Roger Taylor - Ibryen

Driven now by forces beyond her control she was coming inexorably to a state that would lead her straight into a desperate charge regardless of all apparent danger. And feeding this was the fear leaking from the soldier, for though Jeyan could not see his face, he could see hers even in the dull light, and it was a mask of awful and primitive hatred against which his sword seemed to be more an emblem of futility than a weapon. The sight brought into awful clarity for him all the qualms about the Ennerhald that he had been having since they had left the towered building so comfortingly near to the city.

Jeyan’s mind took in everything before and around her, unbearably heightened in intensity and framed in a silence which shuddered to the pounding rhythm of her heartbeat: the felled and wounded soldier at the edge of her vision, slowly struggling to recover, the man and sword hesitating directly in front of her, and the third figure hovering at his shoulder. There were no details, only a single whole.

And there was only one way.

Yet, even as she began to launch herself forward, the scene changed. The soldier outside turned, his actions laboured and slow. Eyes widened in fearful realization and the sword came up in defence.

Then, like a suddenly clearing mist, the silence was gone; torn away and replaced by a screaming frenzy of noise and terrifying movement. Assh’s bone-crushing jaws were at the sword arm of the third soldier but he was hurled brutally to the ground and hacked down with a single blow. His assailant however, had no opportunity to celebrate this victory, for even as his sword struck the felled dog, Frey was on his back, tearing at his throat. The two fell to the ground in a floundering mass of limbs and fur and foaming blood.

Distracted by the commotion behind him, Teeth’s attention wavered and he turned. He hesitated for the merest instant then drove his sword into Frey’s side. He was too late to save his companion however. And too late to save himself as Jeyan, already half-crazed by her own plight, seeing her only friends butchered, was swept away by a primal, uniquely female lust to destroy the destroyers at any cost.

The long-abandoned room which had known no disturbance in generations save the excursions of occasional small animals, was filled with a high-pitched, wavering cry that was no longer human as Jeyan, imitating Frey, leapt on to the soldier’s back, and drove her knife repeatedly into him.

So frenzied was the attack that the man did not have time to make even a token resistance, and he was dead before he hit the ground, Jeyan still stabbing him frantically.

She was still stabbing and screaming when a powerful hand seized her shoulder. A terrible sight, with eyes blazing, mouth snarling and her face covered in blood, she swung round to strike at this new intrusion.

A fist, swung with a combination of skill and sheer panic, struck her squarely on the chin, and the noise in the room died abruptly.

Though he had motioned the Traveller to follow, Ibryen strode out at a pace that the little man could not follow, short of running, which he did not seem disposed to do. Marris, with an odd combination of politeness and lingering suspicion, hung back with him though he was patently anxious to be by his Lord’s side.

There was suddenly more activity in the village. Armed people were appearing in considerable numbers and though many were apparently just concerned about what was happening, at least as many again were following some well-ordered drill, dispersing themselves to what were obviously pre-arranged locations about the valley.

‘It’s not an army coming,’ the Traveller said to Marris in a surprised voice, as they stood to one side to allow a group of armed men and women to run by.

Marris gave him a brief, puzzled look, then treated the statement as a question. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It would have been a different call. This is a messenger.’

‘But not expected, I gather from your tone?’

Marris did not reply. They were at the Council Hall where Ibryen was at the centre of a large, agitated crowd. It parted as Marris reached it though the arrival of the Traveller did little to ease the tension and Marris kept close to him as they walked up to the Count.

‘What’s he doing here?’ came a voice from somewhere. An echo of agreement bubbled out from all around the crowd.

‘He’s waiting, like the rest of us,’ the Count replied sternly.

‘He’s seen too much.’

‘How did he get here?’

Ibryen stamped on the questions before more came. ‘You’ve all heard by now what I said before unless everyone’s suddenly given up gossiping. When he’s been properly questioned, what we know, you will know, if it’s possible. Right now, Rachyl and Hynard are checking to see if he’s told us the truth about how he came here. In the meantime he’s in the charge of myself and Marris and he’s to be offered the courtesy due to a guest until we decide to the contrary.’

The answer was not popular and there was some muttering, but there was enough humour mingled with Ibryen’s sternness to prevent any further questions being pressed. The Traveller shifted his feet uncomfortably however, and fiddled with the rolls of cloth in his ears.

‘Are you all right?’ Marris heard himself asking.

The Traveller nodded, but frowned. ‘The noise isn’t easy to deal with, and some of your companions here are quite clear in their minds what they’d like to do with me.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s just talk,’ Marris said, as reassuringly as he could, then, giving him a knowing look, added, ‘talk you’re not supposed to hear. They’re nervous about you.’ He paused and peered into the distance like the rest of the crowd. ‘They’d probably be even more nervous if they knew what you could do.’

His remarks did not calm the Traveller. ‘Do you think we could go inside?’ he asked, looking from Marris to Ibryen. Ibryen gave a curt nod and, with a hint of reluctance at being taken from this impromptu vigil, Marris led the Traveller into the Council Hall. As the door closed behind him the Traveller let out a noisy breath of relief. Marris jumped to a conclusion.

‘You’re going to find life here very hard if you think that was noisy,’ he said. ‘You should hear the din when they’re arguing.’

‘It’s not that,’ the Traveller said. He was wandering about, as though looking for something. ‘Noise I can cope with if I have to. My not hearing is almost as good as my hearing at times.’ He smiled ruefully as if at some private memory, before concluding, ‘It was the hostility.’

‘I told you. That’s just talk. You’re in no danger, especially as the Count’s given you his personal protection. Besides, you can look after yourself well enough, can’t you? Even if you don’t like doing it.’

‘I can, but…’ The Traveller paused by a table and, after trying one or two, selected a seat which he twisted round slightly. He did not continue with his reservation. ‘While in many ways I’m different from you, in as many ways I’m also the same. If I’m startled suddenly or menaced in some way, then I lash out, just as you do – without thinking. And the crowd out there was menacing me.’

‘But…’

The Traveller silenced him with a look. ‘You must understand. I don’t eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help myself. I heard every word, felt every nuance that that crowd uttered and it frightened me badly for all your and the Count’s assurances. People are such dangerous animals.’ He shuddered. ‘I’m talking about a reflex response. Something I’ve no real control over. I – my body – will use whatever noise it finds around it to use as a weapon. What I did to you deliberately was the merest touch and was taken from sounds that you probably couldn’t even hear. The noise of that crowd, on the other hand, was like a vast armoury full of all manner of potentially lethal devices. I was concerned I might do great harm without intending to, both to other people and myself. That’s why I wanted to get away.’