CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The second assault on Strame/Helt was markedly different from the first because initial bombardments from the defenders abruptly ceased, the gates swung open and a defensive force swept through them. They headed for the attackers with astonishing speed. The attackers barely had time to marshal themselves to confront this before the frontal wave fanned out and hit them, hard. Battle was joined. Those from the city who were pushed relentlessly forward fell in rows, one rank after another, not just because the attackers raked them down but because city Varen literally charged over many of them with complete and reckless disregard. People were mown down and trampled by flailing hooves. It was a dreadful slaughter of one side by its own.
The Baron/Kelt army was ordered to pull back to properly regroup and re-form before they met another charge. The Companions, with Barok, watched the city Varen with their metalaned supporting troops become uncoordinated and unsupported. Even those forced to fight by the city Varen appeared to be disorganised because the Varen themselves, who whipped them on so mercilessly, became distracted in such a way their ranks faltered and splintered.
“What’s happening?” asked Barok anxiously.
“The Red Council guide the Varen,” answered Knellen, squinting at another ragged formation preparing for another charge. His frown lifted. “They issue the commands through the metalans though elite Varen can act quite alone as I did. Clearly both Varen and some of your unluckier troops, Cynas, have writhlings so they can be commanded like most of the others fighting us. The Council orders are reinforced and carried through the insertion of those ghastly things.”
“So are no orders coming from the Red Council then?” asked Saracen.
His gaze was fixed on a group of city Varen readying for another charge, advancing, then turning to look behind them expecting to find others in support and not doing so.
“They’ll be very muddled orders,” observed Belika. “The Red Council must be thoroughly addled by now and I would have thought, even for such powerful horrors like them, they’ll find coherence almost impossible.”
“Can’t the Varen or troopers fight on their own initiative?” Javen eyed another surge forward from the defenders.
“Normally yes,” responded Knellen, watching the ebb and flow of battle. “But this is unusual. It’s rare for Varen to have writhlings. They have their own methods of warfare evolved over aeons and that is now being altered through insertions. Interference is creating havoc. The Red Council are also probably giving contradictory orders to both Varen and troopers through the writhlings. The normal battle formations of both are in conflict with the changing commands that to them probably make no sense. Under normal circumstances you’d find both Varen and troopers would instinctively respond as they were taught but the metalans are driving them to implicitly obey the Council. And,” he added sadly, “they are unable to do anything else or help themselves. The Varen have probably asked for orders. They usually do.”
“You’re right on all counts,” came Barok’s comment.
“They’re fragmenting,” came Belika’s voice into the silence.
The onlookers saw she was right. Varen were now coming, singly or in small groups, in desultory charges. They were being immediately engaged and cut down because though they were clearly confused they were being driven on by the writhlings. It was the same with the city troopers and ordinary fighting men. They all turned from one side to another, completely uncoordinated.
“Give the order to take as many Varen and troopers as are left alive, anyone in fact,” said Knellen, his voice emotionless. “Find communal shards.”
The battle continued to rage. The attrition rate for those defending the city was appalling. Increasingly city Varen and troopers were decimated through lack of command or cooperation between them. Each individual was driven to desperate fighting by metalans that unsparingly drove them on, directionless, simply because the order from the Red Council was to never stop fighting.
By late afternoon the city was entered. Any defence collapsed and there was no longer any order in the city at all, only injured, dead and dying. Knellen, with elite Varen beside him, waited for survivors to be rounded up and corralled to where he stood. Each individual was checked for a metalan. Those with weak or immature signatures were taken away, but a very large group of mostly elite Varen had large mature writhlings making them still struggle to obey, their eyes haunted as they tried to stand. Without compunction Knellen knew he had no alternative but to end it for them. He wanted it to be very quick and painless.
“Get Saneel,” he ordered.
His eyes stayed on those who writhed in the grip of men from Baron/Kelt. Some began to foam at the mouth as they gasped out their pain, their eyes clouding and rolling back. Saneel arrived so quickly, a posse of Maenades with her, that Knellen knew she’d been waiting. He gestured at the metalaned men and it wasn’t just Varen.
“They suffer horribly, Saneel, as I would have done. For the demons, end it!”
