Roger Taylor: Ibryen

Across the room, resting on a makeshift table, lay a small mirror which she had stolen one day – hardship had not laid vanity fully to rest. For a brief moment, the blackness that the mirror reflected shifted and changed. When it stilled, staring out from the mirror, cold and unblinking, was a solitary watery eye.

Even as Vintre looked at the dark gates of the Citadel, they opened. The sudden movement made him start. He had not even considered the greeting that would be waiting for him as a result of the news that Helsarn had carried ahead, but the absence of the rigid formality associated with the opening of the gates disturbed him, so imbued was he with the Gevethen’s obsessive insistence on order in all things. Further, for a moment, it seemed to him that the gates were gaping like the mouth of some ancient creature come to take vengeance on those who had had the temerity to so handle the murdered body of the Lord Counsellor. The impression was so vivid that it made him gasp and he raised his hand quickly to his mouth to disguise the response as a clearing of his throat.

Silently he reproached himself for this foolishness. The reaction however, gave him a measure of the shock he was suffering at this ominous event. Be careful, he thought sternly. Very careful. Keep hold of the reality of what’s happening. For all the aura that had hung about him – that indeed had been assiduously cultivated by him – Hagen had been only a man, and now he was just another corpse, one person less in authority to be feared. Doubtless an awful vengeance for his slaying would be determined by the Gevethen, but that was a mere detail. All he had to remember was to look for opportunities in the re-ordering that must occur in the immediate future.

He took one advantage immediately. In the absence of the usual formal challenges, he led the column through the gates without stopping. The outer courtyard was crowded with people – Guards, officials, servants – but Vintre ignored them as he rode on, causing them to scatter. He had already noted Helsarn standing on the steps that led to the guardhouse by the inner gate. Just joining him was the bulky figure of Commander Gidlon, the most senior of the five Commanders of the Citadel Guards. He was red-faced and struggling frantically to button his tunic.

Fooling around with the servants again, eh, Commander? Vintre thought caustically. Getting caught out at that, plus the shock that Helsarn had just delivered to him – and a little good fortune – might well see another gap being made in the higher ranks of the Gevethen’s aides, he mused. But Vintre kept any sign of this speculation from his face, adopting an expression of stony-faced shock as he halted the column and dismounted.

Gidlon, tunic awry, ignored his salute. He ran clumsily down the steps and threw open the carriage door. The driver’s unconscious body slowly tumbled out into his arms. Gidlon uttered a startled cry at this unexpected embrace, for a moment fearing that it was Hagen himself. It took all Vintre’s self-control to bite back an hysterical laugh at the sight. By the time he had reached his flustered Commander, the driver’s body was sprawled on the ground.

‘Get this offal out of here,’ Gidlon was shouting at no one in particular, kicking the body.

Helsarn stepped forward, quickly selecting three gaping Guards from the gathering crowd. ‘Take him to the physician straight away, and stay with him,’ he ordered, his manner cold and forceful and markedly at odds with his Commander’s. ‘Mind how you carry him. Tell the physician he’s to be tended carefully – he’ll have to be questioned thoroughly later.’ He turned to the crowd. ‘The rest of you, get about your duties.’ Unusually, the order had only a limited effect. For a moment Helsarn considered repeating it then rejected the idea. It was perfectly obvious that though he had only spoken to Commander Gidlon, the news of Hagen’s death had flown through the city faster than he had galloped. Even now it would be spreading through the Citadel like a cold wind bringing news of premature winter.

As the men set about removing the driver, Gidlon swung himself up into the carriage. Its springs creaked a little and the horses’ hooves clattered as they responded, then there was a sudden silence across the whole courtyard. The sounds of the city outside drifted in to fill it. When Gidlon emerged, there was blood on his hands, and his face was as pale as previously it had been flushed. Very slowly he stepped down from the carriage. Vintre noted that his tunic was now straight and that he had regained much of his normal control. For a moment, he felt a twinge of sympathy for his Commander. He would not have relished breaking such news to the Gevethen, and it certainly wasn’t a matter that could be left to some underling.

Gidlon looked at Helsarn. ‘Get the physician here immediately,’ he said. Helsarn motioned urgently to Vintre, who ran off in the direction taken by the men carrying the driver. Gidlon gestured towards the people that Helsarn had arrested.

‘They did this?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Probably not,’ Helsarn replied discreetly. ‘It was only people running away that made me turn into the street. These were all that were left by the time we realized what had happened – the nosy and the stupid.’

Gidlon scowled and bared his clenched teeth viciously. ‘I told him repeatedly not to go into the city without his duty escort,’ he said, though he was talking to himself, weighing consequences.

‘Lord Hagen was Lord Hagen,’ Helsarn sympathized coldly. ‘More than once he’s dismissed me and my men, and he wasn’t a man to be argued with. There’s no reason why any reproach should be levelled at you, or any of us.’

‘Reason doesn’t come into it,’ Gidlon snarled. ‘Get these people locked up, we’ll question them later. Then start making preparations for a full purge of that part of the city. That’ll be the least that follows this.’

He looked into the carriage again as if for confirmation of what he had to do next. Then, preening his tunic nervously and straightening up, he said, ‘I’ll have to go and tell them what’s happened.’ Helsarn said nothing. Gidlon took a deep breath. ‘Find the other Commanders and tell them to meet me outside the Watching Chamber right away.’

‘And the Lord Hagen’s body?’ Helsarn asked uncertainly.

‘Do whatever the physician says when he gets here,’ Gidlon said over his shoulder as he walked with heavy deliberation towards the inner gate.

It took Helsarn only a few moments to set in train the instructions that Gidlon had given, then he turned his attention again to the watching crowd. No grief was to be seen. That was not unexpected. It was highly unlikely that anyone felt any but, in any event, those who worked in the service of the Gevethen soon learned to become masters of their faces. Nevertheless, he could smell their uncertainty and fear. Who could have done such a thing? That was indeed a frightening thought which he himself did not care to reflect on too deeply at the moment. And who could guess what would flow from it and who would be arbitrarily snatched up in it? His first instinct was to scatter them with a blasting order, but instead, he said quietly, ‘Go about your duties. Say nothing and encourage no gossip. All that is necessary for you to know will be revealed in due course. It will be expected of you at such a time in particular to fulfil your duties without deviation and without error.’

This simple, cold statement had more effect than any amount of raucous bawling. Everyone there knew that mistakes, however slight, could sometimes be used as the basis for all manner of accusations. The crowd slowly melted away, leaving Helsarn with the carriage and the remainder of his Watch. Others drawn to the gathering turned about when they saw the crowd dispersing and then the courtyard was empty except for the occasional individual earnestly pursuing some errand with his eyes fixed firmly forwards.