Roger Taylor - Caddoran

Bowlott nodded understandingly. ‘Yes, I imagine. The world of the man of action… austere,’ he said, just avoiding the word ‘simple’ at the last moment. ‘Constantly dealing with the immediate – with the misdeeds of the bad and the foolish. While we here must struggle with the more ponderous responsibilities of guiding the state through the years.’

Idiot. Get to the point.

There was a brief, awkward silence, then Bowlott leaned forward confidentially.

‘Still, Commander, I’ve not asked you here to discuss our respective obligations. We both know what they are. Under your capable leadership, the Wardens fulfil their duties admirably, leaving the Moot free of disturbance to fulfil its duties in turn. Generally speaking, all is as it should be.’ He gave a reluctant shrug. Seeing no other choice he would have to plunge right in. ‘However, your declaration of the Death Cry has unfortunately caused… ripples.’ He raised a protective hand before Vashnar could respond. ‘I appreciate that your action was perfectly in order. There’s no difficulty there. The Cry has never been a matter for the Moot, nor would any of us wish it to be. But the Death Cry, Commander – and against fellow Wardens.’ He allowed himself raised eyebrows. ‘I’m sure you’re more aware than I am of the stir that it’s caused – a stir that’s now spread so far as to be felt even here. Hence my request for our unprecedented meeting.’ As was usually the case, once he had started talking, the way ahead became clearer. ‘To be honest, I’d thought the Death Cry moribund. I’ve never known it used before, but…’ He gave a dismissive wave. ‘My ignorance of such matters is of no consequence. Obviously you chose to use it because some extremely serious offence had been committed, but I felt that in the light of such seriousness, perhaps the Moot might be able to play a part in helping you resolve the affair.’

Vashnar shifted a little, making his chair creak again. Had Bowlott’s opening remarks been in any way challenging to his authority, he would have had no compunction in discreetly telling him to mind his own affairs and walking away. The Moot was nothing without the Wardens to implement its will and no consequence would follow from such an action. He saw now however, that he had underestimated Bowlott’s ability to slither around events – a foolish mistake. A deep self-anger threatened to stiffen his jaw. It was a pillar of Vashnar’s vision of himself that he never did anything without careful thought and meticulous planning. So what in the name of sanity was he doing, making such an elementary error of judgement? It served only to compound the other foolish mistake he had made recently – the real cause of his anger – the proclaiming of the Death Cry against Thyrn and, worse, Hyrald and the others. It took him some effort to force the clamouring questions into silence and he achieved it only by making the resolution that this day – once he was free of this dust-choked lair – he would gather together his every personal resource, scattered since all this had started, and determine precisely why he had done what he had done. Then, and only then, could he set about reconstructing the plans of years which he had so strangely jeopardized.

He felt an ironic twinge of gratitude towards Bowlott. Had the wretched little man not inadvertently forced the issue, it is possible that he might not have steeled himself to this task until far worse consequences had ensued. And they would have ensued, beyond any doubt! Now there was merely the immediate problem of dealing with Bowlott’s insinuating inquiry.

‘I understand your concern, Striker Bowlott,’ he began. ‘And I appreciate your offer of assistance. Moot and Wardens are rather like draught horses…’ Quoting the Treatise, eh? Bowlott thought, more than a little surprised. ‘Independently, yet together, we draw the state along evenly and smoothly.’ Vashnar risked extending Akharim’s analogy. ‘But sometimes the road is…’ He hesitated.

‘A little uneven?’ Bowlott offered incongruously.

Vashnar shook his head. ‘Worse than that. The road is no longer there. Swept away. Gone.’

Bowlott blinked and stared.

‘Then one of us has to continue alone. Find a new way.’ Like Bowlott before him, Vashnar was gathering confidence now that he had started. ‘This is what has happened here. I can’t tell you more at the moment, because I don’t yet have the full measure of it – not yet found my way, as it were. Certain matters – Warding matters – have still to be resolved. But suffice it that something of the utmost seriousness has indeed happened and I shall advise you fully about it as soon as I can.’ He let out a resigned breath. ‘I’m afraid there’s no way in which the Moot can help. I’m sorry if the incident has caused problems for any of the Senators, but please assure them that the matter is being pursued with the utmost vigour, and I’ve every hope that it will be concluded very shortly.’

Used to equivocation, Bowlott saw that he had done sufficient for the moment. That Vashnar was sitting in his office saying anything at all about the Death Cry made a strong enough point for the time being. The Commander now knew that the Moot had taken an active interest in his actions and that eventually, one way or another, he would have to give an account of them.

‘That’s most reassuring, Commander,’ Bowlott said, standing up. ‘I’ll pass it along to those Senators who’ve been asking about it, and we’ll all look forward to your reporting on the matter in due course.’

Slightly unsettled by Bowlott’s abrupt abandonment of the questioning, Vashnar also stood up. The chair let out a squeal of relief.

‘Once again, my thanks for taking the time to come and discuss this with me, Commander. I appreciate it. You will remember to call on me at any time if you feel there’s anything the Moot can do to assist, won’t you?’ Bowlott’s arm directed Vashnar towards the cave entrance.

The two Pages were at their desks and working with studied diligence as Bowlott escorted Vashnar silently through the ante-room.

Walking through the corridors of the Palace, Vashnar felt strangely detached – his mind in one place, his body in another. The encounter with Bowlott had been no problem, but that dreadful room seemed to have numbed him. It was indeed like the heart of the government of Arvenstaat. Grey-edged, decaying and subtly menacing in its disorder, its nightmare quality hung about him. It confirmed the rightness of his own long-planned intentions, intentions already made more urgent now with increasing rumours of the Morlider islands appearing along the coast and hints of invasions from Nesdiryn in the west.

By an irony which eluded him, it was a diplomatic visit to Nesdiryn which had crystallized a long-felt dissatisfaction into a clear determination. He had merely glimpsed the two strange brothers who had ousted the Count, though their disturbing presence had been almost tangible as they scuttled through an audience chamber surrounded by their equally strange entourage. He had, however, met their Lord Counsellor Hagen and seen the Citadel guards and been impressed, almost over-awed, by both: Hagen, a powerful, frightening presence, single-mindedly ruthless in his determination to fulfil the will of his masters and to bring order to the land; the Citadel guards efficient and unquestioningly obedient and in conspicuous control of the streets.

Hagen it was who had given him the ring he now wore on his right hand. ‘The Lords have noticed you, Commander,’ he had said, fixing him with a penetrating gaze that Vashnar had had difficulty in meeting. ‘They see things far beyond the sight of others, but even I can see you are one of us.’ He leaned forward, the intensity of his gaze redoubling. ‘Our time is coming. Above all things, there shall be order.’ The quotation from his grandfather’s Commentaries made Vashnar start despite himself.