CHAPTER VI

MEETINGS IN MYARON

Rylan Wryn sprinted up the hill, weaving through rows of
squatty pollardula trees, his feet kicking up a small storm
of topsoil. The light of the rising dawn glowed on his face.
"Come on, hurry!" He beckoned. "The HeliĆ is almost up."

Adilar looked up with dull resignation as he plodded up the
slope, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He had arrived in
Myaron late in the evening and unbeknown to Rylan he had
sneaked out of the Pavilion in the black of night to join
Jefroy and Fredric in the newly opened rescue base and to
receive new directions. He had crept back to a house still
dark, its occupant still happily asleep. Adilar did not feel
so happy when two hours later Rylan shook him awake for a
hike up the hills to observe the birth of a new day.

Rylan had enjoyed a good night's rest: his black on amber
eyes were shining with unbridled zeal. Standing proudly on
the crest of the hill, he encouraged: "Come on up, you lazy
grub." Reluctantly Adilar quickened his sluggish legs and
reached the top within two strides.

"Look," Rylan pointed.

In the blink of an eye, the overlapping faces of the HeliĆ
gleamed over the procession of blue-green pollardula crowns
and breathed new warmth across the valley below. The Smaller
was slowly edging from the Greater towards Sunder Season.
The river Nheim drew a path across the fields twinkling in
multi colours like a bejewelled arm beneath the double
benediction. On the far side, bordering the meadows in a
semi circle, stood country mansions, each being its own
master, enlaced by flowerbeds or small clusters of
pollardula. On the nearer southern side lay Myarvil: row
upon row of rose-tinted villas, each of them flaring like an
inverse triangle to a two-storey flatroof platform, where
the Myaronites engaged in their home industries
manufacturing spitsoar parts and engines.

Adilar inhaled deeply the morning air and said: "You are
right, Rylan, all this is simply breathtaking. I have never
seen a more beautiful place in all Phylee-Patre."

"This is Myaron," said Rylan with emotion stirring in his
voice. "My birthplace."

Adilar gave him a quick glance. "You love this place very
much, don't you, and I cannot disagree with you."

"Yes Adilar," Rylan said, "I would give my life for this
place. And do you taste the air? As pure and exquisite as
the air on Mount Argento, but instead of snow, you have here
the scent of earth, grass and flowers."

Rylan's face opened in a boyish apologetic grin, which
momentarily softened his habitual scowl. "Excuse me, Adilar,
I always go over the top. But just look, dear friend, the
green fields, the hills, the little blue trees and the
country mansions, like a scenery coming alive out of an
artist's painting."

"Yes," Adilar nodded with the same enthusiasm, his sense of
duty roused now that he was feeling the warmth of HeliĆ
shine on his face. He pointed vaguely to the grand houses in
the distance. "And who is living there?"

Rylan put a hand on Adilar's shoulder and leaning slightly,
he said: "The mansion standing somewhat in the middle with
the fountain is the house of Councillor Leutra. The one
closer to Myarvil, practically constructed on the top of a
hill is Myar Hall, the property of Ricar Myar. Come to think
of it, is he not related to the Trevarthens?" Rylan abruptly
broke off. "I am sorry, Adilar, I don't want to intrude."

"Go on," Adilar said, smiling encouragingly.

Rylan flashed a grin back and cleared his throat before he
went on: "Now, where was I? Our honourable Ricar, of course.
Adilar, you may think I know everything about our neighbours
but part of it, mind you, comes from town gossip, I do know
he used to be a regular caller at Trevarthen Hall in his
younger days. Not any more, though."

Adilar asked casually: "And what made him stop coming?"

"Of what I know, he used to be on very friendly terms with
your uncle, Leoynar. And your mother, Adilar but that was a
long, long time ago. Naturally, after your uncle's
mysterious death, Trevarthen Hall ceased to be an
attraction, especially now that our Dama with the Heart of
Stone is its supreme ruler,"

Adilar further questioned lightly as if he was asking about
the weather: "Why do you think my uncle died mysteriously,
Rylan?"

"Well," Rylan replied hesitantly, "in fact that is not the
general opinion. The public think that his case is cut and
dried: an unfortunate accident, a malfunction perhaps with
the magni-pulses of the aero, when your uncle's vehicle flew
over the flytrajectory and crashed into the Greater Odur
Sea. The remnants of his vehicle were recovered but not his
body, not a shred of his body, that's a mystery to me."

"People sometimes disappear. My great-grandfather didn't
exactly die in his bed. He went off one morning and simply
vanished, but in people's minds he remained dead and
buried."

