Vredech sat for a long time after the two had left and pondered the strange meeting. What was it Darke had said? ‘Fate, destiny, whatever you choose to call it. Personally I’m quite happy to settle for chance.’
Chance…
Travellers from a far distant land. And bringing such tidings.
But ‘drawn here’, Darke had said. Vredech moved his shoulder as if to ease it, unconsciously mimicking Darke’s movement. Strange word, ‘drawn’, he thought. Like hunters after prey.
Yet they were hunters of a kind those two, for all their quiet words, he decided. They communicated with one another in silence, and Darke had taken the knife from him with breathless, not to say, humiliating ease. And how strange, too, that he should feel more kinship with them than with almost anyone he’d ever known. Perhaps that was what happened to people who had been touched by Him. A deep awareness of a common and awful foe.
And what of his faith? Darke’s revelations should perhaps have shattered it, yet, he felt more whole than ever before.
It surprised him that he was accepting such changes so easily.
What forces were moving beneath the surface here?
He looked down at his hand then lifted and lowered it. He had his free will, as far as he could tell. The question was thus not only unanswerable, it was irrelevant.
‘You’re a warrior, not a priest,’ the Whistler had said. ‘You resort to violence very easily.’ Vredech laid a hand on the knife. ‘You both care about people after your own fashion.’ That remark he understood now. And its deep irony. For true warriors honed their dark skills so that by understanding violence they could better dedicate themselves to its avoidance. He smiled sadly. Turning easily to violence was the prerogative of intemperate priests, and others who were loath to accept the violence inherent in their own natures.
So many questions.
Always.
He walked slowly back to his Meeting House.
There he found Nertha absent and House in a fluster. ‘Those two men have gone,’ House announced. Vredech had to pause for a moment before he recalled Yan-Elter and Iryn. ‘The young man seemed much quieter,’ House said, before he began to feel guilty about this neglect. ‘His brother said they’d come back later to talk.’
‘And Nertha?’
‘She’s looking for you, young man.’ Vredech wilted under the reproach and House rubbed it in. ‘She seemed worried.’
Vredech suddenly felt chilled to his heart. The return to familiar surroundings and House’s concerns had temporarily made him forget the deed he had set himself to do that day. Now it was on him again in all its horror.
‘I didn’t want to wake her,’ he mumbled, moving past House into his office. ‘I have to go out again in a few minutes. Tell her to wait here when she comes back. Tell her not to worry.’
‘What about my worries, Brother Vredech?’ House exclaimed. ‘You coming in wringing wet then going out again straight away. Nertha wandering the town with all this trouble going on, and her wearing those Felden clothes of hers.’
Vredech stiffened angrily, but managed to think before he spoke. ‘It’s only my cloak that’s wet,’ he said, not entirely succeeding in keeping the effort out of his voice. ‘And I doubt anyone’s going to see Nertha’s clothes under hers. Please don’t concern yourself.’
‘Easy to say,’ House retorted, ‘but there’ll be some scenes today, you mark my words, what with Brother Cassraw speaking in the Heindral and all. I’ll not rest until she’s safe.’
‘Where did you hear that?’ Vredech asked, suddenly urgent.
House waved an airy hand. ‘Everyone’s talking about it. He’s the new Covenant Member, they say. Poor Brother Mueran. So sudden.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Vredech said, as reassuringly as he could. It was an old tradition that a newly-appointed Covenant Member address the Heindral, but for Vredech it was a further measure of the change in Cassraw that he had dismissed such a trifling detail as his election by the Chapter – a matter which was by no means a formality. Far worse than that however, was the prospect of Cassraw having the attention of the Heindral. Almost certainly, every Heinder would be present, and there would be a substantial public crowd as well. And while it was also a tradition that such a speech be bland and uncontroversial, he knew that for Cassraw this was simply an opportunity to subject an important audience to his powerful, binding oratory. Undoubtedly, too, he would perform some ‘miracle’ to convince any waverers of the truth of his claim to be Ishryth’s Chosen One. Rational debate was rare in the Heindral under normal circumstances and it certainly wouldn’t be able to make itself heard over Cassraw’s ranting emotion.
Vredech became very calm. Now at least he did not have to look for Cassraw. And his assessment of what was likely to happen had made his planned assassination even more imperative.