He turned away.
The city was taken but there was still the question of what to do with the Red Council. The Companions sought counsel of the Doms who waited to hear news, their expressions intent.
“Can,” asked Sapphire, “the Red Council be contained until we hear from Jepaul at Clariane?”
“I can ensure it.”
“Are you sure, Belika? Have you enough gatril?”
“Yes, and we can add the other if necessary. Saneel’s knowledge is sophisticated.”
“How aware are they?”
“Disoriented.”
“Are they in communion?”
“They try to be but we think their mental processes are affected and disjointed. The connections frequently break.”
“They’re very powerful. It’s imperative confusion is maintained. That’s our only weapon at present.”
“We know, Doms.”
“They’ve been caught unawares. They’ll quite suddenly adjust.”
“Yes.”
“We hope to hear from Jepaul soon. Progress to Clariane is steady with few skirmishes from outlying areas of the city-state.”
“We’ll keep you informed, Doms.”
“Jepaul will deal with the Red Council.”
“We’ll hold them till then.”
“Strame/Helt?”
“You can start re-directing people here, Doms.” It was Knellen who now spoke. “The city is a mess and partially destroyed by the Red Council already, but most is still habitable and will offer refuge. We need people to help the city begin to function again.”
“And the city Varen, Knellen?”
Knellen’s voice was devoid of emotion.
“Those with mature writhlings are dead. We have the Maenades to thank for that. They released them.”
“The Varen and others must have suffered, Knellen.”
“Yes, they did. Those of any persuasion with immature metalans are being sorted now, Doms. If we can, they’ll be helped in the usual way.”
“If not?”
“They’ll be allowed to die, Doms. There is no other way.”
“No.”
“Do you wish us to do anything else at present?”
“No,” came Quon’s voice. “All this is commendable and merits our appreciation. Know this.” Quon paused. “Should the Red Council become troublesome, don’t wait to deal with them. You can’t. We must be told and we will act promptly, nor do we want any of you endangered as you surely would be.”
“We understand.”
“Has the Red Council had any chance to synthesise?”
“No, Doms.”
The link quietly dissolved.
Clariane was reached. The army from Baron/Kelt halted and set camp. Jepaul stood quietly, his eyes on the city. In the fading light he looked an even more powerful figure than usual, the last of the sun’s rays lighting his hair until it looked on fire and his expression was deeply thoughtful. He stayed
so for some time. No one questioned him. He engendered awe and, in some, apprehensive respect. Authority emanated from him as did the aura of highly disciplined power, something about him that advised caution and set him well apart from all other Shalahs. He was unaware of this and wouldn’t have been troubled even if he had known.
He just sensed that in some inexplicable way his time had come, he had a task to do and he’d do it with the utter conviction he did right and he’d do it with thoroughness. Shalah needed to be free. His gifts enabled him to help Shalah achieve this state. He no longer had doubts. His mind was clear. Jepaul, through the tribulations of fire, air, water and earth, and through innumerable trials that included contact with the Nedru, stood impressively erect almost, thought Lisle watching him, impassively untouchable and serene.
The response to the army was immediate. City gates opened and a Varen troop emerged at the gallop, reining in close to Jepaul who rode to meet them. Adon and Lisle watched. The Varen stared at the man who surveyed them. He was taller than they were and his powerful broad-shouldered physique mirrored theirs. He confounded them because they could smell nothing about him at all and sensed even less.
“Name yourself and your intention.” It was a snarled command.
“I answer to Jepaul. And your nomen?”
“I do not answer to one not a Varen.”
“A serious discourtesy,” remarked Jepaul conversationally.
“You are dangerously arrogant,” commented the Varen, his lip curling disdainfully.
“Apparently.”
Jepaul’s obvious amusement baffled and infuriated the Varen.
“Your intention?”
“I have brought Cynas Adon back to you. Doesn’t that merit civility and appreciation?”
“What?”
“Cynas Adon is with me. May we enter the city?”
“All of you?”
“But of course. Do you expect all of us who are in support of your Cynas, to wait on your convenience outside the city?”
“Who makes up his army?”
“His personal troops, some loyal Varen and general folk who make up the usual army train. No one to alarm you.”
