Among the Lonely Crowds
"Chareos, can we talk?"
It was an awkward thing to say in the middle of a conversation, but Cosaint could think of no other way to emphasise the importance of the words he was trying to form.
"Of course. Talk. Relax, and just spit it out."
The words brought home to Cosaint just how truly up tight he was. Unaccustomed to sharing his feelings with others, he normally did his best to project an aura of indifference. Evidently the cracks he was feeling in his resolve were showing on the surface.
Drawing in a deep breath he dipped his head and closed his eyes briefly. Instantly he wished he hadn’t. The feeling of resistance hit his arm with a jolt of revulsion. The sound of tearing flesh sliced across his hearing, and the tremor that accompanied a sword sliding free of severed tissue coursed up through his tricep. Firmly biting down on his tongue, the tall Armengarian halted the gag that was rising to his throat.
It had been a long time since he had taken part in such a large battle and had to strike at so many.
It hadn’t been long enough.
Looking around the room, he took in the faces of the two men present. Chareos looked distracted, but somehow still intent on what he was saying. Rhyan was showing all the signs of fatigue since the battle but managed to give an air of dignified competence in spite of the pallor of his skin.
"We have problems" Cosaint began…
*****
Bare seconds after the cry of warning had echoed across the training grounds and they were on them. Screaming down the twisted alleys of the citadel they came, their soulless black faces betraying nothing of the hatred which showed in their movements. Sounds erupted all around and in an instant a peaceful summer scene had turned into a mad clash of steel and flesh.
Ignoring the buzzing in his head, Cosaint took quick stock of the situation. His first thought was to call for the Heart, but a quick glance around dismissed that notion from his head – there wasn’t enough of the Heart in evidence to form any sort of coherent unit. This battle would have to be fought the old way. Midir was off somewhere working on one of his projects, and would have to take care of himself. Lucas was well armed and augmented with his magic could see off most threats…
A moment later and his decision was made. Drawing his broadsword loose from its scabbard flexing the fingers on his free hand, he moved in to stand guard over the healer child, Caillte. A quick glance to either side told him that others had the same idea. Rua and Fionnuala stood ready to his right and on his left two Sakura and Higara of the tribe stood impassively regarding the enemy.
"Forgive" Cosaint whispered over barely parted lips, and allowed his mind to slip under the tide of battle.
The sword reacted. Dancing over the blades of his opponents, it placed itself as a barrier between himself and them, laughing at their clumsy attempts to learn the steps of a jig of his devising. Through glittering arcs it spun as it painted on the air in streaks of silver and darkest crimson, rebuking the arms and legs of recalcitrant partners too slow on the uptake. Swinging to greet a newcomer blade it dived to come up underneath and…
The sudden drag on his arm as the curved blade shore through flesh snapped Cosaint back painfully to reality, and a body collapsed at his feet.
Don’t think about it yet he snapped at himself as he reached down with his left hand to make sure the creature wasn’t about to rise again. Get through this alive; focus on the here and now.
Gripping tightly on his sword to stop himself from dropping it from his trembling hand, he started to take stock of the situation. Casting his eyes about, his heart sank at what he saw.
A small group had gathered to his position, relying on the strength of numbers to provide a strong defense. At his feet, the healer child was singing over the wounds of the fallen and around him the creatures were advancing cautiously on the unified front of Armengar and Tribe alike.
Yet scattered around the battleground were those who had charged the enemy with no thought of working as a cohesive unit, and in their zeal had found themselves cut off from their peers. As Cosaint watched, the creatures herded the lone Armengarians up and moved in for the kill.
Then Simeadrach and Rhyan were there. Laying waste to all about them, they carved a path to their beleaguered comrades and cast back all who stood before them…
*****
"There was no discipline, no unity, nothing. You know me Chareos. I of all people don’t want a return to the militarised structure we had before but that was ludicrous. Were it not for people like Simeadrach and Rhyan here, I think quite a number of our people would be dead"
Chareos shifted his weight slightly to face the young Armengarian. "Well, did anyone try to organise them into units? Did anyone give any commands?"
"WELL MAYBE IF I HAD A COMMAND, I COULD ISSUE SOME!"
Well that came out badly.
Chareos just looked at him, his expression unreadable.
Well, you’ve broached the topic now. May as well continue.
"Chareos, did you tell Cildara not to inform me that he was leaving the Heart?"
