Although from what I’ve heard, there’s hardly anyone on the streets even now… everyone’s run for cover. And we’re to purge from that street as far as the Ennerhald.’
‘Do you want my Company out?’
Gidlon shook his head. ‘They might be needed for questioning. I don’t want them scattered all over the city when they’re asked for.’
They had reached the main door. The sky was still overcast, but Helsarn still had to screw up his eyes against the light. Although the rain had stopped, the courtyard was full of the sound of overflowing gutters and gullies. As they moved to the top of the steps, the Dohrum Bell began to peal again. As before, it tolled nine times. The sound shook the ground under the two men’s feet, and shivering concentric circles of agitation formed in the many puddles littering the courtyard.