Warautumn (2 page)

Those two exchanged glances in turn.

“I would know what happened at the hold first,” Vorinn added, to break what seemed an impasse of decision.

Tryffon puffed his cheeks, looking relieved, then motioned to a solidly built man of about thirty who had been waiting patiently in a corner. He wore Lore’s bronze, quartered with Argen’s maroon, beneath a cloak of Warcraft crimson. “Levvin, if you would?”

The soldier rose promptly, looking competent and dour—though much of a mold with his countrymen, with black hair; clean, angular features; smooth skin; and dark blue eyes. And if that hair was shorter than the norm, well this was war, and long hair both a hindrance and a risk, especially to one un-helmed in battle.

“Lord Regent,” Levvin acknowledged formally, with a tiny nod. “And Council Lords. I am here to serve you.”

“Your clansmen are known for accurate observations and
unprejudiced reporting,” Vorinn replied in turn, with somewhat forced formality. “Therefore, please tell us what you saw transpire on Gem-Hold’s lowest arcade a finger before today’s sunset, more or less. Omit nothing, no matter how unlikely or difficult to believe.”

Levvin took a deep breath and nodded again, this time with conviction. Typical of his clan-kin under such circumstances, he also closed his eyes, the better to confirm the images called forth by a well-trained memory.

“It was as you said,” he began: “A finger before sunset, more or less, and the side of the hold facing our forces was graying into shadow. I was watching through distance lenses, as was my duty. I had been assigned the center of the lowest arcade to survey, which happened to be the one on which those in control of the hold had exposed High King Avall.”

He paused. “Shall I describe that as well? I was watching when they lowered him over the side.”

Vorinn glanced sideways to where a scribe in Lore’s livery was taking down the account. “Briefly, for the record.”

“Very well,” Levvin continued promptly. “Just past sunrise of this same day, the Regent, Rann syn Eemon-arr, demanded that the usurper-Chief of Gem-Hold-Winter, Zeff of the Ninth Face, surrender himself, his armies, and the hold to the cause of Law and Justice in Eron. Rann gave him until noon to respond, and at noon Rann and many of you here—I could list them if need be—received Zeff’s reply. Zeff, who had absented himself after Rann’s ultimatum, appeared on the lowest arcade in full war gear appropriate to his clan and station, but also bearing the replicas of the so-called magic regalia, which he had captured when he captured the King, including, in particular, the replica of what has come to be called the Lightning Sword. Instead of relinquishing the hold, however, he motioned eight men forward, and together they lowered a circular tabletop a little more than a span in diameter over the balustrade, fixing it to the rail from behind by a means we could not determine. This disk was draped in white fabric that
appeared to be a Ninth Face winter-cloak, which was then removed. Beneath it was the King, Avall syn Argen-a, with his arms, legs, and torso clamped spread-eagled to the wood, and with his feet set on a platform so that he might not suffocate. He was naked—I assume to prove that he had not been mutilated and thereby rendered unfit to reign. Zeff then proceeded to mock our demand, and countered with a demand of his own—that we had until dawn tomorrow to withdraw our forces. In punctuation of that threat, he raised his sword—which, though it appears exactly like the sword called the Lightning Sword in form and substance, lacks that one’s magical properties, so we supposed—and slashed it down in an arc from sky to earth. An explosion ensued—not quite lightning, though that is the only word that seems even vaguely appropriate—and the siege tower to the immediate right of the Regent’s tower was destroyed and several soldiers killed. At that time the Regent’s party withdrew.”

“All of which we knew,” one of the younger subchiefs noted from the far end of the table.

“It is needed for the record,” Tryffon snapped. “Be silent.”

Levvin nodded appreciation, took another sip of wine, and continued. “Zeff withdrew as well, but nothing else changed as the day waned. Avall remained where he was: exposed below the arcade. Three soldiers guarded him at all times, one of whom was changed every hand. A finger before sunset, three more guards returned, this time escorting a man in a plain white robe whom we identified as Kylin syn Omyrr, late the High King’s harpist, and more lately prisoner in Gem-Hold by his own actions, for reasons that are still unclear. In any case, Kylin was seated and a harp set beside him, but he was not at that time asked to play. A moment later, Zeff returned, in the company of two more guards, whereupon those who had escorted Kylin departed. Kylin then played for Zeff—four songs, we think—and then Zeff appeared to offer him wine and filled a goblet for him with his own hands. The account now becomes … difficult. From what I could discern—for it
was growing dark and no torches had yet been lit on the arcade—Kylin reached for the goblet. Instead of taking it, however, he reached
past
it and seized the sword Zeff had worn earlier when he called the lightning. Kylin then moved
very
quickly—more quickly than I would say a man
could
move, and certainly a blind one like Kylin—and unsheathed the sword at the same time that he reached around the side of the tabletop and grabbed Avall’s wrist with his other hand. And—”