Not a moment’s hesitation was evident in Chareos’ answer "No, I didn’t"
Ok, so we know that somebody is lying. Of course, given that Cildara had come to Chareos once before to leave a unit..
"Did you specifically tell him to inform me that he was leaving?"
Again, Chareos remained calm. "I told him that I would consider it a gross discourtesy were he not to tell you"
A strange nausea settled over Cosaint as he regarded the big man. He could
still feel the pent up anger that he wanted to release on him. He felt
the
arguments swell and bubble in his mind; all the overheard rumours, all the
grievances and slights; begging to be released. He wanted to take him to
task for having assigned him a command without asking him. To rail at him
for treating that command like a refugee camp for problem soldiers. To ask him if the healing of Armengarian troops was a joke to him. But looking into the Farseeker’s eyes,
all Cosaint could see was the concern of someone who was trying his best for Armengar in difficult times. Whatever mistakes he may have made in the past few weeks, he no more deserved to be the target of Cosaint’s vitriol than the sprite from the Tribe had deserved to be accosted in the streets.
Weariness settled over Cosaint like a heavy blanket as he searched for the right words for what he wanted to say.
"Chareos…the people are confused. They don’t know where to turn and they are being pulled in so many directions at once. Words which we speak now in innocence may come back to haunt us. Armengar isn’t the unified society it used to be…"
Trailing off, Cosaint regarded the High Protector carefully. The silence grew in the small office as Chareos and Rhyan waited for him to continue. So, make or break Cosaint. Do we continue this line of conversation or do you just let it go? He deserves to know…
Letting his breath out in a long sigh, Cosaint took up the thread of the conversation again.
"At any rate, that’s not the worst of our problems right now"
This time the reaction from the two older men was marked.
"What do you mean, that’s not the worst?"
"You aren’t going to like this…"
*****
It was the kind of day Cosaint had imagined every day would be like once the wars ended. The sun was shining, people were going around their everyday business in a seemingly carefree manner and it was possible to sit back and relax without feeling guilty. Of course, that was just on the surface of things. Beneath the surface, the city was boiling over with speculation and the seemingly peaceful crowds were doubtless spreading all sorts of inflammatory rumours. The return of Simeadrach from the forest after an abortive rescue attempt had really set the cat amongst the pigeons, and doubtless it wouldn’t be too long before someone discovered a new grievance.
Still, sitting on one of the flat roofs of one of the less busy parts of the city, it was possible to pretend that all of that was just a story from a different life time. Today was a day for more pleasant thoughts. Today was a day for allowing the mind to drift over whimsy and idly consider life’s lighter mysteries.
Lying back and enjoying the feel of the sun on his face, Cosaint sifted through his memories of the morning. Unbidden, his encounters with Armengar’s newest visitors swum to the fore of his mind. Now there was a puzzle worth devoting precious leisure time to. Alvar was something completely new to him; with the exception of the creature Coirce that Mactire had brought back from his explorations, Cosaint had never met one of the fae. The glee that the creature seemed to take in almost everything around him was infectious; even now he couldn’t help but smile when thinking back on the brief conversation of sorts they had shared. And the girl…well that was another matter. Shy, reclusive and to all appearances terrified of her surroundings, it was hard to think of a less likely companion for the effusive forest creature.
Thinking back on it, it was kind of heartening to see how many people seemed to have an interest in brining the child out of her shell. It was good to know that Armengar had a wish to protect those in need. Of course reaching the child would be a mammoth task. The only clue as to her origins was the sword she carried, and she didn’t seem in the least bit keen to allow anyone to examine it. He’d barely had time to comment to Midir earlier that it’s weighting suggested it was a child’s blade before she noticed him handling it earlier and snatched it back. In all probability she wouldn’t let anyone near it for some time to come after that.
The temperature on Cosaint’s face dropped abruptly as a shadow blocked the sunlight. Opening his eyes, he looked up into the face of the High Healer.
"Midir!" a smile split his face. "Twice in one day? You’d best be careful. People will start to recognise you again if you are seen out and about so often."
"I know" replied the Slanathoir, a half smile on his face and his voice all mock earnestness. "Then they’ll want to talk to me and everything. Can’t be having that"
Spinning through to a sitting position, Cosaint gestured for Midir to join him before continuing.
"So what does bring you here? It must be something – you’ve had your head buried in your oh so secret project for so long, I thought you’d forgotten the outside world existed."
