Roger Taylor - Ibryen

He turned and spoke directly to Ibryen. ‘Count, I came here because of the cry I heard. It was faint and distant and very strange, as I’ve said, but it had a quality of need about it. It also had, shall I say, an aura about it, such as I’ve only heard in my contact with the Dryenvolk. You told me that something similar had drawn you up on to the ridge, for reasons you didn’t understand. Well it’s not possible that you heard the same as I did. Not possible. That gift hasn’t been given to you. But I’m beginning to suspect you may have an even greater gift. I think you may have heard that part of the cry of the Culmaren that comes from beyond. I think that you may have the skill to reach across the worlds. Perhaps even to move between them.’

There was an awkward silence.

‘There was need in what you felt, wasn’t there? A great need,’ the Traveller insisted, before Ibryen could speak. Ibryen nodded. His mouth was dry. Like Rachyl, he wanted to denounce this strange little old man as deranged – too long alone in the mountains – too long alone in life. But the word need chimed through him. Every part of him cried out, Yes! But there was more than need. Something out there, wherever that might be, was in extremis, was reaching out in desperation. And it had touched him.

The Traveller sat back, seemingly satisfied at last with his conclusion. His manner radiated great excitement. Ibryen now felt all eyes turned to him, waiting for his verdict. Instead, he returned their questioning.

‘Rachyl, what do you make of our visitor and his story now?’ he asked.

Caught unawares, it took Rachyl a moment to compose herself. So violently had her moods swung since she first met the Traveller that she was deeply uncertain about what she had heard.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m dizzy with it all. Only moments ago I’d have laughed to scorn the idea of Culmadryen being anything other than a tale for children. Now I’ve been told they exist.’ She looked uncomfortably at Marris. ‘And told by someone whose word can’t be doubted. And if they exist, what else is possible? But other worlds around us – here, now! How can I credit such a notion?’

‘Hynard?’

Hynard ran a hand through his hair and shook his head violently, as if in the hope that he might wake to find he had merely been dreaming. But no such solace came. ‘I’m no wiser than Rachyl,’ he admitted. ‘Things have been said which sound like nonsense, yet which ring true. But even ignoring that, all the time I’m thinking about simple practical matters.’ He nodded towards the Traveller. ‘How did he get here? I’d swear it’s not possible that he could’ve got past the sentries and the traps, even at night. Just not possible. Unless he came from the south as he claims. In which case he’s truly a very… unusual… person. And if he didn’t, if he’s been sent here by the Gevethen and somehow avoided the sentries, why didn’t he just flee with his information, or kill you while he could?’

Rachyl took charge of their predicament. ‘We’ve duties to do and we need to think,’ she said, her voice a mixture of appeal and brusqueness. ‘May we leave, to do both?’

Ibryen nodded. ‘But speak to no one about any of this,’ he ordered. ‘No one.’ As they rose, Ibryen suddenly held out a detaining hand and addressed the Traveller. ‘Where did you camp last night, and which way did you come up on to the ridge, precisely?’

The Traveller thought for a moment and then told him. Ibryen gave his cousins an order. ‘There’s enough of the day left. Take a party, find his tracks and follow them back as far as you safely can.’ The pair looked relieved to be given a purposeful task to perform.

‘I leave no tracks,’ the Traveller said, with some indignation. ‘I have respect for the mountains.’

‘If you camped, you left signs,’ Hynard declared. ‘Even if it was only the scooping up of snow for water.’

The Traveller gave a conceding nod. ‘Well, if it’ll make you easier in your mind,’ he said.

‘It will, greatly,’ Ibryen said.

When Hynard and Rachyl had left, Ibryen sat silent for a while, then rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘Too early a start, too long a day,’ he said, standing up and motioning Marris and the Traveller to follow him. He led them out of the Hall and into the afternoon sunshine. There were more people than usual in the vicinity of the Hall, but they were all moving away quite briskly. Ibryen smiled as he detected Rachyl’s hand in this dispersion.

‘I’m not sure it was the wisest thing to do, inviting those two to listen to all that,’ he mused.

Marris pursed his lips and spoke reassuringly. ‘It would have been unwise to leave them out. They’ll say nothing, you know that. And they’ll think a lot, you know that too. They’ll bring something to the debate that you and I might well not see.’

‘I’ve caused you a great many problems,’ the Traveller said.

‘Problems?’ Ibryen echoed with a slight smile. ‘No. I think perhaps all you’ve done is rearrange the ones I already had.’ He became practical. ‘You’ll have to stay in my quarters until we find a proper place for you, and I’ll have to arrange a guard detail for you.’

‘I’ve no plans to leave at the moment,’ the Traveller said. ‘If you remember, I invited myself here.’

‘You did indeed,’ Ibryen agreed. ‘But I don’t think you realized then that it was a prison you were walking into.’

The Traveller smiled. ‘I invited myself,’ he repeated.

They walked on in silence for some way then Ibryen said simply, ‘Why?’

‘I told you why,’ the Traveller replied.

‘You told me some nonsense about my having a gift to hear things from another world.’

‘Nonsense? You believed it in there.’

‘You’re a fine story-teller. I half believe it yet,’ Ibryen said.

The Traveller pointed back towards the Hall. ‘Rachyl’s your kin, isn’t she? And some part of her heard the same call that you did.’

‘Just because she mentioned the Culmadryen?’ Ibryen asked sceptically. ‘Coincidence, that’s all.’

The Traveller was dismissive. ‘In my limited acquaintance of her, I’d say she’s more interested in arm wrestling, sharpening blades and laying ambushes than whiling her time away recollecting the days when she played with dolls and listened to magical tales at her mother’s knee.’ He jabbed a finger towards Ibryen. ‘She heard , Count! Far less so than you did, but she heard nonetheless. It’s in your blood. A special attribute, a talent, a gift, call it what you will, but we have to find out about it.’

‘Coincidence,’ Ibryen repeated, with some force. ‘For all I know, you just wove your entire tale around her casual remark, and you’re continuing in the same vein for some devious purpose of your own.’

The Traveller seized his arm. He had an unexpectedly powerful grip. Marris stepped forward urgently, but the Traveller let go immediately. ‘I may be wrong in my judgement of you, Count,’ he said fiercely, ‘but I don’t think so. And know this: I don’t lie, I don’t fabricate fictions, I don’t seek to deceive. I’m too old to have even the slightest interest in scheming and plotting and the petty seeking after temporal power, though where I can I’ll try to help those who find themselves under the heels of those who do. And the greatest strength that any people can have against such, is knowledge.’ He stepped forward and stood directly in front of Ibryen. ‘I know nothing of the enemy… this Gevethen… you face, except such as I’ve gleaned from casual remarks. They overthrew you by treachery and force of arms, and now hold your people in thrall by the same means. Am I right?’