Ibryen

Chapter 3

Chapter 3The rasp of Ibryen’s sword being drawn echoed the hiss of his sharply in-drawn breath as he leapt to his feet. Despite the violent shock of hearing a voice when he had believed himself to be quite alone, some discipline prevented Ibryen’s alarm from announcing itself any louder. The bright mountain daylight burst in upon him blindingly as he opened his eyes and, keeping his back against the rock, he held out his sword and swung it in a broad protective arc while they adjusted.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed the voice incongruously, amid this frantic scramble.

As Ibryen’s vision cleared, he found himself looking at a small figure standing well beyond his sword’s reach and shifting its balance from one foot to the other as if preparing to flee.

‘I’m sorry if I startled you,’ the stranger said. ‘I didn’t realize...’

‘Who are you?’ Ibryen demanded brutally.

The new arrival was a man. He was dressed in simple, practical clothes, though they were of a cut unfamiliar to Ibryen, and he had a pack on his back. He stood scarcely chest height to Ibryen and was very slightly built — frail almost. Further he seemed to be quite old. But all this signified nothing. Though he asked it, Ibryen knew that his question was of no import. Whatever answer was given, he already knew the truth. Appearances notwithstanding, the man was not one of his followers and could have only come here by stealth — considerable stealth at that, to have avoided the recently alerted guards. He must thus be a Gevethen spy or, worse, an assassin. Marris’s remarks of a few hours before came back to Ibryen, now full of ominous prescience.

He could have been silently murdered while he basked idly in the sun!

Yet he hadn’t been. This ‘assassin’ had announced himself. The thought made Ibryen feel a little foolish though, keeping the stranger in view, he looked from side to side to see if anyone else had also reached the ridge unseen and unheard.

‘I’m just a traveller,’ the man replied. His voice was high-pitched but not unpleasant — indeed, it had an almost musical lilt to it. And he had an accent such as Ibryen had never heard before.

‘You’re not Dirynvolk,’ Ibryen said, instead of the question he had intended.

The little man craned forward a little as if he was having difficulty in understanding the remark, then he smiled. His smile was full of white teeth that seemed to glint in the sunlight, and his eyes sparkled. It was a happy sight, but it was not the smile of an old man. Ibryen tightened the grip on his sword to keep at bay the softening that he was beginning to feel. Though they had long discarded any pretence, the Gevethen had won as much through smooth speech and manners in the early days as through the brutality and terror they now exercised and, even before his flight into the mountains, Ibryen had long schooled himself to be wary of smiles and bland, assuring speech.

‘No,’ the man was replying. ‘I’m far, far away from where I was born.’

‘You have a name though?’

The man nodded and said something. This time it was Ibryen who leaned forward, frowning, to catch the words.

The man noted the movement and repeated his name.

Ibryen shook his head as the sound eluded him again.

‘You’re not Dirynvolk,’ he announced with finality. ‘I’ll call you Traveller.’

‘As you wish.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Ibryen returned to his earlier brusqueness. ‘Who sent you? How did you get here?’

A flicker of irritation passed over the little man’s face. ‘I don’t think I wish to be spoken to like that,’ he said. ‘Least of all at the end of a sword. I’ll go on my way if my presence offends you so.’ He made to move away. Ibryen stepped forward and placed the point of his sword on the man’s chest.

‘You’ll go nowhere until you answer my questions,’ he said starkly. ‘This is my land and strangers in it are not welcome.’

The Traveller looked down at the sword and then up at Ibryen. ‘I’d never have guessed,’ he said acidly. He waved an arm around the towering sunlit peaks that surrounded them. ‘This all belongs to you, does it, swordsman?’ He met Ibryen’s stern gaze squarely. ‘A wiser person might have been more inclined to say that he belonged to the land, don’t you think?’

Ibryen almost snarled. ‘A wiser person might perhaps be more inclined to avoid philosophy and answer my questions, in your position.’

The Traveller snorted disdainfully. ‘What I am doing here is a fundamental question of all philosophies, is it not?’ he said, even more acidly than before. ‘As to who sent me. Ha! Well! A still deeper question. Though I presume you are posing it in the sense that I might be here at the behest of some employer, or even a powerful lord — doubtless one such as yourself who owns many great mountains...’ He flicked the sword-blade contemptuously with his middle finger. ‘...and a big sword with which to menace lesser fry.’ Ibryen winced inwardly before this verbal onslaught but his expression did not change. ‘However, avoiding the greater question, to the best of my knowledge I am here at my own free will, as presumably are you. And how I came here? I used these!’ He lifted one leg off the ground in a dance-like movement, and slapped his thigh loudly. ‘Now may I go?’