Rylan argued: "That's because ultimately they found his
grave on the shores of Red Lake and haven't they brought his
remains back to Trevarthen to be placed in the proper family
vault? There you are, a proper body but your Uncle
Leoynar--oh no, he was never buried."

Adilar shivered as if the morning warmth had with a sudden
intake of breath turned into winter. So had his father, gone
one day into the snow spires of Argento and disappeared the
next. They had only found his damaged ski-pod and traces of
blood and presumed he was struck by an avalanche on the
glacial slopes, which had become his permanent burial site.
At that time, Adilar had been too young to experience real
grief, only a vague sense that someone who had often cuddled
and played with him was no longer there.

Rylan nudged him gently with his elbow: "Enough of this
morbid talk, eh Adilar?"

Adilar blinked his eyes and pointed with his finger to a
distant settlement gradually awakening with sounds and
activity: "Quite an impressive villa over there."

Rylan fixed his eyes upon a tetragonal complex, five storeys
high, unfolding incongruously in the backyard of the
picturesque scenery with blunt, straight walls and an
efficiently wide landing roof. "That is not a villa," he
said impersonally, "that is Director Milraus' renowned
Sanatorium."

Adilar widened his eyes in interest. Surgeon Director
Milraus, one of Myaron's chief personalities. "That complex
looks quite brand-new."

"In fact," Rylan said, "it has been standing there for quite
some time. Of course, it is a far cry from the old building
but by and by even Myaron has to keep up with time."

"An enchanting place," Adilar commented in general and set
his gaze upon a magnificent edifice soaring in a glade
between two hills, enthroned amidst deep-green lawns and
blue-powdered pollardula woods. He recognized, without
asking, the residence of Lar Wryn. Right there at the back
hidden by the trees stood Rylan's sole property, the
Pavilion, small and comfortable on a strip of land formerly
owned by his grandmother, Dama Wryn, and bequeathed to him
after her death. Not very far away from the Pavilion in a
hastily improvised barn lurked the temporary headquarters of
the Rescue Force that could be reached by a short cut
through the fields.

Adilar asked: "But I don't see from here the mansion of
Councillor Byrull."

"His place," Rylan scoffed, "that is of course his
residential palace and his airstrip, is obscured by the bank
of the hill behind the Leutra place. Behind that hill also
stand the ruins of that old castle I have told you before.
That's our next destination. Come on, down we go.

Hear me, daughters and sons:
Beware of false fathers.
Their care in life is only one:
Children against mothers."

Chanting out his spite, Rylan slid down the hill. Following
him, Adilar briefly inspected the pollardula heads: the
leaves were concealing bird nests but the occupants were
neither here, nor up there in the sky.

Walking to the ancient ruins provided Adilar a closer view
of the famous Byrull mansion and the adjoining private
airstrip. He gazed at the mansion with mixed feelings of
admiration and dislike: the tall picture windows reaching in
unbroken crystal panes to the roof, the laid-in marble walls
and staircases flickering in beryline sheen, and last of
all, the great pale-gold dome arching over the sky with
grandiose intent to deal a final blow to the bewildered
mind. Here was truly the palace of the Phycel who governed a
protectorate within a protectorate.

And adjacent to this mini sovereignty the old castle
dominated part of the sky, crumbling remnants of past glory.
They admired the vastness of the antiquity from a safe
distance as Rylan cautioned the castle was surrounded by
bogland, a treacherous area even by daylight.

Adilar, having read Lamidor's report the previous night, was
again alerted to the fact that the flocks of birds, usually
nesting and seeking refuge in the castle's portholes, had
migrated elsewhere for unknown reasons, and he pondered: the
fossil here and over there, at the opposite end of a
straight line, the sparkling palace. The contrast was
staggering.

Later that afternoon leaving Rylan in his Pavilion merrily
brewing their pot of dinner, Adilar told Jefroy in the barn
of his impressions.

"Still no birds?" Jefroy said. "It doesn't look too good.
But it is a good idea to use your connection with Cestor
Wryn to get a foothold in this place. We don't know yet what
we are up against, but the Force is here to stay."

"We are opening a permanent station here?"

"Yes and here is the other surprise, from tomorrow on your
furlough is at an end. Come back here in the morning to pick
up your uniform. You will present your credentials to
Director Milraus officially as Senior Officer of the Force."

"O Marshall, M'Lar, I bow to you in gratitude for the
advance notice."

Jefroy grinned briefly and continued more seriously: "The
Rescue Force will no longer be involved in the survey. I
will depart tomorrow morning and return maybe in the
evening, or the next day. In the meantime, you will have to
take temporary charge here until I come back. Clearly, the
first thing is to establish liaison with the Sanatorium and
the Town Council. We need a permanent site for our rescuers
and our craft."

