Roger Taylor - Arash-Felloren

Then, an unexpected concern began to make itself felt. The route they were following was vaguely familiar though he knew it was one which he had not taken for a long time. As he began to remember it, the knot of fear which had tangled in his stomach as soon as he had confronted Pinnatte, tightened. Somewhere around here was the accursed heart of this place: the room whose purpose both mystified and terrified the Kyrosdyn – the Mirror Room. Rostan’s mouth went dry. He was about to touch the crystals at his neck for sustenance, when an inner voice warned him against it.

‘The Room and all the Mirror Ways that feed it should be destroyed,’ had been the common cry raised by Kyrosdyn through the ages. But what if its creator had indeed been Sammrael? Who could say what purpose such a place would serve? And who would perform such a task? And how? What might happen if the intricate pathways of the endlessly reflecting images were disturbed? What chance scatterings, refractions, splittings might occur, what terrible conjunctions and resonances might come together to slice through this reality and open uncontrollable gateways into…?

Despite himself, Rostan ran his hand across his forehead. This was no time to be bothering about that old and intractable dilemma.

In the end, just as they had vaguely allowed the Jyolan to become a rather tawdry asset far from the centre of their main concerns, the Kyrosdyn, as much by default as any conscious decision, had opted for ignoring the Mirror Room. It was something that someone else could deal with – at some unspecified time in the future.

The nearer they drew to it, the more uneasy Rostan became.

Ironically, it was Pinnatte who spared him any further torment. Coming to the last junction before the passage that led to the Mirror Room, he stopped the small procession. The Mirror Room was obviously of importance to Barran, and Pinnatte was still sufficiently in command of his thoughts to realize that he would probably not appreciate that interest being casually exposed to anyone else, specially the Kyrosdyn.

‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘If he’s where I think he is, he mightn’t want to be disturbed, but I’ll tell him you’re here.’

Barran looked surprised when he opened the door in response to Pinnatte’s knock. ‘You’re early,’ he said.

Too flustered to be tactful, Pinnatte flatly contradicted him, then blurted out his tale, almost incoherently. ‘No, I’m late, I’m afraid. I’m sorry. But some Kyrosdyn Brother stopped me in the street. He’s waiting along the passage. He wants me to go to the Vaskyros to see Imorren. I told him I’d have to ask you first. He says he knows you. He…’

Barran blinked owlishly and lifted a hand to stop him. ‘Some Kyrosdyn says he wants to take you to Imorren?’ he said with amused disbelief. ‘He has a name does he, this Brother?’

‘Rostan.’

Barran’s manner changed abruptly and the amusement vanished. He hissed something under his breath, then took Pinnatte’s arm in a powerful grip. ‘I’ll tell you this once, Pinnatte. Learn it! I’ve little sense of humour at the best of times, and none at the moment. Whatever you’re…’

Alarmed, Pinnatte pointed with his free arm. ‘He told me he was called Rostan. He’s back there – go and see. I told him to wait. I didn’t think you’d want him to know where you were.’

Barran hesitated, darker thoughts forming. Pinnatte didn’t seem to be lying, but was he perhaps being used unknowingly by others? Others, taking advantage of the confusion surrounding the transfer of the Jyolan to catch him unawares?

Discreetly he checked his various knives, then he dismissed all other concerns from his mind. Had he made a mistake? He was alone in this part of the building and, even if he were loyal, this street thief would be no use if assassins had come. ‘Do you know who Rostan is?’ he asked. Pinnatte shook his head. ‘He’s the Highest of the Order – second only to Imorren herself. Now why would such a man want anything to do with you?’

His alarm now turned to fear by the subtle changes in Barran’s demeanour, Pinnatte told him a modified version of his encounter with Rostan. ‘I took his purse by mistake the other day, and his bodyguard knocked me about a bit even though I gave it back. He just met me in the street to apologize. Said he’d been looking for me. Said Imorren wanted to make sure I was all right, as well.’

Barran shook his head as if he had just found himself in the middle of a strange dream. Rostan, apologize! Imorren concerned for a street thief! It was impossible. But it was also too ludicrous a tale to be used as a lure to draw him into an ambush. And still nothing about Pinnatte indicated that he was lying. What had this Den-Mate been up to? Had he really done something to attract the attention of Rostan and Imorren? If so, it couldn’t be anything trivial, yet, equally, it couldn’t be too serious, or he’d have quietly disappeared by now. He set the questions aside, took a deep breath, and shook his shoulders to loosen them. When he spoke to Pinnatte he was a mercenary again, looking to make the most of an inadequate ally.

‘I think someone’s deceiving you, Pinnatte, but come with me. If there’s trouble, keep out of it, you’ll get in my way. Just run for help. Do you understand?’

Pinnatte nodded. ‘Run for help,’ he echoed.

‘Now, tell me exactly where this Rostan is.’

Pinnatte told him, volunteering, ‘There’s three bodyguards with him.’

Barran cursed silently. In the confusion of taking over this place he’d let basic precautions slip away. That would end today – if he lived! But, too, Pinnatte’s information was odd. Four men would simply have followed him and struck as soon as the door had been opened.

He patted Pinnatte’s arm reassuringly then motioned him to lead on.

As they neared the waiting group, Barran called out, almost jovially, ‘Step more into the light, Rostan.’

Rostan raised his hands in an apologetic gesture and did as he was asked, at the same time telling his bodyguards to move well back.

‘Wait here,’ Barran said to Pinnatte in a reciprocal gesture.

Reaching Rostan, Barran greeted him with heavily feigned warmth, but made no attempt to disguise his genuine surprise. ‘What’s this Pinnatte tells me?’ he began. ‘The Ailad sends the Highest to seek out our hero?’

‘Hero?’ Rostan queried, obviously at a loss.

Barran looked at him intently. ‘He’s the one who opened the gate the other night. Saved us a lot of problems, not to mention the lives of some of my friends.’

He gave some significance to the last remark to announce that Pinnatte was under his protection.

Still unsettled by what he had found in Pinnatte and by the heightened aura of the Jyolan, Rostan found himself unable even to make an attempt at diplomacy other than to glance round to ensure that Pinnatte and the bodyguards were out of earshot. ‘I know nothing about that,’ he said coldly. ‘This man is needed by Imorren on a Kyrosdyn matter. A serious matter. It’s in your best interests to tell him he can come with us, now.’

Barran was surprised at this bluntness, but he was in no mood to be addressed thus and he replied in like manner. ‘What possible Kyrosdyn matter could a street thief be involved in? He told me some wild tale about being beaten after taking your purse and you wanting to apologize. If he’s still got something of yours I’ll get it for you, but I’m obligated to him and he’s doing important work for me. He goes nowhere until I know what’s going on.’

Barran’s manner forced Rostan to compose himself. He tried to retreat into reasonableness, giving an elaborate shrug and becoming confidential. ‘It’s to do with that incident, Barran,’ he said. ‘You see, it was witnessed by a lot of people – including some of the Prefect’s agents.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘And, unfortunately, someone in the crowd saw fit to… air… the word, Kyroscreft.’ He coughed uncomfortably. ‘The difficulty is, we’re involved in some delicate negotiations with the Prefect at the moment, and the incident’s causing us… problems.’ He fell silent and met Barran’s searching gaze with a look of his own appealing for understanding, one businessman to another. ‘So we need the young man just to confirm that nothing untoward happened and that it was merely a… typical street quarrel.’