He broke off, gnawing his lip, as though he were at a loss for words. “And then,” he went on at last, “he—it seemed the two of them disappeared. There was no smoke, no light, simply an
absence
. One moment Avall was on full display, the next, he was gone. The clamps that had held him remained, and they appeared to be closed and locked, but he was no longer in them.”

“And Zeff?” From Vorinn.

“Zeff acted like a man who had been stunned—but only for a moment. He slapped at his side as though the sword were still present, then leapt forward as though to check on Avall—he had to race his guardsmen to do this—and, when he was satisfied that Avall was indeed … gone, stood up very straight, shivered twice, turned on his heel, and returned inside.”

“I’d give a lot to hear what he said then,” Tryffon chuckled, as Levvin opened his eyes again. “It’s easy to maintain dignity for a dozen breaths; two dozen is four times as hard.”

“I’ll remember that,” Vorinn observed dryly. Then, to the assembly at large: “This account is entirely consistent with what we first heard reported. Does anyone have anything to add? Or any questions?”

“Not I, at the moment,” Tryffon replied. “If I think of any, I know where to find Levvin.”

Vorinn waited three breaths longer, then glanced at Levvin, who still stood at full report. “You have done your duty and more. Go with our thanks and good will, off duty for the rest of the night, save as we may find need to summon you.”

Once Levvin had departed, Vorinn nodded to Veen, who motioned another soldier to rise from the same bench where Levvin had been seated. “Forima,” she said, to the slim, dark young woman in Glasscraft livery, “you were closest to Lykkon’s tent when this transpired. Would you please tell us what you witnessed there?”

Forima looked distinctly uncomfortable, even frightened, yet when she spoke her voice was calm. “I wish I had more to report, Lady,” she began, “and a clearer memory of what I
did
see. If any of you have questions, please feel free to ask, as I don’t know what details might be important to you. In any case, what I witnessed—experienced might be a better term—was this.

“It was almost exactly sunset, and I had just left my tent to begin the trek to the front, where I was to replace my bond-sister, who was already stationed there. I was in full armor, but had not yet donned my helm. For whatever reason, my route took me directly past Lykkon’s tent—I would have been no more than a span away from it, at closest. I heard voices within, but thought little of it, though I knew of the … disagreement within the Council that had occurred earlier in the day. Then, suddenly, I heard a noise—not so much a boom or an actual explosion, as a cracking sound, as though someone had snapped a whip or shaken a sheet of leather. At one with this, I saw the tent … light up from within, as though someone had dropped a glow-globe. The tent’s sides bulged as well, and I heard the sounds of items falling or being thrown about. This alarmed me, and I flinched away and fell. By the time I had found my feet again, I heard more voices, but the only words I could make out clearly were someone crying ‘Avall’ and another calling out, ‘Kylin’—both as if surprised. Fearing that something terrible had transpired, I returned to Lykkon’s tent. Perhaps I called out, I don’t remember. I do recall debating whether to enter without permission, for by that time I was certain that I heard His Majesty’s voice. And then I heard more sounds—it sounded like men wrestling—and then I
heard metal hitting metal—and was immediately struck … not so much by any force, as by a wave of cold that was—It was like a giant fist had thrust out of that tent, reached into me, and grabbed all the heat from my body. I couldn’t breathe, and I think I fell again. When I revived—it was no more than a few breaths later—I was shivering, and others were emerging from nearby tents, also shivering. I called out to Lykkon, but got no reply. I then shouted that I was coming in, but when I looked inside, the place was in complete disarray—which is when I went in search of you. The rest you know.”

“And you are certain you saw no one leave?” Preedor inquired carefully.

Forima shook her head. “Not on the side on which I stood, on which lay the only proper exit. I am told there was no sign of anyone cutting a way out elsewhere.”