‘I’ll get your other cloak if you’re going out again.’ House’s injured tone interrupted his reverie, and with a hasty thanks, Vredech retreated into his office.
He leaned back against the closed door and surveyed the room. Desk, books, furniture, pictures. All so familiar, resonating back into the past. Changed yet unchanged. And, by the window, a large copy of the Santyth on a lectern. He walked over and laid his hand gently on it. It seemed smaller somehow, yet the wisdom that it held and which had guided him for so long, remained. When this was over, he must read it again, with his new vision.
His fingers clawed up into a fist, scraping over the carved leather cover, as the thought came to him.
‘You must look to survive,’ Darke had said. ‘Don’t be afraid to look to tomorrow.’
He was right, of course. Slaying Cassraw was essential, but he must seek to survive so that afterwards he could explain – or great harm could still come to pass. Yet, try as he might, Vredech could not see beyond the deed. All roads led him to that point and ended there.
‘There are no endings or beginnings, only change.’
That, too, was true, but of no value to him right now.
He was so afraid.
Gripping the edges of the book, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. ‘Ishryth, if this cannot be taken from me, give me the strength to do it.’
Silence.
No revelations came. No guiding quotation from the Santyth. No Whistler. Nothing. Just a black, all-enveloping cloud of fear, fringed about with swirls of bitter anger and resentment that he should be thus burdened.
He moved to his desk and spent a few minutes writing a letter. He laid it first on top of the desk, then changed his mind and placed it conspicuously in the central drawer. It would be found there eventually, and he certainly did not want Nertha to find it too soon. For a moment, thoughts of her almost overwhelmed him. Like so much else, his feelings for her had changed with a totality and suddenness that he could scarcely believe. Why should he not succumb to them? The two of them could flee now, ride away from Canol Madreth before Cassraw’s insanity possessed it completely. She was a skilled physician, he was… not beyond changing. They could find a quiet and useful life together in one of the other states of Gyronlandt. Nertha above all, would understand.
But even as the thoughts swept about him, racking him, tempting him, he remembered Darke and Tirec, figures in the mist, drawn here from a country far away. Their presence told him that neither time nor distance offered protection against the power that he called Ahmral, and that Gyronlandt itself was but a small part of a greater world. And, too, he knew that Ahmral existed even in those mysterious worlds Beyond – the worlds that were both here and not here, the worlds that should perhaps be inaccessible to mere mortals such as he.
There was no place where he could hide and not expect this evil to reach him eventually. And there was no place he could find quiet, knowing that he had turned away from the task that had fallen to him.
He closed the drawer gently and stood up. Then, with a final look around his room, he left.
Debate in the Heindral was nominally controlled by the leader of the majority party, though he was heavily constrained by precedent to ensure that each party was allowed time or speakers roughly in proportion to the number of seats they held. It was a system that worked adequately enough, though not infrequently a great deal of noise and acrimony was generated by it. On occasions such as this, however, when a respected member of the community was to address the Heindral on some formal or ceremonial matter, the Heinders could be quite impressively orderly. They would fall silent as the leader rose to his feet, and would listen attentively – or at least quietly – to the honoured speaker. Then they would generously applaud him and there would be fulsome speeches of appreciation from representatives of each party. It was the smug self-satisfaction of these occasions that the Heinders used to convince themselves that their normal behaviour was acceptable, its raucous fatuity invariably being attributable to the Heinders of ‘other parties’.
Vredech arrived quite early at the PlasHein. As Cassraw’s haste had wrought havoc with the protocol of the proceedings and thrown the PlasHein officers responsible for organizing such affairs into disarray, Vredech needed only the authority of his cloth to gain access. The chairs which lined the walls of the Debating Hall at the Witness House had been brought down during the night and placed in front of, but with their backs to, the podium from which Cassraw was to speak. This, at least, the officers had remembered, but only when carts began to appear bearing the chairs. The chairs were arranged thus so that the Covenant Member’s words, passing over the heads of the Chapter Members, were deemed to be those of the whole church.
Vredech took a seat to one side of the podium so that he would be able to stand up and move to the lectern where Cassraw would be standing, in a straight, unhindered line. He went through his proposed intention over and over. There were three steps up to the podium. From where he was sitting it was perhaps four paces to the lectern.
One, two, three, four…
One, two, three, four…
Over and over.
