A Council was not a casual gathering, no matter how casually Silvas's advisers accepted the notice of a Summoning. Sometimes years elapsed between situations where Silvas felt the need of a formal Council to help with his work in some village or other. The membership of his Council had been fixed since the days when Louis the Stammerer ruled the Holy Roman Empire. Carillia had come to Silvas then. And the last time outsiders had joined in a Council, King Edmund had been looking for a way to break the alliance between the Scots and the Norsemen, to set them fighting each other.
When the talk in the room off of the great hall ended, Silvas and Carillia escorted the bishop to his room before they went on to their own quarters. Carillia started to prepare for bed at once. Silvas picked up his quarterstaff and went to warn Braf Goleg of the coming Council and the possibility of attack while it was in progress.
"We be ready, lord," Braf assured him.
"I trust there was no problem about dinner tonight," Silvas said. "You know why the unusual arrangements were needed."
"Aye, lord. It went well." The teeth that showed when Braf grinned were pointed, the tearing and ripping teeth of a carnivore.
The two made a hurried inspection of the walls and gates. The Seven Towers were sealed off against attack. Sentries and warriors were in place and alert. Finally Silvas left Braf to his duties and returned to the keep.
The central tower of the Glade was quiet. In the great hall, only the fires in the twin hearths were still burning, along with a single torch near the main entrance. Satin and Velvet came to walk this part of the tour with Silvas. The cats came as hunters now. Their earlier nervousness had been channeled into the exaggerated patience of the stalk. They flanked Silvas as he prowled the halls and larger rooms of the keep, their ears forward, heads moving constantly, looking and listening for any threat. Silvas felt himself slipping more firmly into the same mode. He had to switch his grip on the quarterstaff from time to time, consciously relaxing his hold on it.
The room where the monks were quartered was silent. The last of their chanted prayers had ended, but there was no great noise of snoring yet. On the first level of the keep, the only room that still held talking was the watch room, where sentries could come to spend a moment before or after their turns on the walls.
On the broad staircase leading up to the higher levels of the keep, the cats bounded ahead, going to the next landing and looking along the corridors there.
"You feel it too," Silvas whispered when he caught up. "The feeling that the climax nears." The cats only glanced at him briefly before turning their attention outward again. They would not be distracted from the hunt.
"All right, let's go to work," Silvas told them. The cats led the way back to the other stairs, the ones that led up through Silvas's library to the conjuring chamber.
The cats prowled that room carefully, staying outside the pentagram but otherwise crossing and recrossing almost every inch of the room. Velvet went to the narrow stairway that led to the turret that looked out over Mecq. After a second Satin joined her mate and went farther up the stairs. When the cats remained poised on the stairs, Silvas went past them, all of the way to the turret.
Mecq seemed as quiet as the Glade. There were no lights visible in the village. Smoke came from the Boar and Bear. There were a couple of small lights visible up at the castle. Silvas narrowed his eyes to focus on the walls of Mecq's fortress. He could see two guards walking their posts, and he saw Henry Fitz-Matthew standing above the gate, looking nervously toward the village or-more likely-at the pillar of smoke.
"Such fear is the fuel that feeds the Blue Rose," Silvas mumbled. Fitz-Matthew was clear of the taint of the heretics. The wizard would have felt that presence in the steward, but Fitz-Matthew might not remain free of it if temptation were laid upon him. "No man should have to bear such fear," Silvas said, regretting that he should be the cause of so much of Fitz-Matthew's fear. "It were better turned outward, at the Blue Rose, and tempered into fire." He spoke a quick spell while his eyes remained on the steward, then sighed. "It is the best I can do at the moment." Silvas took one more quick look down at the village, then returned to his workroom.
"I think the time is about on us," he said softly. The cats went to their protected circles.
