Dilrap stood alone at a window high in one of the palace towers. Below him lay the City, hitherto an unchanging and deeply familiar sight which, he mused sadly, was like the face of a well-loved friend, often seen but rarely noticed; giving security by virtue of its seeming immutability rather than by its actual appearance.
Now, like so many other things in his life, it was changed, and changed radically, and he realized that another small prop had been removed from him. With each such he knew that he had the choice of toppling or developing the strength to stand unaided.
The great arched gateway at the front of the Palace had stood, like the Palace itself, for untold generations, solid and purposeful, welcoming friends and deterring ill-wishers. Now it was gone utterly, and in its place was a jagged gap in the courtyard wall. The broken and torn stonework that marked the edge of Oklar’s fury had seen neither rain nor sun since it was first laid, and seemed now fresh and raw, like a new wound, standing bemused and vulnerable at its sudden and violent exposure to a new age.
That destruction, however, dwindled into insignifi-cance when seen against what lay beyond it, for two great swathes of ruin diverged out from the gateway and cut across the City, each running as true and straight as the flight of an arrow. Nothing stood where these lines ran, and marking their edges was a tangled skein of twisted and crumbled buildings whose foundations had been shaken and torn by the sudden destruction of their neighbours.
It seemed to Dilrap that only the curve of the hill on which Vakloss rested had protected the outer reaches of the City, for in the distance he could see damaged roofs and spires topping buildings that were otherwise unhurt.
From his eyrie, he could see that the two great ruts were alive with activity as countless tiny dots scurried ant-like over the mounds of churned earth. He could not see, but he knew what they were doing. They were searching. Searching for friends and loved ones suddenly wrenched from them. Searching for strangers whose cries could be heard in the wreckage. Searching for anyone.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head. After his unexpected escape from Dan-Tor’s vicious spleen and his subsequent conscription by Urssain, he had retired to his high room to calm his mind further and to order his thoughts. Now he knew that he must immerse himself in organizing the resources that would be necessary to rescue and repair the City and its terrified people; both for the present and the future.
The more active and conspicuous he became, the more he could ensure the continuity of the values that were at the heart of the old ways, though even as he had the thought, he realized that that same activity and conspicuousness would tie him to the new ways forever in the eyes of the people. He could not achieve the one without incurring the other.
Further, to be transparent to the people in his inten-tions was to be transparent to Dan-Tor who would end the matter without a moment’s thought, while to be hidden from Dan-Tor would mean being misunderstood by the people amp;mdashand this would be to court death at their hands should they ever triumph.
He hugged himself tightly. His head told him to take the horse that was prepared for him and flee through the chaos while he could. Flee anywhere away from these appalling choices. But both his heart and his promise to the King told him he must stay. He was the King’s Secretary. He could not abandon either the people or his duty. Here, near to Urssain and Dan-Tor he could be of some use. Anywhere else, even with the Lords, he could be of none. He had no other choice open to him that he could take and later look back on without shame and regret.
Taking a final look across the damaged city, he turned away from the window and, closing the door gently behind him, left the quiet little room.
As he descended the tower stairs he could hear only his own soft footfall and the hiss of his robes, but as he opened the stout wooden door at the foot of the tower he was almost overwhelmed by the uproar. It was worse than when he had left Urssain. People were milling everywhere. Injured, panic-stricken, lost, frightened. Whatever attempts, if any, were being made to restore some semblance of public order, they were obviously proving ineffective.
And these people don’t even know the King is dead, he thought.
Pushing his way through the crowd he finally reached the main entrance. A strong gust of wind blew dust in his face and, as he wiped his eyes, he felt the grim reality of the scene he had just been watching from the comparative detachment of the tower, high above. The size of the gap where the main gateway had stood, and the solidity of the walls through which it had been torn were awesome, and he had a fleeting impression of the power that must have been exerted to work such damage.
The power of the Uhriel was referred to often enough in old sagas, but as he stared at the gaping hole that had once been the towering, seemingly immovable gateway arch, with its huge carved timber gates, the impact on Dilrap far outstripped any literary flights of description. Was it truly possible that one living creature could have done this? he thought. In his mind he saw Dan-Tor, lank and malevolent. How could a frail human frame contain such power?
However, as his gaze moved on and he found him-self looking along the pathways that had been cut through the City, his speculations faded, numbed by the monumental scale of the destruction.
To his horror he found that for all the pain it im-plied, the sight was eerily beautiful; two long straight avenues reached out relentlessly across the City, arrogant in their certainty and confidence and tapering elegantly into the distance to reveal the countryside beyond.