Darke’s advice stuck horribly in his mind.
Clear your mind of all doubts before you come close…
Come close before you draw the weapon…
Don’t hesitate – not for the blink of an eye…
It’s the only way – for both of you…
Over and over.
Could he do it?
How could henot do it? Cassraw was not Cassraw any more. He was a creature of Ahmral’s – a vessel, a harbinger, come to prepare the way for His coming. This was not a matter where he had any choice.
But…?
The word hung about him like a pleading child, clawing at him, bringing back to him long-forgotten memories – of growing up, of his time as a novice, of the time when he had supported Cassraw’s promotion. And, most cruelly, came thoughts of Nertha, his sister who was not a sister. Who was now…
Somehow he put the longing aside. It was not easy.
Don’t be afraid to look to tomorrow.
But…
He looked around at the people arriving. The public galleries were filling, rumbling footsteps echoing along the wooden floors overhead and mixing with the confused babble of voices. Heinders were drifting in and manoeuvring with practised familiarity for places on the long tiered benches. And Preaching Brothers were arriving also. Many of them Vredech knew, but he gave only the most cursory acknowledgement of such greetings as he received. The merest glance at their faces told him of the church already riven. There were smiles, frowns, looks of distress, of anxiety, of ambition, of conspiratorial neutrality. Studying them would serve no useful purpose. Very soon all these concerns would be changed.
One, two, three, four…
He did not know whether to be surprised or not that he could see no sign of Horld or Morem and others whom he would have expected to stand against Cassraw. Perhaps they had not heard of what was happening. After all, he had only heard by chance, and there had been no time for formal notification. It was appropriate, he mused. When ignorance and bigotry superseded reason, then gossip was as accurate a medium for its transmission as anything else. He gave their absence no serious thought. On the whole he was quite relieved when the seats beside and in front of him were filled with people he either did not know, or knew only casually. He wanted no debate with close colleagues now. He wanted Cassraw to arrive so that this horror could be ended. But more than that he wanted to be through to the other side of the awful fear that was consuming him. Through the darkness and into the light, whatever it revealed.
Then the place was full.
As he had surmised earlier, almost every Heinder was present and the public galleries were packed with curious spectators. From snatches of overheard conversation he learned that, despite the continuing rain, a large crowd was also occupying the square. Many people were wearing their militia uniforms underneath their cloaks, and he could see that almost everyone was armed in some way. It’s your hearts and heads you’ll need armed today, he thought, not your bodies. Then he laid his hand on the knife again.
The atmosphere quivered with a mixture of agitation and expectation. The government was teetering, the militia was being levied to face a belligerent neighbour, and a new spirit was spreading through Troidmallos which must surely spread across the whole of Canol Madreth and then beyond; the words ‘United Gyronlandt’, with their special magic, were frequently to be heard. And, above all, strong men were emerging from unexpected sources in this time of need. Toom Drommel from the Witness Party, of all places, and this powerful Preaching Brother who had suddenly risen to become a Covenant Member and who was seemingly possessed of miraculous powers.
Ishryth sided with the righteous.
It was good.
Vredech felt sick.
Then, in response to some unheard signal, the eyes of the crowd turned to the far end of the chamber and the hubbub fell through a cascade of hissing shushes to a low, buzzing murmur.
Vredech had to force himself to breathe.
Silently, the Heinders stood. The Preaching Brothers remained seated.
Vredech found his vision shrinking so that the aisle along the centre of the chamber seemed to taper into a vast distance. Along it, moving towards him with painful slowness, he saw various officers of the PlasHein, resplendent in ancient liveries full of great constitutional significance. Then down each side of the aisle came two lines of the Knights of Ishryth, their faces covered with the blank masks that had been worn at Bredill, and their red sashes garishly counterpointing the more sober splendour of the PlasHein officers. They lent an alien menace to the scene.
Then Cassraw was there, dressed as he had been the previous evening – was it truly such a short time ago? – with Dowinne walking a few paces behind him. For Vredech, Cassraw was at once distant and very close, completely filling his intensely-focused vision. He began to tremble uncontrollably.
Strangely, this involuntary movement of his body released him from the hypnotic effect of the slow procession approaching him. In an effort to still himself, he forced his calves hard against the legs of his chair, and pressed his elbows down on to the arms until he was in pain. The action further cleared his vision. Now there were just men moving towards him, performing their kind of ritual as he had often performed his. Soon it would be over and Cassraw would be at the lectern.
