Roger Taylor - Ibryen

And they carried something else with them which would double the havoc they caused. Jeyan did not have to wait long before recognition of it reached her, for as the sounds of the rout in the stairwell faded, they were replaced by sounds from outside, drifting in through a nearby window.

‘Death-pit dogs!’

The phrase, increasingly high-pitched, was repeated several times but was soon lost in panic-stricken uproar. Jeyan clenched her fists and grimaced, willing the dogs on to mayhem. Amid the din she could just detect a voice desperately trying to impose order, then there was barking, and a terrified neighing, and it was gone.

The noise went on for a long time, though Jeyan knew from its tone that Assh and Frey were safely away. In fact, they had done their worst and fled before the panic even reached its peak. The fear of death-pit dogs – their savagery and the diseases they carried – was a weapon such as the Gevethen themselves might have envied.

Gradually, and only with a great deal of shouting and cursing, order was restored. Jeyan listened tensely as the sound of footsteps and voices came once again up the stairs, but she soon realized that it was only the original party decamping – or being removed, by others. There were several agonizing cries of pain. Jeyan smiled. Her only regret was that she had not been able to watch the dogs at their work.

‘Welcome to the Ennerhald,’ she whispered softly. What a pity it was that the rest of Dirynhald did not give these creatures the same reception.

She waited for a long time after the soldiers had left before even considering moving down the tower. The trembling that had persisted for so long after her attack on Hagen seemed set to return, even more overwhelmingly than before. But that act had at least been planned – fretted over for months before it became clear in her mind, and then perhaps as long again before she could find both the courage and the opportunity. This today had been so unnecessary – so pointless. It disturbed her deeply that she could be so foolish. Had she not learned yet? Trust no one, trust nothing – least of all chance. If she did not think – did not use her wits – how much longer was she going to last here? And how many times was she going to have to learn that lesson?

Eventually, as the unnatural silence of the Ennerhald that day returned, she ended her vigil at the top of the steps and crawled carefully to the opening that she had first looked through. Hands still shaking, she parted the ivy and peered through. The sight was little different from what it had been before. The streets were still deserted save for groups of Guards and soldiers. One group she noted was moving along the avenue that led to the Citadel.

It was too far away for her to make out any details, but the column looked uneven and disordered, and the officer at its head was definitely walking his horse.

Carrying bodies, are you? she thought. Helping your wounded?

She must give the dogs some of her meat tonight.

The thought of the future seemed to calm her. The Ennerhald was still her place. She’d made a mistake today, a serious one, but that was perhaps understandable after what she’d done yesterday. She would be able to do nothing in the city for some time and if she wanted to know what was happening then she would have to content herself with listening to the gossip of such of the Ennerhald inhabitants as she knew. Now she needed distance. She needed to be away from the confines of this place with its isolating height and its rotting floors and its visibility from the city.

She crawled back to the stairs and started to move down them, all senses vivid and alert even though the soldiers had long departed. She missed the scratching click of the dogs’ pads as she descended, and she placed each foot down slowly and silently before committing her weight to it. Even the rustling of her clothes seemed deafening.

Some way down from where she had released the dogs, she came across bloodstains. Patches on the floor, still wet, showed the skidmarks of army boots and told her how much had been spilt, but the most vivid were the sprays splashed over the walls. She saw in her mind the dogs’ bone-crushing jaws gripping and then the fearsome, neck-breaking shake that so effortlessly dispatched rabbits and other small creatures unlucky enough to draw out the hunter in them.

For a moment she felt a spasm of pity for the men who had suddenly encountered this slavering and merciless terror, but she crushed it. They shouldn’t have been here. They should have left her alone. Nothing else was to be said. Nevertheless, she tip-toed past the blood with a look of distaste on her face.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she let out a long breath. She had not realized how oppressive the close walls of the stairwell had become. She must get away from here as quickly as possible now. Make herself safe, near the forest, stay there for a few days – let things settle down.

A noise jolted her back to the present. As she turned, three men, in the dirty brown uniform of the Gevethen’s army, emerged from the shadows to confront her, swords drawn.

The thunder rolled on and on into an infinite, dwindling distance. Then there was nothing except an empty, timeless and drifting darkness, unaware and at peace.

All was silence.

Silence.

And, abruptly, it was over.

Ibryen opened his eyes and found himself gazing up into Marris’s startled face. He made to sit up but Marris’s hand on his chest forbade it.

‘Just rest a moment,’ his old friend ordered, quickly recovering his composure after the suddenness of Ibryen’s awakening. Ibryen swore, pushed the hand to one side, and struggled upright. He was in his own room and on his own bed. And the curtains had been partly drawn.

‘What the devil…?’ he began.

‘You fell over,’ Marris replied before the question was finished.

The answer did not improve Ibryen’s mood. ‘Fell over!’ he bellowed. ‘Fell over!’ He swung his legs round and stood up. ‘What do you mean, fell over? I don’t fall…’ The room swayed perilously and he flopped down on to the bed immediately, Marris catching his arm. He shook it off.

‘Give yourself a moment.’

Ibryen looked up. It was the Traveller. His voice was soothing and reassuring without any cloying hint of pity, and at its touch the room became still.

‘What happened?’ Ibryen asked again, this time of the Traveller.

‘I’m afraid I made you angry and when you tried to hit me, you… fell over,’ came the reply.

Marris nodded in confirmation but Ibryen looked at both of them suspiciously as he stood up again, this time slowly. The room remained stationary. He motioned to Marris. ‘Open those curtains, for pity’s sake,’ he said irritably. He began checking himself for signs of injury.

‘You’re better now?’ the Traveller said, as light filled the room, though, to Ibryen, the remark sounded more like an instruction than an inquiry. The memory of what he had been doing before he collapsed suddenly returned to him. He had to force himself to meet the Traveller’s gaze. ‘I remember trying to strike you,’ he said uncomfortably.

‘I provoked you,’ the Traveller said. ‘I told you, I’m not used to dealing with people. Sometimes I speak when I shouldn’t.’

‘You did indeed provoke me,’ Ibryen agreed. ‘But my conduct was inexcusable, and I apologize. I don’t know what came over me.’ He put his hand to his forehead and moved to the door. ‘Nor why I should collapse like that.’ Fear welled up inside him. Such a thing had never happened to him before. Was he ill? It didn’t bear thinking about. He couldn’t afford the luxury of sickness now or, for that matter, at any time.