Dilrap frowned at this unexpected and unwanted response and reminded himself of the human price paid for this new architecture. Then, equally unexpected, came the thought: Why was this done? What, after all these years had so enraged Dan-Tor that he had revealed his true self and released such destruction? What could he have feared that demanded such a response? A lone man with a bow? An Orthlundyn assassin? It couldn’t be possible; the very phrase was a contradiction in terms. But even as these thoughts occurred to him, so did at least part of the answer. Whoever or whatever had faced Dan-Tor, it had been strong enough to stand and split that appalling power like a piece of kindling, and then, seemingly, escape. And if such destructive power as Dan-Tor had wielded could be contained within one man, could not also the power to resist it?
He made a note to make himself privy to any inves-tigations into this Orthlundyn ‘assassin’. It was like a thin thread of light in the darkness pervading his mind, and who knew where such a thread might lead?
A movement in the distance brought him out of his reverie. A ragged section of wall detached itself from a building and fell into Dan-Tor’s new formed gorge. Dilrap could not see whether it had fallen on anyone, but as the dust rose up and was caught by the wind, he heard the low rumble of the collapse, mingling with higher notes that could only have been screams. The sound added a quality to the scene that chilled him utterly and, as he listened, he felt an overwhelming urge to push his way through the crowd and start digging with his bare hands in the mounds of rubble. Involun-tarily he started forward, but he had barely reached the foot of the steps when he stopped and, with a grimace, bowed his head. This was not the way he could help. He had other skills.
As he paused, something ran into his legs. Looking down, he saw a small boy. Wide, lost eyes returned his gaze out of a grimy, tear-stained face. There was a smeared graze of dried blood running across the boy’s forehead. Too long the butt of palace children to have any great affection for them, Dilrap was taken aback by the feelings of compassion and pity that rose up inside him. He held out his hand, and the boy took it. ‘I’m lost,’ said the boy in a hoarse, dust-choked whisper.
Dilrap nodded understandingly and looked around through the turmoil for inspiration. The Mathidrin captain he had seen earlier pushed past him. Dilrap seized his arm.
‘Where’s Commander Urssain?’ he said without ceremony.
The man jerked his arm to release it, but Dilrap kept his grip, putting into it the purposefulness he had once felt in Sylvriss’s hands. ‘Honoured Secretary, I… ’ began the man, with scarcely contained impatience.
Dilrap cut across his protest. ‘Where’s Commander Urssain?’ he demanded again, pulling the reluctant arm towards him.
‘He’s in the Westerclave,’ replied the Captain, seeing no way to escape this fat clown immediately, and a little taken aback at the man’s unexpected strength.
‘Oh yes,’ said Dilrap slowly, allowing himself a con-spicuous note of contempt. ‘I remember; his meeting of Commanders and Captains… ’ Another figure bustling past caught his eye, a stocky middle-aged woman. ‘Alaynor!’ shouted Dilrap. The woman stopped. ‘Wait,’ said Dilrap to the Captain, as he released his arm and beckoned to the woman urgently.
Alaynor was responsible for most of the female servants in the palace. Dilrap rarely encountered her in his normal work but knew that she was held in great affection by most of her charges.
More to the point at the moment however, she was a level-headed and eminently practical person and no mean administrator. ‘Yes, Honoured Secretary,’ she said when she reached him, her face fraught and anxious. Dilrap saw that she too was struggling to remain in control of herself.
‘What are you doing?’ he said simply.
Her eyes became vague, and for a moment Dilrap thought she was going to slip into hysteria. The years of dealing calmly with all manner of crises asserted themselves however. ‘Floundering,’ she said bluntly.
Despite himself, Dilrap smiled. Turning to the Cap-tain he asked him the same question.
‘Organizing men to seal off the Palace and clear intruders out,’ was the impatient reply. ‘In between trying to find as many senior officers as I can for Commander Urssain… and answering your questions.’
He paused before the word ‘questions’ to make his disdain clearly felt, just short of outright insolence. Dilrap nodded and hitched his errant gown back on to his shoulder. Now he must take the first steps into his new future, using the lessons he had learnt at the hands of Dan-Tor.
He looked straight at the man. ‘Your name, Cap-tain?’ he said coldly.
‘Halson… Sir,’ replied the Captain, his confidence faltering slightly. ‘Third co… ’
Dilrap cut across him. ‘You’re seconded to my ser-vice, Captain Halson,’ he said. ‘Whatever men you’ve sent wandering round the Palace, get them back and assembled in the Lords’ ante-room at the double.’