When Silvas entered his pentagram and started to work the magics that had to precede his Council, he spoke each spell carefully, slowly, taking more pains with precision than he ever had before-and he was always careful and precise in this work. The web of protective spells he wove was intricate and strong. After he finished his normal preparatory work, he added a spell of seeing so he could look at his handiwork to make sure that it was perfect, that there was nothing he could add to make it more complete. Only when he was satisfied with every line and intersection did he lower himself to the floor to begin the spell of Summoning. He took as much extra care with that as he had with the preparatory work, the more so because there were outsiders to bring to this Council.
Silvas went for Carillia first, as he always did. She rose from her sleeping body and passed out of the bedroom to wait for him to summon the others.
Bishop Egbert was next. Entering the room he had given to the bishop, Silvas noted the ritual defenses Egbert had deployed. The pattern was familiar, even if Silvas had never seen it executed so meticulously before. He would have recognized the signs of the White Brotherhood in the pattern even if he had known nothing of the individual who had drawn it.
"It is time," Silvas said in the spirit. The bishop responded with a slight show of surprise. Although the eyes of Egbert's body didn't open with his spirit eyes, the eyelids fluttered enough that Silvas felt it necessary to speak an extra spell of safe separation.
"Simply sit up and get out of bed," Silvas instructed when the bishop seemed uncertain how to proceed. Egbert stood, then looked down at his body. He leaned over it, as if to insure that it was still alive, then he straightened up and turned to Silvas. "Walk through there," the wizard said, pointing to the nearest wall. Egbert hesitated for only an instant.
It was time to go for the vicar of Mecq. Silvas didn't consciously plan a course that would take him to St. Katrinka's. That was unnecessary. He simply passed through the walls of the keep and the curtain wall of the Glade straight into the church as if they were adjacent. Another passage brought him to the small room where the vicar slept. Brother Paul also looked back down at his still sleeping body, for longer than the bishop had. But finally Paul turned to Silvas, brought his hands together, and bowed his head briefly to signify that he was ready to leave.
"Walk that way," Silvas pointed. When the friar left the room, Silvas went through another wall and returned to the Seven Towers to finish his summoning. Bosc and Bay remained to be gathered.
– |There was again the sense of a room around them, but there was no room. The Council gathered on the ridge of Mount Balq, across the Eyler from the castle of Sir Eustace, at a point where they could look across at the castle and down at the river and into the valleys of Mecq and Blethye without moving more than a few steps. There were stones at a comfortable height for sitting. Once more Bay did not appear so large; Bosc did not appear so small.
Night had been effectively banished. There was the pale, ghostly glow of a false daylight, a light without sun or moon, without any apparent source. There were no shadows or clouds either.
This vantage does not exist, Silvas noted quickly. There was no small flat area at the near end of Mount Balq. That did not stop him from taking immediate advantage of the location. He surveyed all of the terrain, concentrating on the valley downstream, the demesne of the Duke of Blethye, but he didn't ignore the castle of Mecq or the village and its valley.
"Do you feel it?" Silvas asked, stretching out his arm to indicate Blethye. He glanced at Bishop Egbert, who was also surveying his surroundings. Brother Paul stood as close to his bishop as he could get. There remained a trace of apprehension on the friar's face.
"I feel it," Egbert said. "The Devil's armies are at work. The mark of the Blue Rose is close. It was not so strong when we rode to crusade against them in Burgundy."
"You do not wear the cross of a crusader," Silvas observed.
"I wear another cross," Egbert replied. He turned away from Blethye to look at Bay and Bosc. He studied them closely, then turned his attention to Silvas.
"This is a remarkable magic," the bishop said.
"It but provides a setting for our Council," Silvas said. "And this is not the usual setting. Our location was not of my choosing."
Bishop Egbert allowed just the slightest trace of concern to show on his face. "There has been interference already?"
Silvas shook his head once. "I think not. Interference of that sort would have given signs. I think rather that this is the doing of our Unseen Lord, putting us here to overlook the field of our trial."