“They space-jumped,” Veen concluded flatly. “Simple enough. Zeff would have had to use the master gem in order to wield the sword as he did. We know he had it, because Avall was wearing it when he was captured. Kylin must have sensed its presence as well, and taken a very large risk that he could use it to jump away.”

“But the thing’s mad!” one of the younger Warcraft chiefs protested.

“Apparently that madness is variable and subjective,” Vorinn retorted. “I gather that Avall had regained some control over it. And we already know that the gems seem to act to Avall’s benefit, since he’s the one who found the first one. Even mad, it might act—or incite one to act—in Avall’s favor if given the chance. Maybe. I know it’s a stretch, but it’s the only one we have.”

“And what about what happened in Lykkon’s tent?”

Vorinn shrugged. “It would make sense for Kylin and Avall to jump back here when they disappeared from Gem-Hold. I would have thought they would reappear in Avall’s quarters, but perhaps they wound up in Lykkon’s because that was where the largest concentration of their comrades was.
Or—more likely—because that’s where Rann was—we all know how close he and Avall are. In any case, whatever happened there happened
very
quickly and may well have involved some degree of impulse—even madness, given that the mad gem was a factor.”

“And what
did
happen?” From a confused-looking Stonecraft subchief named Dessann, who had been asked to join the Council at the same time Vorinn had taken the Regency—mostly to represent Stone, which had lost Rann and Myx.

Vorinn leaned back in his chair, fingers laced across his chest. “It appears that Avall—and Kylin, Rann, Lykkon, Bingg, Myx, and Riff—and about half the furnishings in that tent—jumped away. We have no idea where they went, but it doesn’t seem to be nearby.” He paused. “No, actually, I
do
have an idea, but it’s only that. We know that the gems often act on pure instinct and will, and I can easily imagine that Avall—if he was in control of the gem, which makes most sense—wanted nothing more at the moment he found himself free than to join his sister, or else his wife. In either case, he’s shots away by now.”

Tryffon tugged his short gray beard. “But if they went to where Merryn is, and she has the real regalia, they could be back here anytime.”

Dessann looked even more confused. “Forgive my ignorance, fellow Councilors, but I appear to have missed some crucial information—”

Vorinn glanced at Tryffon. “No one told him? I tend to forget who knows how much about what.”

“Apparently not everything,” Tryffon replied, scowling at Dessann. “Where did we lose you?” he asked tolerantly.

Dessann shook his head. “I know about the gems—all subchiefs do, at least those who came from Tir-Eron. That is, I know their history, and I know that they power the regalia. But this talk of replica regalia and space-jumping, and—”

Vorinn lifted a brow at Tryffon. “It appears we keep secrets
better than we thought.” A pause, then: “Very well, to catch you up
very
briefly, with a promise of details filled in later, the situation is this:

“Not long after Avall became King, he began to feel that the regalia—the magic regalia, I mean—constituted a threat, both from people who might want to steal it and to himself or any successor who might use it too eagerly or capriciously so that it came to be regarded as a crutch. For this reason, Avall had duplicate regalia made—very
fine
duplicates, I might add—and had false gems inserted into the various items, since he reasoned—rightly, I think—that a great deal of the regalia’s power came from people’s
idea
of it—power their fears and beliefs
subsumed
upon it, as it were—which has nothing to do with the effects produced by its actual use. Once the duplicates were completed, he dispatched the only person he could truly entrust with such a mission—his sister, Merryn—to conceal the real regalia in a place only she would know. With her, he sent all the other gems, except the mad one—the master gem, we sometimes call it.”

“The one he was wearing when Zeff captured him?” Dessann ventured.

“Correct. And of course he was also wearing the duplicate regalia then, though very few outside this Council knew that at the time—either that he was wearing it, or that it was ‘false’—”

“Not false enough, apparently,” Dessann muttered.

Vorinn glared at him. “Suffice it to say that far too soon after Merryn was dispatched to hide the regalia, we received word that Gem-Hold had fallen, and that the regalia was required—one way or another—to ransom it. Obviously we needed to retrieve it, and before anyone could stop her, Avall’s Consort-apparent, Strynn, took that task upon herself—she and a woodswoman named Div. The fact that neither she nor Merryn has reappeared with it tells us that she has not yet succeeded.”