Halson started. ‘But… Commander Urssain… ’ He waved vaguely at the crowds moving in and out of the main palace entrance. ‘And intruders… ’ The wind blew his hair in his face.
Dilrap had turned to Alaynor when he had finished speaking and, turning back to the Captain, he allowed himself an expression of dangerously mild patience.
‘I’ll attend to Commander Urssain, Captain,’ he said. ‘Don’t concern yourself. As for intruders, believe me, there’s little they could do in the Palace that would be worse than what’s already happened.’
‘But… ’
Dilrap’s expression became angry. ‘No buts, Cap-tain. Are you in the habit of questioning orders?’ He did not wait for a reply, but forged on. ‘As the King’s Secretary, and in the temporary absence of the Ffyrst, my authority overrides all others. You should know that, Captain.’ He emphasized the rank. ‘You may choose to waste time by seeking out Commander Urssain and debating the matter with him, if you wish, but it’s not in your best interests. Those are best served by looking to those people out there.’ He pointed through the gaping gateway. ‘And that’s best done by your obeying my orders right away. Is that clear?’
The Captain surrendered hesitantly after a moment and, saluting, made to move off up the steps towards the palace entrance.
Dilrap laid a hand on his arm. ‘Where are you go-ing?’ he asked quietly.
Halson looked at him uncertainly. ‘To find the men who’re checking the Palace, Honoured Secretary. As you asked.’
Dilrap sighed audibly and shook his head. Then, pointing casually in the direction of various Mathidrin troopers around the palace entrance, he said, with wilful patience. ‘Send them, Captain. You stay with me. We’ve got a lot to do.’
Colouring, Halson turned away and called out to the troopers that Dilrap had indicated… plus one or two others.
Dilrap looked down at the small boy and, smiling, gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. ‘We’ll look after you in a minute,’ he said. ‘Don’t be frightened.’
Turning again to Alaynor, he found her looking at him enigmatically, her eyes full of questions. ‘Later,’ he said in reply to her silent queries. The sound of Halson shouting orders too loudly at the troopers floated between them and slowly she raised an eyebrow in acceptance and approval.
‘What do want me to do, Honoured Secretary… Dilrap?’ she ventured.
‘What have you done so far?’ he replied.
‘Precious little,’ she said. ‘I think the Guilds and the Rede’s people are organizing rescue parties and setting up shelters for those people who’ve been hurt or lost their homes, but there doesn’t seem to be any overall control.’ She flicked a discreet and derisory thumb towards the returning Halson. ‘This lot are useless,’ she whispered. ‘Anything other than strutting and bullying and it’s beyond them.’
Dilrap acknowledged the comment with a brief nod but said nothing. Halson, still flushed, and slightly breathless, arrived back. ‘I’ve attended to that… sir,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know… ’ His manner was that of one about to disclaim responsibility, but he stopped in mid-sentence. Dilrap was quite surprised that his attempt at a menacing look should prove so effective.
‘I don’t want to have to tolerate any more of this reluctance on your part, Captain,’ he said. ‘It verges on insubordination. Confine your comments solely to practical matters that will help get this City back to normal.’
‘Sir.’ Halson snapped to attention and his face went blank. That’s better, thought Dilrap. That the man had had the wit to retreat into his traditional emotionless Mathidrin shell showed at least that he was gaining control over himself.
‘Good,’ he said. Then signalling to Alaynor and the Captain to follow, he walked back to the palace entrance, the wind tugging at his robe, ‘Captain,’ he said. ‘I want you to send messengers to the Guild Master and the City Rede. Tell them that rescue operations are to be coordinated from here. Ask them to send their best people over together with any maps, plans, lists of craftsmen etc. Whatever they think will be useful.’ Halson nodded. ‘Just wait a moment,’ Dilrap added, looking purposefully around the palace entrance hall. ‘Alaynor, I’ll work from the Lords’ antechamber but we’ll need somewhere where the injured can be treated and where the lost and homeless can be fed and housed for a day or so… ’
‘The Old Kings’ Halls,’ Alaynor suggested. Dilrap nodded. ‘Yes, they’ll do. Gather up what servants you can find and make a start on that. Captain, send a couple of your men with her to help. They’re to do whatever she says,’ he emphasized.
Pausing to look at the disordered crowd outside, he frowned. ‘We have to get these people off the streets,’ he said, half to himself. ‘Captain, as soon as you’ve organized messengers and men for Alaynor. I want you to send out some of your men as Cryers to the main squares, or wherever there’s a large crowd. They’re to ask people amp;mdashask, mind you, not tell amp;mdashto go home unless they can help with the rescue work or with nursing the injured, in which case they’re to come here first. Tell them… bulletins will be posted here, and… ’ He waved his arms vaguely. ‘… the Guild Moot House and the Rede’s Hall as information comes to hand.’