Egbert moved to the side overlooking Mecq. He pointed and let his hand drift across the cottages and other buildings. "I can almost see the lights of each soul down there. Our charges, the flock we must defend against the wolves of evil."
"But now our Council," Silvas said. Everyone but Bay sat. There were just enough stones. The wizard started out with a quick review, including much of what he had told the bishop earlier. Bay and Bosc hadn't heard some of that, and in any case, knowledge shared in Council ran deeper than the same knowledge shared in the flesh. But time didn't run as rapidly in Council as it did in the world outside. Silvas had no particular worries about wasting too much of the night.
When he finished, Carillia took over. "I do not see the lights of souls seeking our protection," she said, glancing at the bishop, "but I hear their supplications. The fear that runs through Mecq this night is awesome in its pathos. The final assault of the Blue Rose cannot be long delayed. This fear ripples away from it across this pond, and the point where the stone falls is close." She made a sweeping gesture with her right arm. "The souls of your flock need comforting this night, Brother Paul." She closed her eyes and seemed to withdraw from the gathering in some unfathomable manner.
There was hardly a pause between Carillia's last word and Bay's first. "Armies are gathering, but I can make out nothing of their nature. They are veiled in a mist I cannot penetrate."
Egbert and Paul both stared at the horse. The friar was visibly shaken by the specter of a horse speaking. Bishop Egbert remained composed, but he too felt disturbed.
"Do you speak only in Council, or is this part of your normal power?" the bishop asked.
Bay didn't look to Silvas before he said, "It is part of my normal being. I usually do not speak in front of outsiders, for reasons good and plentiful. But Silvas said that we need hide nothing from you, Bishop Egbert of St. Ives. He said that you have the strength to know whatever may be pertinent."
"And me?" escaped from Brother Paul's lips without his volition. Egbert turned and laid his hands on the friar's shoulders.
"You have more strength than you dream of, brother," Egbert said. "That, and your faith, will sustain you. Our Unseen Lord stands with us."
"That is true, Brother Paul," Carillia said, opening her eyes. She had not moved, but still she seemed to somehow reappear when her eyes opened. "His presence is very real to all of us."
The others watched Brother Paul for several minutes. His inner struggle was reflected clearly on his face. Not until resolution was visible there did Bosc make his contribution to the Council.
"I feel the Earth," he said by way of prolog for the outsiders. "I feel her bones and blood the way you might feel the pulsing of life by holding your hand against a man's chest." He held his hand against his own chest.
"Upheavals are coming," Bosc said. "I hear mourning sing through the Earth. I feel passion erupting, shaking everything around it." He shook his head softly. "I do not fully understand these visions. They are new to me." Finished, Bosc looked first to Silvas and then to Egbert.
"I don't know that I can contribute much," the bishop started, his hand moving to his chest, where his crucifix-or its image-hung.
"Look!" Bay shouted. He jerked his head toward the sky over Blethye. Carillia and Bosc had been sitting with their backs to the duchy. Egbert and Paul had been at the side, intent on the members of the group, not on the outer surroundings. And even Silvas, who had been looking toward Blethye, had not been watching the sky. They all looked now.
A storm was developing over Blethye, dark purple and black clouds blotting out the artificial light of the Council. The clouds rolled and grew, curling into one another and ballooning, swirling and climbing, coming slowly nearer, presenting a massive front. Yellow-green lightning flashed, showing wine-red highlights to the clouds. The thunder that rolled toward Mount Balq was the sound of whips cracking over a mighty herd of horses' hoofs stampeding through the night. As the clouds grew and thickened, the thunder increased and became independent of the lightning. An evil wind blew up the slope into the faces of Silvas and the others. Faint in the distance, there were ghostly images of demonic horses and riders, the armies of the dead coming to fight for the souls of the living. Even fainter were the banshee cries that Mecq had heard during the previous attack.
