Roger Taylor - Ibryen

Ibryen felt an uncomfortable mixture of pride and irritation at this unexpected praise.

‘It serves our needs,’ he said simply. ‘We’re quite pleased with it.’

The Traveller stopped humming then uttered a series of soft but very rapid whistles. As he finished, his eyes widened and his face broke into a broad smile, as yet again he glanced around the Hall. This time however, his movements were sudden and erratic, as if he were following the fate of the sounds he had just made. Both Rachyl and Marris found themselves imitating the man as they tried to follow his gaze.

Then he was still, and looking at Ibryen. ‘You should be more than pleased, Count,’ he said. ‘There are ancient traits running strong in your people yet. You’ve built more than you know here. Perhaps one day…’ He stopped abruptly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, smiling at his hosts. ‘I’m not used to people – to talking so much. I’m afraid I’m chattering on about things you’re not interested in when you probably want to ask me all manner of questions.’

Rachyl cleared her throat again.

Marris nodded, as if to accept the point, but unbalanced by this voluble newcomer, he merely made a vague circling gesture about his ear. ‘Are your ears troubling you?’ he asked. ‘We’ve a good physician here.’

The Traveller looked puzzled for a moment, then his hand went to the cloths sealing his ears. ‘Oh no,’ he replied. ‘My ears are fine. It’s just that with being in the mountains so long, my hearing’s… very sensitive.’

Another awkward silence descended on the group. It was broken by Hynard returning with a large ewer of water and a handful of earthenware beakers. Catching Ibryen’s eye, he filled one and offered it to the Traveller, who took it gratefully.

‘Who are you? Who sent you? And how did you get here?’ Rachyl’s impatience got the better of her as she seized one of the beakers and filled it hastily, splashing water on the table.

The Traveller’s eyes shone as he peered over the top of his beaker. ‘Ah, you have the gift of creation, young woman. Look, jewels as bright as your eyes, to form a necklace for your lovely neck.’ He pointed to a string of water drops arcing across the table. They shone brilliantly in the sunlight that was being carried into the Hall, and cast rainbow shadows.

Marris and Ibryen exchanged identical wide-eyed glances full of equal proportions of surprise, amusement and anticipation. Hynard’s mouth dropped open. As did Rachyl’s, the beaker clattering against her teeth. Then, after a moment’s uncertainty, she caught the looks of her comrades, and coloured. She brought the beaker down on to the table with a bang, sending another small fountain of water into the air. Her mouth slammed shut and her jaw stiffened as she jabbed a determined forefinger into the table. Her words had to fight their way past clenched teeth.

‘Don’t you…’

The Traveller reached forward and laid a hand briefly on Rachyl’s. ‘Don’t be angry,’ he said gently. ‘It was just a compliment.’

Ibryen interceded quickly. ‘Compliments are a rarity here,’ he said. ‘And, sadly, confined for the most part to praising fighting attributes rather than anything else.’ He became more purposeful. ‘But Rachyl’s questions are as valid as when I asked them up on the ridge, and we need to know your answers.’

The Traveller nodded. ‘I can appreciate that more now,’ he said. ‘But my answers are unchanged. I am…’ He pronounced his name. As Ibryen had done when he first heard it, the other three listeners leaned forward to catch it, then shook their heads and looked at one another in confusion.

‘Well, you’re not from anywhere around here, that’s for sure,’ Marris said after a moment.

‘We’ll continue to call you Traveller,’ Ibryen said authoritatively and a little impatiently. He motioned him to continue.

‘My homeland’s a long way from here. I’ve travelled to and through many places over the years, but I’ve come here now from the land you probably know as Girnlant.’

The reaction was as Ibryen’s had been.

‘Girnlant’s supposed to be to the south,’ Rachyl burst out. ‘It probably doesn’t even exist. No one could possibly get over the mountains.’

The Traveller snorted slightly. ‘Girnlant exists well enough,’ he said, and dipping a finger in his water he began drawing a crude map on the table. At the top were a series of peaks representing the mountains. ‘You’re here,’ he announced, poking a glistening spot above them. ‘And Girnlant’s down here.’ A broad sweep finished the map. ‘It used to be one land once, but there are about twenty or more states there now… all of them at least as big as Nesdiryn.’ He sat back, adding with some heat, ‘Just because you can’t walk to the moon doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, girl.’ Rachyl bridled at the word ‘girl’ but Ibryen’s look kept her silent. The Traveller fumbled in a purse at his waist and eventually produced a coin. He put it on the table and flicked it towards Rachyl. ‘That’s from one of them. Somewhere in the middle. Here.’ He prodded the map again. ‘I can’t remember the name of the place.’ Rachyl examined the coin cursorily then handed it to Ibryen. On one side was a mountain, on the other a ring with a number in it.

‘It’s not gold,’ he said, handing it to Marris.

The Traveller chuckled. ‘Not a golden people, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘Somewhat burdened by their religion.’ His mood became suddenly sadder. ‘Heavily burdened when I left them, although before I headed north I did hear that the individual who was causing the problem had died, or been killed, so maybe all’s well now.’ He shrugged to himself reflectively. ‘People have a great capacity both for self-deception and for doing harm to themselves. It’s such a shame when you look at what other things they can do.’

‘Some foreign coin tells us nothing,’ Rachyl sneered.

‘It tells us he’s been somewhere a long way from here,’ Marris said, fingering the coin thoughtfully. ‘It’s vaguely familiar. I’ve seen something like this before. When I was a boy, I think. It certainly doesn’t come from any of our immediate neighbours, nor from any land that I’ve ever been to.’

‘It means nothing,’ Rachyl insisted forcefully. ‘Except that he’s a foreigner, which we can tell just by listening to him. What we need to know is who sent him and why.’

‘I’d swear he never got past the sentries.’ It was the first time Hynard had spoken. He had been in command of the inner posts through the night and, though less forthcoming than Rachyl, he was deeply disturbed by the mysterious arrival of the Traveller. ‘They were fully alert when you came round, Ibryen, and they were even more so afterwards. He’s either better than anyone I’ve ever known, or he got up on to that ridge by some unknown route.’

‘Or he came from the south,’ Ibryen offered.

The Traveller did not speak. Silence seemed to radiate out from him, deepening further that which already filled the Hall.

‘Why are you here, Traveller?’ Ibryen asked, almost whispering into the heavy stillness. For the first time since he had arrived at the Hall, the Traveller seemed uncertain. ‘No flippant answers, please,’ Ibryen added. ‘I’m sure you’ve got some measure of our problem here by now, and our natural concerns about you.’

The Traveller looked straight at him. When he spoke, his voice was strange and his words seemed to contain more than they said. ‘Do you not think that you and I should discuss this alone?’

‘No!’ Rachyl and Hynard replied urgently at the same time, albeit almost whispering, like their lord.

Ibryen held out a restraining hand, and thought for a moment. He reached a decision. ‘I make no excuses for my lack of care, other than that I’d no cause to imagine anyone would be up on the ridge. But I was idling in the sun – eyes closed, half-dozing – when he spoke to me. I was quite unaware of anyone near me. He could have killed me, or turned and left, just as easily as speak to me.’