Halson hesitated. ‘I’ll have to get mounted patrols to act as Cryers, sir. I’ve already had reports of troopers being attacked by the crowds.’
Dilrap looked thoughtful. Good for the crowds, he thought briefly, but he let the thought pass. He could relish it later. ‘If you go out mounted and in force it’ll turn chaos into mayhem,’ he said. Then in the wake of his first irreverent thought came a second one, appro-priate for the occasion and quite elegantly malevolent in character. ‘You should find some High Guard liveries in the Westerclave, Captain,’ he said. ‘Have your men wear those. Providing they keep their mouths shut and watch their manners they should be all right. Tell them to move at the double. That should avoid too many questions.’
Halson’s jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded reluc-tantly. Dilrap twisted the knife. ‘And don’t forget the Royal Sash,’ he added, ‘if they’re going to look like High Guards on palace duty.’
Dilrap looked up from the map spread out on the table as he heard the door slam. It was Urssain, and he was angry. For a moment Dilrap quailed inwardly at the sight, then he stood up and hitched his gown back on to his shoulder.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to the various people gathered round the table with him, ‘I’ll join you in a moment. Please carry on. You know what to do.’
Then he moved quickly to intercept the approaching Commander and, taking his elbow, deflected him into a side room.
‘What in thunder’s name are you doing, Dilrap?’ Urssain shouted as the door closed.
‘Doing?’ said Dilrap, wilfully innocent.
‘Commandeering my men,’ Urssain banged his chest in emphasis. ‘And dressing them up to look like High Guards.’
Dilrap was surprised at the belligerence of his own response. ‘I’ll tell you what I’m doing, Commander,’ he said in a vicious whisper. ‘I’m saving our necks, while you’re playing Mathidrin politics. And don’t shout. In case you didn’t notice, that’s the City Rede out there. And the Guild Master. And a cohort of their senior officials. The last thing they need to see now is us arguing and playing palace intrigue.’
Urssain clenched and unclenched his fist, but before he could speak, Dilrap continued, his voice still low as if for fear of eavesdroppers. ‘I know I need you more than you need me, Commander,’ he said. ‘I’m not stupid, and you’ve made it quite clear. But he… ’ The word was mouthed rather than spoken, and accompanied by a nervous look over his shoulder, ‘needs neither of us.’
Urssain opened his mouth to speak, but again Dil-rap forestalled him, his voice now urgent. ‘I know I wasn’t with him when all this happened, but I’ve looked into his eyes, Urssain. I don’t know who or what he is, but I know he could obliterate us with a mere thought if the whim took him. And this City in disarray could provoke just such a whim. He has power enough to control it without our help.’
Most of Urssain’s anger seemed to drain from him suddenly, though a growling residue remained.
‘You should’ve found me and asked,’ he said, almost sulkily. Dilrap straightened up, his face open and apologetic. ‘Commander, there wasn’t time,’ he said. ‘The situation was deteriorating by the minute. I had to act. I’m sorry I had to put your men in High Guard livery, but I had to get messages across the City and you know as well as I do they’d never have got through the streets otherwise.’
He stepped forward and took the Commander’s elbow again, confidentially. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘People won’t remember clearly out of all this confusion. And if they do, so what?’
Urssain’s lip curled as he weighed Dilrap’s com-ments. The man was right. There would be no future for him, perhaps of any kind, if he had to go running to Dan-Tor for help in quietening the City, and neither he nor the Mathidrin were remotely suited to dealing with this kind of emergency. True, Dilrap’s abrupt assump-tion of authority would cause some morale problems, but that he was capable of dealing with. Besides, the men had better be taught to treat the man with a little more respect if he was to do his job in future.
He nodded to himself. No harm was going to come of all this after all. Dilrap was proving to be more valuable than he had thought, but he mustn’t let him know it. He’d proved to be deceptively capable today; he could be dangerous if he developed any ambition other than that of staying alive.
Towards the end of the day, the wind fell and the sky cleared, allowing the setting sun to flood red through the streets. Long hazy shadows increased the alien strangeness of the City’s new appearance. Dilrap came out of the Lords’ ante-room and walked across to the main entrance. Dust grated under his feet. Standing at the top of the steps, he looked out again at the destruc-tion Oklar had wrought. His two new avenues were still bustling with desperate activity, but at least the panic and tumult had ceased and there was some aura of organization about the scene, albeit rough and ready.
