‘Forgive my slowness, Elect,’ Eshenna said, ‘but we should be clear about what is being said. Are we to take it that Inurian was killed by one of our own kind?’
Cerys sighed. ‘As Olyn said, we have left certainty behind. But it seems . . . possible.’
‘It’s hard to believe,’ Eshenna said. ‘It must be a long time since na’kyrim killed na’kyrim.’
‘It happened in Koldihrve, years ago,’ said Olyn. ‘Before that, as far as I know, one would have to go back another two centuries or more, to the early Storm Years. Hyrungyr killed at least two na’kyrim on behalf of Amgadan the Wheelwright, who held the castle at Asger Tan. Of course, it was not uncommon before that, during the Three Kingships and the War of the Tainted.’
Mon Dyvain was tapping the ancient wood of the table distractedly.
‘Ancient history come to life, then,’ he murmured.
‘I think so,’ agreed Cerys. ‘Some of you know already, but perhaps others do not: when the Dreamer spoke of Inurian’s death, he also referred to someone else. A man, whose presence in the Shared Tyn seems to find . . . unsettling.’
‘Then it must be true,’ Eshenna said at once. ‘Surely it’s clear that this man—this na’kyrim—the Dreamer spoke of is responsible for Inurian’s death.’
Cerys regarded the younger woman in silence. There was little more to say.
‘What must we do, then?’ Eshenna asked.
‘There is nothing to do but watch and learn, and seek to understand, as our duties here demand,’ said Alian.
It was well concealed, and perhaps the others did not notice it, but Cerys caught the slight twitch in Eshenna’s face as the young na’kyrim suppressed an instinctive, dissenting, response.
‘You are most likely right, Alian,’ Mon Dyvain was saying, ‘but there are complications here. We know Anduran has fallen to the forces of the Black Road . We know Inurian—peace to him—is dead. The two can hardly be unconnected.’ He looked around at the other Conclave members. ‘Well, it must be so, must it not? There is a na’kyrim, a murderous one, in the service of the Black Road .’
‘It must be so,’ agreed Eshenna. Out of the corner of her eye, Cerys could see Olyn nodding glumly.
‘But why would a na’kyrim serve the Black Road ?’ continued Mon Dyvain. ‘They are not famed for their affection toward us.’
‘Who is?’ Alian asked quietly.
Cerys held up a calming hand.
‘Let us not be too hasty with our assumptions,’ she said. ‘I share your instincts in this, but true understanding may be hindered by rushing to judgement.’
Mon Dyvain inclined his head to acknowledge the soft rebuke.
The Elect’s gaze lingered upon one of those who sat around the table: Amonyn. The muscular, elegant man had said nothing so far. That was his way. He listened, and he thought, and he was never anything other than calm. He was also, by the fine margins on which such judgements rested, probably more powerfully imbued with the Shared than anyone else in Highfast. Cerys had seen him quieten a wailing child with a single soothing touch, and bring back from the very edge of death a Kilkry-Haig warrior crushed by falling rocks on one of the mountain trails. She had, for a long time, loved him in the distant, ill-defined way that came easily to the forever childless na’kyrim, and they occasionally found solace in one another’s arms.
He stirred beneath her questioning look.
‘Has the Dreamer spoken again?’ he asked.
‘He whispers and mumbles. His rest certainly seems disturbed, but the scribes have caught little of it. Nothing of consequence.’ .
Amonyn bestowed a rather sorrowful smile upon her.
‘Then I think there is little enough that we can do. It is best to hold fast to our solitude and silence. With the one exception: perhaps Lheanor oc Kilkry-Haig should be told of our suspicions.’
Cerys smiled. They thought alike, she and Amonyn.
‘With the Conclave’s consent, I have a message ready to be carried to the Thane,’ she said. ‘It tells him that we believe there to be an unknown na’kyrim in the Glas valley and that it is possible—only possible—that he or she is working in the service of the Black Road . We owe the Kilkry Blood that much for maintaining the safety of Highfast for all these many years. What good the warning may do Lheanor, I do not know.’
‘And that is all we do?’ asked Eshenna.
‘That is for the Conclave to decide, but I would propose that for now we watch the Dreamer closely and study his words; we remain alert to any further disturbance in the Shared. That, as befits the purposes for which Highfast was first given over to the na’kyrim by Kulkain oc Kilkry, we wait and we observe and we learn.’
The Elect saw the doubt in Eshenna’s eyes. Not outright disagreement, but doubt at the least. She turned to her right. ‘Alian?’ she asked.
‘Wait and watch,’ said Alian without hesitation.
‘Wait and watch,’ agreed Mon Dyvain, and Olyn and Amonyn. And, after only the slightest of pauses, Eshenna.
After the Conclave had dispersed, Cerys retired once more to her austere chambers. She was weary. She carefully lifted the chain from around her neck and returned it to its oak casket. She was the ninth person to hold the office of Elect in Highfast; she often wondered if all those worthy predecessors had felt as unequal to the task as she sometimes did.
The Elect’s reverie was disturbed by a gentle rapping at the door. She had half-expected it.
‘Come in, Eshenna,’ she called out.
The youngest member of the Conclave entered with a proper air of humility.
‘Forgive me for intruding, Elect,’ she said.
Cerys dismissed the apology with a wave of her hand and gestured for Eshenna to take a seat.
‘It is no intrusion, Eshenna. Being alone with my thoughts is not so restful as once it was. That is true for many of us at the moment, I fear.’
Eshenna smoothed her plain dress across her knees. Her troubled mood was as clear as a scar upon the pale skin of her face.
‘What was it you wanted to speak with me about?’ Cerys asked.
‘Nothing, I think, you do not already know, Elect. I have no wish to question the decisions of the Conclave, but...’
‘But you chafe at the thought of inaction. Of patience,’ Cerys finished for her.
‘As I said, nothing you do not already know.’
‘I know, too, that you mean well, and that your doubts are honestly held. But what is it that you would have us do, exactly?’
‘I am uncertain, Elect. Yet my heart asks for more than simply to wait and watch. I know that Inurian left this place before I arrived, but since I came here I have heard nothing but good of him. Does his death not deserve more of an answer than this? Might not one of us go north, to try to discover what has truly happened?’
‘One of us, such as you?’ asked Cerys with an arched eyebrow.
Eshenna met her gaze with no outward sign of embarrassment.
‘I can conceal myself well enough to pass unnoticed by another na’kyrim, if I am not expected or sought. I would not fear to make the attempt, Elect.’
‘No, I am sure you would not. When Grey Kulkain bade Lorryn come to Highfast and establish a library, and a place of study, he said that he wished him to gather and preserve knowledge, understanding, memory. He had seen how every time tumult swept across the world—the end of the Whreinin, the fall of the Kingships—much of what had gone before was carried off and lost. He and Lorryn hoped that this place would be a storehouse and refuge for knowledge, so that whatever befell the peoples of the world not everything would be forgotten. They were great men, and that was a fine hope. It still sustains me, and all of us here. And you, I believe?’