Roger Taylor: Ibryen

Ibryen followed the extended arm. He was unable to keep the surprise and disbelief from his face when he turned back. ‘You came from the south? ’ he exclaimed. His sword began to falter, but he steadied it quickly. ‘There are supposed to be lands to the south, but the mountains are impassable even in summer. No one even attempts to go there. And certainly no one ever comes from there.’

The Traveller gave a disclaiming shrug. ‘There are many lands to the south,’ he said, as if stating the obvious. ‘All rather noisy, I’m afraid, but that’s the way it is with most people these days. As for the mountains being impassable, that’s obviously not so. Though, in all honesty, I am well used to mountains.’

Ibryen looked at the Traveller narrowly. There was nothing about him that suggested he was lying. But to travel from the south! That wasn’t possible, surely?

‘You’re lying,’ he said.

The Traveller shrugged again, but did not speak.

‘Tell me the truth,’ Ibryen said, forcing an interrogator’s concern into his voice. ‘The Gevethen have lured good men to their cause before now. What have they told you about us? What have they told you to do? How are they paying you? Or are they threatening you, or your family?’

The Traveller frowned. ‘I’ve told you once. I know nothing of these Gevethen. I know nothing of you. Not even your name.’ He became indignant. ‘It may offend your lordly dignity, owner of these hills, but you’re nothing more than a chance encounter on a long journey. A possible companion with whom I might have whiled away a little time – learned a little, perhaps taught a little – before going on my way again.’

Ibryen stared at him in silence for some time, then, for no reason that he could immediately fathom, he lowered his sword. The Traveller looked at him intently, but did not move. ‘If there’s such danger from this enemy of yours, why are you lounging in the sunshine like a noon-day lizard?’

Some quality in his voice insinuated itself deep into Ibryen and forced out an answer that he had never expected to hear uttered. ‘I thought I… heard… something,’ he said uncertainly.

The Traveller let out a long sigh of understanding. He took a pace backwards and crouched down. He motioned Ibryen to sit. ‘You heard something,’ he echoed softly. He glanced down into the valley. ‘Heard it in the night, I’d judge, from the distance to your village.’ He began to rock to and fro on his haunches, humming to himself, seemingly oblivious to Ibryen, though from time to time he looked at him shrewdly.

‘What could you have heard that would bring you from your bed and make you climb up here in the darkness?’ The question was not addressed to Ibryen, it was simply voiced. Then one eye closed and the other opened wide and stared directly at Ibryen. ‘A call, perhaps? A distant cry carried on the underside of the wind, clinging to the rustling of the leaves and the hissing of the grasses? Bubbling in the chatter of the streams?’

The Traveller’s voice brought vivid images into Ibryen’s mind and a profound curiosity that over-mastered his concern at the sudden appearance of this stranger. He stepped forward and knelt down by the man’s side.

‘You heard it too,’ he whispered. ‘What is it?’

‘I heard what I heard. The question is, what did you hear?’

Some of Ibryen’s caution began to return. ‘Enough to draw me here as you guessed,’ he replied.

The Traveller’s face became unreadable. ‘Indulge me, lord. Tell me what you heard,’ he said after a moment. ‘It may be important.’

Ibryen hesitated, then, ‘I’m not sure that I heard anything, although sound is the only word that can describe what I… felt. It was as though something were calling out… for help.’

The Traveller looked out across the valley. ‘Help,’ he said softly, turning the word over thoughtfully. ‘You could be right. How strange. You seem to hear more keenly than I do.’ Then he frowned as if at the deep foolishness of such a remark. ‘Or… perhaps you hear beyond where I can. Perhaps you’re…’ He left the sentence unfinished. ‘I think I’d like to know more about you, swordsman. May I impose on your hospitality for a little while? I can work – or entertain the children with stories. And I’m an interesting cook.’

Ibryen started at this sudden appeal. Despite his curiosity about the Traveller, there had never been any doubt in his mind but that the little man would be experiencing their hospitality for a while, whether he wanted to or not. Probably much longer than he intended. Whatever this man might be – spy or innocent traveller – his knowledge of the village’s location made him a threat and he could not be allowed to leave the valley. Ibryen kept this from his face however, as he stood up and sheathed his sword. ‘You may indeed,’ he replied.

They had attracted considerable attention by the time they reached the lower slopes of the mountain and a growing crowd was emerging from the village. The Traveller paused and furrowed his brow unhappily. ‘A moment,’ he said, laying a hand on Ibryen’s arm. Ibryen stopped, wondering briefly whether the little man was at last about to flee. He had been a pleasant, if silent, walking companion during their descent, with a keen eye for the easy way and, Ibryen noticed, a feeling for the right pace for his companion. But that had been just another puzzle, for though he seemed to be an old man, the Traveller was quite untroubled by the descent. ‘I’m not used to so many people,’ he went on. He was anxiously searching in the pockets of his tunic. ‘Do forgive me. Ah!’ Two small rolls of material appeared from somewhere and, after kneading them briefly between his thumb and finger, he put one in each ear. ‘That’s better,’ he announced, with conspicuous relief, and strode out again.

Two riders were heading towards them. ‘I’m afraid I’m causing a bit of a stir,’ the Traveller said, manipulating the material in one ear. ‘Your people are very alarmed.’

‘You’ll understand why when you’ve been here a little while,’ Ibryen told him.

The riders, a man and a woman, reached them and dismounted in a great flurry. Both were red-faced and flustered.

‘Count…’

Ibryen waved them silent. ‘No fault of yours that I can see, cousins. The Traveller here has a tale to tell that should be worth listening to. He’s come some distance and he’s asked if he might stay with us for a while. I’ve offered him our hospitality.’ Neither of the two arrivals made any attempt to keep the surprise from their faces, but Ibryen ignored the response and turned to the Traveller. ‘Hynard is the son of my father’s brother, and Rachyl the daughter of my mother’s sister. They’ll look after you while you’re with us.’

The surprised expressions became indignant, then confused, as the Traveller advanced on them, hands extended in greeting. Rachyl’s hand flickered uneasily about a knife in her belt, but before it could decide what to do the Traveller encased it in both of his and smiled at her. ‘A delight to meet you,’ he said. His tone forced a hesitant smile on to Rachyl’s grim face but she looked at Ibryen unhappily as the Traveller turned to Hynard and greeted him similarly.

‘If you’ll allow me a moment, I must give my cousins their instructions,’ Ibryen intervened, motioning the Traveller to stay where he was while he moved Hynard and Rachyl some distance away.

‘How the devil…?’

Ibryen beat down Hynard’s voice with a furious gesture. Hynard continued in an equally furious whisper. ‘How the devil did he get through the passes?’ he hissed.

‘And why didn’t you kill him right away?’ Rachyl added, grasping his arm.