There was such authority in the voice that, for a moment, Ibryen almost acceded to the request. ‘No, you may not!’ he shouted, recovering.

The Traveller grimaced and shook his head. ‘Not so loud,’ he said, almost plaintively. ‘I’m not used to people and I’ve very sensitive hearing.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ibryen heard himself saying. The shock of the Traveller’s sudden appearance was still unsettling him, and his mind was awash with conjecture about Gevethen treachery, but holding his sword at the chest of someone who was both older and patently no match for him physically was distressing him. His confusion was not eased by the fact that, despite his position, the Traveller did not seem to be in the least afraid. Ibryen lowered his voice when he spoke again.

‘Only a few hours ago I checked the vigilance of my guards,’ he said. ‘It isn’t possible that you came past them other than with great stealth. And stealth equals treachery in these mountains. You can only be a Gevethen spy and that means your death unless you can show why we should let you live. Now tell me who sent you and why, and how you came here. And spare me any more of your sarcasm.’

Ibryen’s quieter manner seemed to have a greater effect than his previous bluster. The Traveller screwed up his face pensively and the rancour had gone from his voice when he replied.

‘No one sent me, swordsman. I know nothing of these Gevethen you speak of, though there are ancient resonances in the word which are rather unpleasant.’ He pointed. ‘I came here on foot across the mountains. It’s the way I always travel. Fewer people, less noise. And my ancestors were mountain folk.’

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.

‘I’d neither inclination nor justification for killing him,’ Ibryen snapped back angrily.

‘That he’s here is justification enough!’

‘That he’s here is justification enough for keeping him alive, Rachyl. Use your head.’ Rachyl’s jaw came out fiercely, but Ibryen ignored the challenge. ‘He’s got a wild tale to tell and I think we should listen to it. If it transpires he’s lying, then we need more than ever to know how he came here, don’t we? Especially if there are ways to this place that even we don’t know about. For pity’s sake, we can kill him any time. He’s hardly a fighting man, is he?’ The two cousins cast a glance at the Traveller standing patiently some way away, apparently looking round at the mountains. Ibryen’s reasoning was impeccable, but a stranger in the valley was nerve-wracking for all that.

‘What do you want us to do with him?’ Rachyl conceded surlily.

For an instant, Ibryen’s face bore the expression of a man facing insurmountable odds as he looked at his glowering cousin.

‘Be pleasant. Be polite,’ he said, with an effort. ‘Watch him all the time. And watch what he watches. Listen to what he says and take note of everything he asks you. Tell him as little as possible but remember what you do tell him. And tell everyone else to keep away from him.’

‘And if he tries to escape?’ Rachyl asked expectantly.

‘Don’t let him!’ Ibryen’s tone was final. ‘I hold you responsible for his well-being until we decide what to do with him. Is that clear?’ Rachyl nodded curtly.

Ibryen returned to the Traveller. ‘You have my protection, but there’s no point pretending you’re welcome here. We’re under siege from a terrible enemy and have been for many years now. People who appear from nowhere strike a deep fear into us all.’

‘I understand.’

‘I doubt it,’ Ibryen retorted. ‘Go with Rachyl and Hynard, they’ll find somewhere for you to stay.’

‘And they’ll keep an eye on me.’

Ibryen nodded. ‘And they’ll protect you until we can talk further.’

‘I’m grateful,’ the Traveller replied.

‘Do whatever they tell you to do and don’t wander away from them.’

‘I will. They both look very... determined.’

Ibryen looked down at the Traveller. It would have needed no great perception to read the expressions on the faces of Hynard and Rachyl when they first arrived, for all they were now endeavouring to appear civil, and, in his brief acquaintance he had not found the Traveller to be anything other than very astute. He must know the danger he’s in, he thought, yet his last remark was almost flippant. Either he’s a complete fool, or he has greater resources than he appears to have.

He abandoned his debate and without further comment took Rachyl’s horse and turned it towards the approaching crowd.