"This is not happening now," Silvas said. The words came out slowly and required the full force of his concentration. The impression of overwhelming evil and unavoidable destruction that flowed across the hilltop was so strong that Silvas had difficulty resisting it. When he could force his eyes away from the assault on his spirit, he looked at the others. They all appeared transfixed by the show. Carillia was holding her own, projecting her customary aura of calmness, only vaguely distorted by the upheavals. Bishop Egbert stood with his feet well apart, facing the clouds, his hands raised against the storm. His lips moved as he went through the words of a silent incantation. Beside him, Brother Paul repeatedly drew the sign of the cross in the air before him. Bosc stood with his hands on his hips, face raised to the sky. He showed no reaction to the storm, and neither did Bay.
Suddenly the heavens split open and a blinding light struck the observers, forcing them first to close their eyes against it and then to blink repeatedly to adjust to the brightness. The thunder of phantom hoofs was drowned out by dirges coming through the growing break in the clouds. This was a lethal music that froze the face and threatened to turn souls to ice. It seemed to almost physically swallow the people on the hill.
The music ended. The scene shifted again.
It was day and it was night-at the same time and in the same place. The people atop Mount Balq saw the gods doing battle on a brightly lit plain. But above the battle there was a night sky, with stars shining in their appointed places. There was no way to identify the gods, but none of the people on the hill had any doubt that they were gods. Even Brother Paul, who only knew the Lesser Mysteries that did not include the pantheon, sensed that these were gods and their chosen champions. And some of the gods were falling. The stars above them were snuffed out one by one, the pace of extinctions increasing rapidly.
Total darkness settled over the Council on the hilltop, a blackness so complete that Silvas couldn't see his hand no matter how close he brought it to his eyes. It was as if the universe had ended, leaving only his disembodied consciousness to contemplate the void.
– |"Carillia?" Silvas waited but there was no reply. One by one he called each of the others and waited for an answer. "Is anyone here?" he asked at last… and he heard only silence. He shuffled around in a slow, tight circle, pausing frequently, straining his ears to hear any sound. But there was nothing. Even his feet made no sound when he tried stamping. He clapped his hands. That he could hear.
"Where am I now?" brought no answer, not even an echo.
"What do I do?" There was still no response.
He waited, and he listened. Eventually he tried to walk, sliding one foot forward, just a little, testing his stance before bringing his weight fully forward. He didn't forget that he had been on top of Mount Balq, or a representation of that hill, before the darkness came. Even in the spirit, if he was still in the spirit, he didn't want to tumble from the hill. He couldn't guess what damage it might do to him. He counted his steps. He paused when the count reached ten and called out again, "Is anyone here?" and waited for an answer that did not come. He took another ten careful, sliding steps and tried again. And then ten more.
"If I were still on Mount Balq, I would have fallen off the edge by now, so I must not be there any longer." Where am I? was just a thought this time.
"If my body is traveling, I have strayed beyond the pentagram by now," he whispered. That possibility brought a shiver to him. He turned around, trying to be as exact as he could, and he counted out thirty careful steps, hoping that they were the same size as the steps he had taken before, hoping that they would put him back in the protected center of his pentagram-if his body had actually strayed.
Silvas sat down, feeling for the ground under him. There was some sort of surface, but he could make out nothing of its composition. He sat cross-legged and rested his hands on his knees.
"Even if there is no solution, there should be an answer." He closed his eyes and started an incantation. But there was no power to the spell. Long before Silvas came to the end of it, he knew that it would not work.
This is not the same as the other time, though. I can feel the power. I simply can't manipulate it. It is just out of reach now, not nonexistent. He couldn't figure out what difference that might make, but it was a difference, something to hold on to until he had more.
"Open your eyes. Stand up."