One, two, three, four…
Suddenly he panicked at the thought that his trembling legs would not carry him so far; that he might simply go sprawling across the floor, the knife clattering guiltily from his hands to come to rest at Cassraw’s feet.
He must walk slowly, deliberately. With an insight that frightened him a little in its coldness, he realized that a slow approach towards his victim would, in any event, be less likely to provoke a hasty response from Cassraw or anyone around him, than some reckless dash.
Yes, he would walk carefully, deliberately.
And do it without hesitation.
It was the only way – for both of them…
Strange, snarling emotions began to filter into his mind. Cassraw looked ridiculous in that crown thing he was wearing. What was it supposed to mean, for pity’s sake? And he’d always been an ambitious bastard, more interested in his own aggrandizement than serving the church or his flock. What’s more, his grasp of theological principles had always been weak; no wonder his beliefs had lapsed into a crude, not to say, grotesque ingenuousness.
These thoughts disturbed Vredech. It was as though part of him was trying to lessen the significance of what he was about to do, justifying it by reducing the victim to something akin to an irritating, perhaps loathsome nuisance. But the wrongness of it offended him. The thoughts were both petty and untrue. And it was not necessary that Cassraw be demeaned in order for Vredech to do what he had to do. Indeed, it was essential that in so far as such a deed could be honourable and done with dignity, then this should be. To kill Cassraw in meanness and spleen was a true obscenity. The act must be one of…
Of?
Love.
The word jolted him.
But it was correct. He must kill Cassraw for a good that transcended them both. For the good of the people of Canol Madreth and who could say how many others across Gyronlandt and beyond? And he must kill him for the sake of the true Cassraw that surely lay bound and blind within the heart of what he had become.
He felt sick again.
Cassraw walked to the lectern. Dowinne stood behind him and a little to one side. The Knights were ranged in an arc behind them both. Vredech turned and looked again at the route he was to follow.
One, two, three, four…
The trembling that had possessed him seemed to have moved from his limbs and become a shimmering force radiating through him.
Cassraw looked slowly around at the public galleries, then at the Heinders, then he closed his eyes and lowered his head as though he were praying. After a moment he looked up again. His eyes were bright with a fearful intensity. Slowly he extended his arms as if to embrace the entire chamber.
‘My flock,’ he said. The words echoed through the chamber as a thunderclap rolls across a stormy sky. Vredech felt the hairs on his arms stirring; there was such power in Cassraw’s voice. He had always been a fine, commanding preacher, but the hypnotic quality of these two simple words was tinged with an unnaturalness that jarred as much as it thrilled.
‘We are faced with dark times. The beloved leader of our church has been taken prematurely from us. The army of the unbelievers of Tirfelden will soon be turned against us in reckless aggression. Evil forces have conspired to weaken our government, leaving the people without guidance in worldly matters.’
Vredech watched the audience as he listened. Such was the power in Cassraw’s voice that each word was having an effect. And with each further word, more and more of those present would fall under his spell. The trembling within Vredech was growing relentlessly. It was as though his planning for this moment had gathered a momentum that could not now be stopped, and would destroy him if he did not move with it.
‘But, my children, I bring you good news. I bring you news of the light that will shine through this darkness. The light that will blind and scatter your enemies. The light that will show you the true Way. His Way. The light that is the One True Light…
Enough!
Vredech did not know whether this inner cry was at the physical distress he was suffering or at Cassraw’s mounting rhetoric. He became aware that he was standing up. Then, slowly, he was mounting the podium steps and moving towards Cassraw.
One, two…
He was aware of the eyes of Cassraw’s guardian Knights, uncertain, and looking from one to the other for guidance behind their blank-faced masks. But none were moving.
Three, four…
Vredech’s hand closed about the knife.
Don’t hesitate – not for the blink of an eye.
As Vredech’s grip tightened about the knife, Cassraw turned towards him. Their eyes met.
Vredech hesitated.
‘Allyn,’ Cassraw said softly, with a slight smile. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come to stand by me.’
Vredech found himself looking into the familiar face of his old friend.
‘You must kill him! Now!’ cried out voices within him, desperately.