“Let us see Cynas Adon.”
“Certainly.”
Jepaul turned in the saddle to beckon a rider forward. Adon drew up next to Jepaul. The Varen showed his teeth.
“Cynas Adon! Welcome home, Honoured One.”
“Thank you, Sede. Are all my elite Varen well, including yourself?”
“Indeed, Cynas. We continue to serve both you and our Red Council.”
“That is excellent news. How many of you are still here?”
“Many renegade Varen have left, Cynas, but there are enough here to ensure your safety.”
“I am relieved to hear so,” came the ironic response. “Escort us into the city, Sede. My friend here with me will be addressed by the honorific of Master. Is that understood?”
“It will be so, Cynas.”
Once inside the city Jepaul sensed the Red Council’s delight at Adon’s return. The feelings he picked up were palpable and tangible though he realised the Varen hadn’t yet revealed his identity. That gave him time to get himself organised. The city Varen eyed the Varen accompanying Adon with doubt and suspicion, especially as some were from other city-states and unknown to them. The army itself took over its old quarters and were settled very quickly. Others in the army train were kept close to them for protection from city Varen who may have had an inclination to use them. It was Lisle’s task to allay any concerns. Expeditiously he did so and with such an air of command and assumption of authority the city Varen immediately responded.
Jepaul knew the Red Council had writhlings ready, probably mature ones, and though he strode about outwardly relaxed and with a confident air, deep down he was inwardly full of a dread he dared not show, especially for those who accompanied him. He felt acutely responsible for them. Since Varen with insertions often had heightened senses Jepaul knew they’d instantly sense fear, even slight traces of apprehension. It was a dangerous time for the Baron/Kelt army, their position delicate and perilous. Lisle was just thankful Jepaul would soon be with the Red Council, because he doubted all those with him could contain anxiety indefinitely and only an incapacitated Red Council would keep them safe. The city Varen awaited their orders.
Jepaul arrived in the Red Council’s quarters in the very early hours, a carafe held in one hand. His arrival was silent as he quietly touched the minds of the guard Varen who lounged back, yawning, while Jepaul entered the chamber. As in Strame/Helt, the Council huddled wheezily. Jepaul glanced round to locate the full containers. As Saracen did, he poured a little from his carafe into each container before he calmly retreated into the shadows of the curtains.
As dawn broke he watched the Council take their usual nourishment, waited for a time as they hissed and swayed, before he strode forward and spoke. The Red Council swung round from the circle they were forming and hissed menacingly.
“Good morning,” said Jepaul politely.
“You!” came a concerted venomous hiss.
“I have returned your Cynas. You should be grateful.”
“Why have you done this?”
“The one who calls me Master will come forward. You’re here. You’re one of those who took the oath with others from various Councils.”
There was a very long silence before a figure, weaving more than usual, edged forward in a slither.
“I am here.”
“Tell the others I’ve come to demand the same oath from them signalling their total allegiance to me – not to anyone else.”
“They won’t wish to.”
“Call me Master!”
There was a rustling of robes as the one glided back to the others. Jepaul saw hands flail and bodies rock and twitch. The heads bobbed about in unusual agitation before a voice spoke.
“We don’t understand why you demand this of us.”
“Why should you?” returned Jepaul. “It’s not your place to either question or comprehend – it is to obey me.”
“We find our thoughts are unclear. We need time to synthesise.”
“You have no time.”
“Do you stay here?”
“Maybe.”
“Then we have time to consider.”
“You’ll take the oath to me here and now as I command you. If I’m thwarted I’m not a patient man.”
“We obey Sh’Bane.”
“And as I’ve said before, Sh’Bane answers only to me. As you do. You owe it to the Progenitor. I am of his line. Do not argue.”
“The oath is ancient. How can you know it?”
“I’m of the Progenitor’s line.”
“If we take the oath the Varen will respond to you. They are our servants. We created them.”
“As you respond to me, so will they. That is no difficulty.”
“We order them and we insert metalans.”
“Then I shall do the same. Where are the metalans?”
The Red Council wavered, irresolute, until the voice in their minds became intensely menacing and they felt acute discomfort that increased.