Lines of torches had been rigged along both sides of each swathe, wandering indiscriminately through the sharp straight shadows cast by the setting sun. Where digging was continuing around individual buildings, the torches came together in tangled watchful clusters and together with the bobbing firefly lights of the torches carried by individuals, they gave the intense red twilight almost an air of Festival.
Looking up a little, Dilrap could see a clear evening sky as through a fine brown gauze. He wiped his mouth; he had been tasting dust all day. Just looking around the Palace told him it would be a long time before it was all removed, but seeing it hovering in the air made him think it might begrime the City forever.
He moved to one side to allow two of the Rede’s men to carry in a casualty. Would they never end? All these people crushed and maimed by falling masonry and panicking crowds. Halls throughout the city were full of the injured and the homeless. Alaynor had organized that magnificently, though Dilrap admitted guiltily to a twinge of regret that she had allocated one of the Kings’ Halls to the dying and the most severely injured.
It was a correct decision, the hall being more spa-cious than the City’s main sick house nearby, but… the noises…
With an effort he dismissed the memory. He was no healer. He could do nothing other than what he had. He’d used his skills to ensure that hurt and healers were brought together as quickly as possible along with such medicines and other comforts as could be had, but still…
He leaned against the door jamb. No buts, he thought. What price would not any of those poor souls now pay just for the simple privilege of standing unaided and pain free, feeling cold stone against their faces? Just being here he had all that life could offer him, for all the terrors and trauma of the day, and the hazards of the future.
He looked again at the torchlit work dwindling into the distance, and then at the busy but reasonably ordered activity going on around him.
What flexible creatures we are, he thought. As indi-viduals we break and buckle, but as a whole we simply sway, move with the wind, and then swing back to accept whatever new circumstances have arisen.
And what a wind had blown today! It had blown away the valued heritage of generations and ushered in an age the nature of which could only be described as unbelievable.
How could it have happened so quickly? The King, risen whole again only to be cruelly cut down. The Queen and Eldric fled, Dan-Tor suddenly revealed by the hand of a mysterious Orthlundyn as a creature of legend, and laying waste great stretches of the City in his pain and rage.
And the result? Ordinary people picking up the remains. Seizing and holding tightly their own fears for the sake of others. Rushing to familiar places to pick up familiar tools, then soiling precious clothes, heaving and sweating, burying old animosities and rivalries as they dug out friends and strangers alike.
And me? Dilrap’s thoughts turned to himself. He had defied his King and then witnessed his murder, faced the gaze of Oklar and survived his spleen, taken control of Mathidrin officers and troopers and organ-ized them. And now?
Now, he was tired. Tired and glad of it, because his work was not yet finished. It would probably be some hours before he could rest for more than just a few brief minutes and by then he would be exhausted. Now he could remain immersed totally in the needs of the present. The very horrors of the day had given him the opportunity to put time between them and his full realization of them. A strange irony. Had the City not been torn apart, he would have retreated to his cham-bers to tremble and shake himself into who knew what state of terrors, thereby demonstrating his worthless-ness and virtually ensuring his extermination. Now, he was something different. He had made some kind of a decision without realizing it.
He looked down and watched his foot idly making patterns in the dust. His fatigue was protecting him still, he knew, numbing him against the reality that was to come. He may yet prove inadequate for the role he had apparently chosen, but he saw no other choice. He would learn. Had he not silently aided the Queen for months? The memory came almost as a surprise to him.
Abruptly, in its wake came another, older memory of his father cutting down a tree on their country estate. The tree had been diseased and had to be removed for the sake of its neighbours. On some whim his father decided to tackle the job himself and Dilrap remem-bered being sat down by his mother to watch him while she pursued the mysterious household tasks that mothers pursued. Dilrap remembered vividly the cruel accuracy of his childish perceptions.
Almost from the first stroke it became apparent that the task was not going to be as easy as his father had envisaged. The axe bit only slightly yet succeeded in jamming itself. Dilrap watched as his father passed through many moods and learned many things as he laboured painfully at this unfamiliar task. Overall however, had been a daunting determination, at first smiling and vigorous but later increasingly grim. Finally it had happened. One, two, three strokes of the axe and with a slight groan the tree was falling, crashing down and bouncing slightly as it hit the ground. And there was his father, reluctantly triumphant.
Dilrap nodded to himself. The City had not fallen suddenly at all, nor had he suddenly discarded the worst excesses of his old dithering self. Dan-Tor had chopped silently and relentlessly at the City for years, but he too had learned little by little how to lie and deceive to protect the old ways.
Dilrap remembered also that the tree stump had sprouted again the following year and been a regular hazard to the unwary at night-time.