Roger Taylor - Ibryen

The journey through the city was uneventful, news of the Gevethen’s passage having sped ahead and emptied the streets more effectively than a sudden thunderstorm. Such people as were about were kneeling, heads bowed by the time Jeyan’s carriage passed them. That added to her amusement though her main interest lay in the familiar buildings passing by. This had been her territory once, or, more correctly, it had been the rich neighbour to her territory upon which she was free to prey for whatever needs she had. At one point they came near to the edge of the Ennerhald and several times it occurred to her that a bold leap from the carriage and a few strides would lead her into the confusion of alleys, cellars and derelict buildings that had long served as a protective labyrinth to her land. But it would indeed have to be a bold leap for it would have to carry her through two lines of Guards, and Helsarn and other senior officers were also moving up and down the columns on horseback. And what would be the point? Now that the possibility of escape was nearer than it had been at any time since she had been captured, she realized its futility. The Ennerhald held nothing for her now. It had served its turn. It had trained her in the skills she needed and carried her to the heart of her enemy.

When they came to the outskirts of the city, the carriage began to slow and Jeyan had to fight back an urge to lean out of the window to see what was happening. It soon became apparent as they began to pass ragged lines of soldiers moving in the same direction. Travel-stained and obviously exhausted, they contrasted markedly with the immaculate Guards escorting the Gevethen’s train. To Jeyan it seemed not that they were about to fight a battle, but that they had already fought one and were in retreat. What condition would these people be in by the time they reached the mountains? Briefly and somewhat to her surprise, she was torn. How many of these people would die needlessly in the Gevethen’s sudden manic need to capture Ibryen? How many of them had wives and families dependent on them, fretting for them? Visions of sad faces and weeping eyes began to come to her. She crushed them as violently as if they had been so many snakes. These people had betrayed their lawful lord and chosen to follow the Gevethen, now they could suffer the consequences, now they could feel the weight of the Gevethen’s justice. Had anyone seen her face at that moment they would indeed have believed that Lord Counsellor Hagen had returned to possess her.

The informal escort to the train grew as they continued, more incoming troops joining at every crossroads they came to. Not all were in the same sorry state as the first group they had encountered, but all were obviously tired.

Then there was cheering ahead and into Jeyan’s view came the transit camp whose fires and lanterns she had seen lighting the sky on the previous night. It was an inglorious sight. Bedraggled tents had been thrown up, to all appearances at random, to stand like decaying fungi on what had been rich meadow-land, but which was now an expanse of brown earth, churned into mud by foot, hoof and wheel. It seemed to Jeyan that there were hundreds of men involved in almost as many activities. More tents were being erected, carts were being wrenched through the clinging mud, equipment was being carried hither and thither, put down, picked up and carried somewhere else, reluctant horses and mules were being sworn at and whipped, reluctant soldiers were being sworn at and threatened with whipping. Harassed officers and officials were stumbling through the disorder watching the confusion increase with each step they took to bring order. Men were walking, running, marching, standing on guard, standing around fires, or just wandering aimlessly.

The cheering was coming from groups of soldiers lining the road, though there was little enthusiasm in the sound and still less in the faces that Jeyan saw as her carriage moved past them. She noticed officers standing at the rear, obviously there to ensure that this spontaneous burst of loyalty to the Gevethen and their entourage went as planned.

She glanced towards the mountains. The grey mistiness hiding them was nearer. Rain was coming. Good, she thought. The camp would be like a swamp before the day was out.

It took the Gevethen’s train some time to pass the camp, then it was moving along the road that would carry it to the mountains. Once this had been little more than a winding track used by local farmers, leading eventually to a modest bridge which served the few people who chose to live on the other side of the river. It had been adequate. It was, after all, a road to nowhere.

Now, to facilitate the regular campaigns into the mountains, the bridge, hitherto capable of carrying a few cows, had been replaced by one which could carry columns of marching men, provided they had the wit to break step. The track too, bore the marks of progress. It had been widened and straightened and metalled, so that in parts it was the equal of some of the finest avenues within the city itself. It was still a road to nowhere, however.

And it could not cope with the traffic that was passing along it now. From time to time the carriages stopped. Jeyan gave little thought to such interludes though the causes often made themselves known as she passed carts with shattered wheels and broken shafts languishing by the roadside, their contents tipped out haphazardly and their escorts struggling to make temporary repairs or standing round staring vacantly at the damage. What price your great army, Gevethen, halted for lack of a wheelwright? she thought darkly, though her amusement was tempered by the knowledge that the halts were only temporary and that the many soldiers walking alongside, never stopped. The army, though weary, was making relentless progress.

Then it was raining. Steady, vertical rain. It rattled on the top of her carriage, splashed on the close-paved roadway, and drenched the escorting Guards. She leaned back into the comfort of the well-upholstered seat and imagined the rain making its leisurely way along to the camp, ignoring the prayers and curses of the occupants as they saw it approaching. It would take very little to turn the camp into a quagmire and, she judged from the sky, this would continue all day. It was all very satisfying.

Eventually they were moving over the bridge. The river was high with water from the melting snows. Like a panicking crowd fleeing from a great terror, waves rose and fell, grey and spuming white, as they shouldered one another aside to force their way through the constricting arches of the bridge. The sight made Jeyan thankful that she had not attempted the journey to the mountains. At some point she would have had to cross this and even at its least turbulent, during the summer, it would still have been very dangerous.

She did not dwell on the thought. All such conjecturing had been taken from her now. The bridge, however, caught her attention. It was the first time since they had passed the camp that she realized the changes that had been made to the road. How far did it go? she wondered. She tried to remember the model that she had seen Helsarn studying, but without success. Almost without thinking what she was doing she began raking through long-buried memories of childhood when she had occasionally been brought here by her parents. A vague picture of a wide cart-track winding through the increasingly hilly countryside came to her. It passed by a few farmhouses, then became narrower and narrower until it just petered out. A flood of other memories came in the wake of this, all of them painful, and she shied away from them violently, pressing herself tight into the corner of the seat as if to hide there. From here she found that she could peer through the window without being seen from the outside. The road was turning slightly and she could just make out one side of the Gevethen’s black, lumbering carriage. The discovery availed her little however, for the mist and the rain obscured not only the mountains but everything beyond a hundred paces or so.