"Finn, actually"
Well that was a surprise. Finn had died apparently in a bar brawl almost a month ago and, thanks mainly to the exhortations of the returned Sionna, Cosaint had been charged with establishing what exactly had happened.
"How is that investigation going for you anyway?"
"Well, as you can see Midir, the vast amount of information I have to cross-reference is keeping me run off my feet as I track down yet more eager witnesses. Bloody awful. No-one remembers anything, and no-one seems to have known the man. I don’t think I’m ever going to find anything out."
"Ah" the healer hesitated. "So, Nadger didn’t get round to telling you yet?"
Hearing the tension in his companions voice, Cosaint’s bright humour dropped from him.
"Tell me what?"
"Well, it seems Finn didn’t die of a blow to the back of the head as you thought." A cold dread started to seep up Cosaint’s spine. "That was incidental. What actually killed him was a poisoned knife wound."
Unsure how to process this information, Cosaint sat in silence for a moment.
"Please tell me you are joking about this Midir."
"I wouldn’t joke about something like this" came the mild rebuke.
"No, I guess you wouldn’t."
Suddenly, the day didn’t seem so bright anymore.
*****
"What do you mean he was poisoned?"
Chareos looked recognisably upset now and Rhyan wore a look of disbelief on his aged face. Murder was practically unknown in Armengar and for someone to actually be poisoned…
"Apparently he was stabbed with a poisoned dagger. There are now two ways about it Chareos. Before we couldn’t be certain it wasn’t an accident, but now…. You don’t really poison someone by accident."
The High Protector strode over to the window and looked down on the city for a few seconds before speaking again.
"So what do you suggest from here?"
"Well. I guess we should start by finding out who on the island has any poison lore."
Chareos’ reply was cut off by a frantic knocking from the door. Turning the key in the lock, Rhyan opened it to reveal an out of breath Lucas.
"Are you aware of what’s going on out there?"
*****
It was almost sunset by the time Cosaint reached his home that night. The day hadn’t improved much after his impromptu meeting with the High Protector. A thousand thoughts swirled in his mind, each vying for attention. Pouring a cup of water from a jug, he waited for them to settle and then proceeded to oil his sword. The simple repetitive motions calmed him considerably, and finally he was able to turn his thoughts to the events of the day.
A public execution? The event had been disturbing. There was something undeniably repellent about a group gathering to watch the taking of a life. Whether those gathered approved, disapproved or were merely curious as to what the charges were, the whole scene was undeniably macabre and sullied everyone present.
At least it’s better than having the children kill him. If there was anything good to be taken from this whole event, it was that no-one had suggested the traitor be taken to the training camps. Yet still, when the smell of fresh blood had hit the crowd, he had been unable to contain his disgust.
"Sometimes, I think I should just march back to the Hall and slam the door behind me"
"And would you like me to build you a sandbox as well, so you can bury your head in it and pretend the world doesn’t exist?"
He’d not realised he’d spoken aloud until Rhyan had responded, and even now he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the memory. There was a truth in Rhyan’s words, no matter how seriously or not Cosaint had meant his. And yet it was hard to see Armengar come to such a state. Mere months before, he had contemplated the horror that would be Armengar at war with itself, and now here it was. Not overtly yet admittedly, but in the shadows groups gathered itching for conflict.
Yes, sometimes it was tempting to just give up and find whatever refuge one could.
Standing up he surveyed the room and it’s meagre furnishings. In the corner, Equinox was propped against the wall. A box of candle lay in the hearth beside some small ornaments. On the table, weighted down by a stave, a small piece of parchment sealed with Deor’s mark lay abandoned from where he had considered it again the night before.
Walking over to the table, he picked it up and regarded it closely.
So many paths to choose from Cosaint. Inside? Outside? Where do we go from here?
His hand hovered briefly over the seal and he heard again Deor’s voice in his mind. If you ever have to know…
Long seconds passed, until finally he placed the letter back on the table and put the stave back over it. Turning on his heel, he marched back out into the city and the gathering dusk. Winding his way through the city streets, he made his way to the walls and climbed up to stand on the battlements. Sitting facing back into the city, he spent long minutes tracing the labyrinthine roads and alleyways. Finally satisfied, he rose and started back towards home.
There were many paths to chose from, but wherever they eventually led he would walk them here in Armengar.
Where he belonged.
By Fergal O'Brien