The voice sounded vaguely familiar, stirring memories too deep within Silvas for them to surface instantly. But he obeyed. He opened his eyes and stood. The darkness was gone. There was good light around him now, vague, with no apparent source, but light. The figure of a man-idealized as only poets or artists could ever picture man-stood some dozen paces away. The only thing missing was something solid for the two figures to stand on. It was as if the clear blue sky of a summer afternoon extended in every direction. Silvas and this form of a perfect man seemed to stand on air. The wizard pressed down with his foot. The air seemed as solid below as rock ever had.
"Look at me."
Silvas had really not been aware that he had been avoiding looking at the figure until then, but he looked now, and the stranger's eyes grabbed his and locked his gaze.
"I am your Unseen Lord. I am the god of the White Brotherhood, the god of all Christians who follow the orthodox Roman Way. I am the Lord you swore your vows to."
"I know that, Lord," Silvas replied, shocked at how thin and child-like his voice sounded next to the voice of his Lord.
"Come closer."
Silvas could not have disobeyed if he had wanted to. He stepped forward, striding as if he had a mile to cover and not just a few yards. Silvas saw pain and fear in the eyes of his master. That sight brought tremors to Silvas, tremors that ran completely through him. He didn't stop walking until he couldn't advance without running into this god… and that was unthinkable.
The god put his hands over Silvas's eyes and pressed. The wizard felt a heat that was intense, incredible, but still bearable, almost comforting. Silvas was reminded of the heat against his eyes when he tried to stare into the distant star with his telesight. That had been pure pain. This was also pain, but it was an almost enjoyable ache.
Though no further words were spoken for an eternity, Silvas could feel knowledge and-inescapably-the power that this knowledge represented pouring into him, much faster than he could consciously assimilate it. He didn't worry about missing anything of importance, or forgetting some vital detail, though. Among the first pieces of knowledge that took possession of Silvas was the assurance that this would all remain part of him.
And he knew that he was being made privy to many of the deepest secrets of the gods. That knowledge had to convey a power that was worlds beyond what he had possessed before, something greater than any wizard before him had ever enjoyed… or suffered. It didn't make him a god, but it removed him a step or two farther from his fellow men.
The names of the gods were no longer beyond Silvas's ken. He knew their idealized faces, the range and limits of their powers-and even they had definite limits, the makeup of their alliances and history, who was on which side, who stood apart or remained undecided. He knew, beyond any doubt, that the god holding his eyes was indeed his Unseen Lord, the god of the White Brotherhood and of the Roman Church since Constantine made Christianity the official religion of his empire.
I liked the new pomp and the efficient organization that spread the rites so quickly. It amused me. I took it and made it my own.
I knew that, Silvas thought. It is part of the Greater Mysteries. Religions are made by men and the gods select from the choices that are available. More came to him now. While a god remained associated with a church or sect, there was a process of mutual adaptation, one to the other, change on both sides.
If the usurpers behind the Blue Rose destroy me-and that is the only way they will unseat me-there will be chaos throughout the world, perhaps the fall of what remains of any civilization. It will be worse than the fall of Rome and it may be more permanent, an eternal age of darkness.
The knowledge became part of Silvas-and more. This fight had become so important to the gods on both sides that the maiming or destruction of the mortal world was preferable to defeat. Knowledge continued to pour into him.
Gods die more easily than churches, the religious power structures that you mortals create.
Silvas took in the last burdens of knowledge. It is as I feared, he thought, almost losing awareness of the divine hands pressed against his eyes. What is coming could be both Armageddon and Gotterdamerung. Our world could end with no gods surviving to even conduct a proper Judgment Day in its wake.
He saw armies of the dead fighting alongside armies of the living. Gods and mages would duel, all centered on Mecq-for no reason that Silvas could find within the well of knowledge he had been given. And there was no explanation from his Unseen Lord. He still had only the guesses he had made so far.
The god took his hands away from Silvas's eyes. The wizard blinked several times at the return of the light.
"I have armed and armored you as best I can," the god told Silvas, and then he disappeared, taking the light with him.
Silvas found himself alone in that total darkness again. This time he felt a crushing weight on his soul, a weight without precedent or equal.