“Enough!” came a reedy wail.
“Answer me!”
Jepaul received clear directions to where the metalans were bred and stored. He released the hold on their minds.
“We need no other reminder,” came protesting voices in aggrieved chorus.
“Then come, one at a time, and say the oath, now.”
Reluctantly, and weaving drunkenly, the Red Council neared Jepaul as one by one, in sibilant tones, they spoke out loud confirming a most ancient oath that bonded them in their entirety to the one who faced them.
“To whom do you now answer, Nedru?”
“To you, Master.”
“And whom do you obey?”
“You, Master.”
“Have you finished your liquids?”
“No, Master, we saw you.”
/> “Then do so. You will need it.”
Jepaul watched the Nedru obey then waited until he saw the drugged liquid take effect. He saw a circle try to form but collapse as the Council floundered round the chamber, long fingers to their hoods.
“Are you unwell?” enquired Jepaul.
A rasping cough came from a swaying form.
“We do not feel ourselves, Master.”
“Probably taking the oath has unsettled you – it’s a potent oath.”
“Maybe. Maybe.”
“I’ll leave you now. I’ll expect you to respond to me later.”
A concerted asthmatic wheeze answered him as he turned on his heel and left the chamber. The Red Council felt decidedly peculiar. To say unwell didn’t apply to creatures such as them, but they ominously swayed, their heads bobbed with some violence and their boney arms flailed at empty air. They glissaded into each other, recoiled, then went into an individual huddle and shivered and shook as if they were fevered. They repeatedly coughed with a hacking, hollow sound.
Jepaul called Lisle and Adon to his quarters. He spoke long and in some detail. The Varen and Cynas nodded, interpolated questions and finally looked satisfied. Matters went as Jepaul hoped they would. It was Adon who looked very pale.
“The Red Council feel very out of sorts just now,” concluded Jepaul. “So would I with what they’ve ingested but be sure this won’t last long. I’ll keep their liquids dosed until we’ve managed to take control of the city, but though the Council can’t unite or communicate with other Red Councils they’re very powerful and may recover surprisingly quickly. So I can give you little time. Are you ready to do as the Doms and Knellen suggested, Lisle?”
“Yes, Dom, I am.”
“And you, Adon, though I know this is asking a great deal of you?”
“Likewise,” came through Adon’s dry lips. He licked them.
That evening there was an uprising in Clariane. The city Varen, expecting an instant response from the Red Council got none, nor did the Cynas demand their immediate presence for orders pertaining to his defence. They had to act solely on their own initiative. However, without writhlings spurring them on under Red Council control and commands, relayed through the shards, the Varen found themselves disorganised. When they were attacked they responded and the metalans were activated but not with the dreadful power they wielded through the Red Council. The Varen were certainly driven but also deeply confused. It was Adon’s and Lisle’s only opportunity. They knew they had to make the most of it because it was going to be a window of opportunity of very short duration.
The uprising was bloody and violent. Metalaned inhabitants fought to the death, all unable to help themselves. Those without metalans saw the army as saviours and rushed, frantic and desperate, to assist wherever and whenever they could. The city took the night to subdue. It was wild work as men fought in shadows, hand to hand. This wasn’t the normal combat that troops or Varen were used to but it suited citizenry on both sides who used the darkness to considerable advantage.
Lisle gave the order he knew was inevitable. All elite Varen were to be killed as quickly as possible and those not killed outright would be allowed to go quietly as witnessed by Lisle himself. Though it was an order that he made with considerable difficulty, he’d seen enough of writhlings to obey Knellen’s explicit command. He even carried out executions himself. Other Varen were searched for metalan size and strength and, sadly for Lisle, went the way of the elite. Adon did the same with officers and troopers. By the time the insurgency was over it was after dawn and there were bodies everywhere. It was gruesome, especially the sight of bodies where metalans had feasted then, gorged, died.
Dawn saw Jepaul back with the Red Council who were quite unaware of any crisis about them. He again touched their liquids. They were still weak and disoriented but Jepaul also sensed they were becoming irritable, their anger on the rise. Jepaul maintained his mental grip until he saw the Council take their nourishment and again become incapacitated. Jepaul left to find the metalans. The Doms now knew that metalans were bred and raised in each city-state by a Red Council, their husbandry specialised and meticulous. This shouldn’t have occurred at all. Jepaul knew where to find them – it was as if, he felt, they sought him as he did them because they were sentient to a certain level.
He found them. They were ghastly winking things that could burrow through muscle and bone and devoured their host after a time, by first sucking body fluid, then by gnawing and grinding. Jepaul stood and stared at the specially prepared chamber. He gazed at cubicles of metalans, workers scuttling from nest to nest with specially prepared food constantly fed to the newly hatched and the adolescents, their little maws with needle-like protrusions opening and shutting. Guard metalans stalked and crawled from one end of the nursery to the other, most of their attention on newly mature writhlings that were, as Jepaul could see, very large. They were also aggressive, their claws waving threateningly. They were ready for insertion and, Jepaul noticed, had ferocious appetites. He couldn’t repress a shudder.
He knew what he was about to attempt wouldn’t be easy. Though he could avoid insertion easily enough, a swarm of metalans could inflict bites and seriously incapacitate him. He thought. His eyes scanned the room carefully. He noticed it was very warm, something metalans needed before they received the body warmth of hosts, so he judged his first move was to make the room much colder. He wondered if that would be enough to induce a degree of torpor so he could work more easily.
He noticed a series of switches around the walls above each cubicle where many incubated and hatched, but he failed to find what he guessed must be a master switch and he knew he’d no chance of going from switch to switch before he would be attacked. He therefore had to assume that the master switch was elsewhere. He left the room. He began a painstaking search of the outer chamber and there, in a corner above a table, he sighted what resembled a master-board, but which switch governed the writhlings was a mystery. He went closer.
Sighing faintly, Jepaul peered closely, trying to see if, on closer inspection, there was anything to guide him to the right switch. At that instant his jewellery flared and felt very hot. Instinctively, Jepaul put a hand to his throat, glanced round and saw several chairs and another table just to one side of him. He quickly ducked down behind them as a Varen entered, crossed to the master-board, studied it for long moments then entered the brood chamber of the metalans. He was only gone a few minutes then came back, deliberately turned a dial and flicked a switch to another position that Jepaul could just discern from where he was. Then he was gone.
Jepaul eased himself upright cautiously and went back to the metalans. He saw fresh supplies of sustenance had been mechanically lowered into the cubicles and he felt the temperature had begun to noticeably rise. That gave Jepaul his opportunity. He went back to the master-board, reversed the dial and rammed the switch to the lowest position it would go, hoping as he did so that it was to cold and not hot. Then he had to wait. He was acutely alert. It was a wait Jepaul found singularly unpleasant and unnerving because where he was it was dank, uncomfortable, and every fibre of his being quivered at what he faced.
After what seemed a very long time Jepaul went cautiously back into the metalan chamber. His guess was correct. The guard writhlings seemed most affected. He guessed that was because they needed more heat to survive and function as did the newly matured large metalans who were also quite sluggish, their claws that waved at him now still. The cubicles were still active. Keeping a wary eye on the guards and the big metalans, Jepaul moved swiftly, each cubicle switch flicked off all round the chamber. Then without emotion, Jepaul tapped each cubicle with his staff, the runes flaring very brightly. He watched increased activity until, blinded by the staff, frenzied movement slowed and the winking lights dimmed until they were extinguished.
This also galvanised the guards who began to sidle and crawl with frightening rapidity towards Jepaul. But the cold that now see
ped inexorably around the chamber and made even Jepaul shiver slowed their attack. While they tried to reach him he swung away from them, his attention on the mature writhlings. They writhed as he stretched out the staff. The incandescence made them shrivel and try to curl from the light as they died, one by one.
Jepaul had to try to dodge the guards who came from all directions, their legs wobbling. Some had fallen to the floor, torpid, so without hesitation Jepaul stamped hard on them, some repeatedly if they even moved and then he touched them with the staff. Others he had to chase round the chamber and hunt down as they too slowed, overcome by the chill, but they did fight back and he got bitten more than once. This all took Jepaul some time. He prayed no one would come. The exercise left him sweating even as the temperature in the chamber continued to plunge, but he also knew he had to make a last final effort that would finish it. His hands now trembling he quickly quit the chamber, closed the door and directed the staff at the lock. It fused. The coldness was locked in. Exhausted, Jepaul sought his quarters where he fell deeply asleep, Lisle’s specially chosen Varen guarding his door.
He woke to Lisle who told him the Red Council had not long since commanded Adon to present himself. Knowing what a trial of sheer fortitude this would be for Adon, Jepaul was instantly on his feet to be escorted by Lisle. The Varen entered the audience room with Jepaul, to find Adon on his throne, the Red Council clustered round him. Lisle’s hand immediately went to his weapon. Jepaul’s hand went over his and he shook his head in a definite negative. Adon looked across the room.
“I greet you, Master Jepaul.”
“Likewise, Cynas Adon. You look comfortable.”
“I am. The Red Council have been welcoming me home, though they berate me a little for neglecting to bring my son. They do not appear to be themselves. They tell me they feel strangely unlike themselves.”
“That is unfortunate news.”
Lisle looked from Jepaul to Adon and back again as the Red Council sniffed, hissed and swayed, their heads weaving from side to side and their hands gesturing, the boney, attenuated fingers occasionally clenching. They actually looked uncoordinated.
“Indeed, Master Jepaul. I have been telling them of your kindness to me and mine and how you have been so supportive while I was a guest at Baron/Kelt.”
“So kind,” murmured Jepaul.
“And I have mentioned your suggestion.”
“And how do they respond?”
“With justified caution.”
“That is understandable. Do they know they will be escorted?”
“Yes. And they also believe, as you do, that it would be advisable for them to be in more regular physical contact with the Red Council of Strame/Helt who appear to also be at Rhume. They accept that with me here, it is quite safe for them to do this.”
“Then I ask your leave, Cynas, to address them.”
“It is permitted.”
Lisle saw Adon give a tight smile and smelt, at the same moment, some of the Cynas’s nervousness and tension. He was relieved the Red Council were in no condition to notice it. He watched Jepaul approach the Red Council who’d fallen back from the Cynas and tried, unsuccessfully, to form a circle.
“Cynas Adon has outlined my suggestion. There is strength in physical numbers.”
“Yes,” came wispy breaths.
“You’ll take an air car to your brethren at Rhume where they tell me they await you, as will those from Strame/Helt. I’ll escort you.”
“Master!”
“You’d be well advised to take nourishment before you go. I asked a Varen to ensure it’s ready for you so you will go now before I meet you at the gates in one hour. It’s time all the Councils began to assemble, isn’t it?”
“It’s time, yes. We feel it,” came eager wheezes.
The Red Council, still unsteady in their gliding, left the room. Jepaul saw how white Adon had become and Lisle could now distinctly smell his sweat of fear. Jepaul offered his hand so Adon could get shakily to his feet and stand for a few minutes to get his balance. Jepaul and Lisle supported him.
“I saw them, truly, for the first time, Dom.”
“Yes, I let you see that.”
“Was I blind?”
“Yes, in a way you were.”
“It’s taken all I have for the moment, Dom.”
“They leave soon. That will make things easier for you.”
“You have my gratitude, Dom, again. Will they come back?”
Real fear sounded in the voice.
“I hope not, Cynas. But I’m not fool enough to say never.”
“No,” whispered Adon hoarsely. “No.”
The Red Council, fortified by more of Jepaul’s mixture, got into the air car that awaited them and, accompanied by Jepaul, left Clariane. The air car was directed to Rhume. The Red Council stood uneasily, hissing and swaying, fingers clutching at air as they lurched, confinement of this sort always something they avoided. When the air car abruptly settled in a valley the Red Council was deeply confused.
“Why do we stop?’
“Are we at Rhume?”
“You need a rest, don’t you?” came Jepaul’s voice. “You don’t like the air car motion, do you?”
“No,” came a hiss then a cough.
“Rest awhile. We’ll resume the journey shortly, though it will make you unwell. That is unfortunate, but your brethren at Rhume will know how to help. I do not.”
“No.”
Jepaul thought of the hyme and meme which should soon be gone from the Nedru. The gatril, though still effective, would be undetectable by now so his reliance was on the after-effects and on the dose that caused acute nausea in Shalahs. He arrived exactly where he wished to be – in Strame/Helt, startling Knellen for a moment. The Varen’s senses tingled with alarm then he swung round to see Jepaul appear almost directly in front of him. Jepaul’s eyes had an odd glow to them and he smiled broadly. Knellen suddenly grinned.
“Such a fright you gave me, Jepaul!”
“No time for warnings, Knellen. I have the Red Council from Clariane on our way to Rhume.” He saw Knellen’s raised eyebrows. “They’re resting in a valley but the Doms asked me about the Council here. How are they?”
“The Doms told us to ease off the meme and hyme so we have, but the gatril is topped up.”
“Can gatril be used for sickness?”
“I believe so.”
“Then that suits me. Nedru hate confinement and rarely travel by air car as that doesn’t agree with them, so they’re being given treatment for sickness makes good sense. The Red Council here have only one member sworn to me. The others must do so, now. Are they amenable?”
“Reasonably.”
“And Barok?”
“He’s been very good value, Jepaul.”
“Where’s the Red Council?”
Jepaul wasted no time with the Red Council. They’d not been confronted with a ruthless or impatient Jepaul before and in their bemused state they were uncertain how to handle his unusual belligerence. The oaths were uncompromisingly coerced with a complete lack of his usual finesse. The Red Council was inclined to be indignant and petulant.
“We needed time,” complained one.
“Time passes. I grow impatient.”
“We’ve taken the oath.”
“You now go to Rhume as I’ve explained.”
“We have Barok. We’ll stay here and continue our work with him and with the city. The Varen obey us.”
“The city is nothing.”
“It’s ours.”
“It will still be here.”
“We -.”
“It’s my command. Obey it. It’s time.”
“It’s time,” the Red Council hissed in unison. “He says it’s our time.”
Jepaul, with Knellen in attendance, got the Red Council into an old and rather dilapidated air car the two men hoped would last the distance. They met up
with the air car from Clariane. The Red Councils, in both cars, gave wheezing moans as they were swung about in the cars, Jepaul aware they felt what he assumed would be the equivalent of Nedru sickness. It certainly made them incoherent as they huddled, perilously swaying from side to side.
Jepaul found the Red Council from Clariane in their usual huddle, quite still, heads hanging under loose hoods, their hands unmoving. He got into the air car and it began a sharp and abrupt ascent that made heads bob and robes begin to rustle. At the gates of Rhume the air cars made diving movements, before they levelled out and landed in a flurry of dust. The Red Councils wordlessly alighted and glided, wobbling en masse to the gates, just as the air cars almost rose vertically and disappeared.
The Red Council of Rhume was perplexed. Their brethren, whose arrival was so unexpected, looked unwell but this didn’t occasion comment because Nedru never travelled well on Shalah, air transport making them more than uncomfortable. The Rhume Council sensed nothing other than faint disorientation in their brethren but rampart suspicion still lingered. They declined to question or try a small synthesis until their kind were rested and had ingested nourishment, then they felt they could expect responses.
“You say it was Jepaul who brought you?”
“Yes.”
“You, too, Clariane?”
“Yes.”
“Why does he demand this?”
“He says time is now and we should be together.”
“Did he elaborate?”
“No.”
“And he took Adon back to Clariane?”
“Yes.”
“Is Clariane fully under control?”
“Yes.”
“But Jepaul is master of the Varen as well as yourselves?”
“Yes.”
“But he was not at Strame/Helt until just before you came here?”
“No. Cynas Barok came with an army.”
“Where from?”
“We don’t know.”
“Could it be Baron/Kelt? It’s where his wife was taken, as was he.”
“Maybe.”
“And Jepaul appeared there?”
“Today, yes, to bring us here.”
“Who led the assault on Strame/Helt?”
“We know the rogue Varen Knellen was there.”
“You have not yet sensed any threat from Jepaul?”
“Only,” came an aggrieved wheeze from a Strame/Helt member, “when we were reluctant to take the oath.”
“And?”
“He has the Progenitor’s touch.”
There was a very long silence at that as the implications of the words were digested.