"I have seen a very efficient looking little aeroport
nearby," Adilar said airily.

"And you know very well we can't use it, it is private
property. Your task for the next few days essentially is to
provide barracks and supplies before I bring our little
contingent here, nothing more. Naturally, unofficially, it
doesn't mean you cannot keep your eyes peeled for
interesting eventualities that might cross your way. Put it
together in a crypto and afterwards you can hand it
personally to your brother. The old tyrant is coming home."

Adilar's eyes brightened. "Trajan, home at last!"

Jefroy, still grave, said: "Yes Adilar, he will return to
Phylee-Patre to take personal charge of the investigation.
The case now rests entirely within the jurisdiction of the
Spacio Command and I am glad they took this decision. There
are some things that a rescuer cannot achieve without
breaking his moral codes but a commander can without
blinking an eye."

Jefroy went on in a grim voice: "Let us hope and pray that
all Iucarians preserve their common sense. Let us pray even
more so our commanders would not see the need to put into
practice what they are trained for."

Adilar did not speak, thinking of Trajan, thinking how
roguish and fun-loving he was when off-duty but nonetheless
possessing that quality of command which could turn him as
hard as flint in an instant.

* * *

In the following morning, Adilar sombrely watched the
spitsoar bearing Marshall Lauren aloft to faraway beds of
almost stationary clouds. He snatched off his jacket and
pants, and kicked them into a heap on the straw floor of the
barn. With slower movements, he clad himself in the white
shirt and the single-lapelled mauve uniform. The prospect of
being reunited with Trajan at last lifted his spirits.

With head held high in the fresh country breeze and
whistling a tune, he took the narrow dirt path winding
through the fields to Myarvil. The morning was still very
young; not a great many people were up and about, but those
who were stared and smiled at the young Lieutenant of the
Force and waved their hands in greeting.

Adilar joined other residents in the town brasserie where
under the auspices of Rylan the pronageress arranged for a
lavish breakfast to be spread out on the largest table in
the centre of her main salon. In the subsequent congenial
atmosphere, Adilar was introduced to the various
councillors, experts and engineers of the inventors'
community of Myaron, whose obsession in their work
predominated the conversation.

"If we could improve the Tangent Impetus we could be able to
design a perfect SkewSplit in mid-flight," remarked one
inventor to his colleague.

"You need to streamline the Instant Spitspeed," his
colleague observed, "and take it from me: fine-tuning Spew
to Skew is no mean feat."

Adilar wished they would talk about birds. Most of the
assembly were not even aware the birds had abandoned their
principality and those who knew failed to treat it with
concern.

After breakfast Rylan asked, his dark eyes attentively
observing his friend's thoughtful face: "What are your next
plans, mate?"

Adilar said, playing with his knife: "Next I have to present
myself to Director Milraus. Care to come with me?"

"I'll walk with you all the way to the Sanatorium but I
wouldn't want to stick my nose into your secret rendezvous
with the honourable director. While you have your say with
him, I'll be lurking nearby."

Adilar and Rylan took a small footpath up the sloping bank
of a hillock, which would enable them to reach the terrace,
on which the Sanatorium stood, from the back. A garden
stretched out before them, virtually deserted at this time
of the day except for a pair deeply immersed in
conversation. Rylan pointed out that the shorter of the
couple was Director Milraus. He did not know who Milraus'
companion was, a seemingly straight-laced personage with an
abundance of silver hair ballooning in the breeze.

As Rylan disappeared into the surrounding bushes, Adilar
slowly approached the pair: he had recognized that silvery
crown and the prim face beneath, who saw him coming with
eyes popping with surprise. However, Adilar did not address
the advocate right away; the person he was concerned with
solely was Milraus, and as soon as the latter realized who
he had before him, the ends of his round shoulders jumped up
a little in surprise but his intelligent face beamed out
greetings.

"Lieutenant Adilar Schurell!" Milraus exclaimed, "I was
expecting someone from the Force but hardly …" What he was
really expecting was swallowed neatly back into the folds of
his throat, but he continued warmly: "Welcome to Myaron,
Lieutenant Schurell. My good friend, Advocate Grahn here,
has told me so much about you."

Adilar then turned to the advocate and bowed slightly:
"Advocate Grahn, I see that you and I are never really very
far from each other."

"Indeed Adilar," Grahn acknowledged, "the timing is superb."

* * *

Rather impatiently, the Dowager clattered her empty cup and
saucer on the table and said to her companion: "Do you often
see Advocate Grahn arriving in Myaron so early in the
morning, Steward Lamidor?"

"No, my Dama," Lamidor assured her, "Myaron is too rural an
area to be so honoured, unless he has come here with very
important tidings."

"And I can't imagine what could be so important," She
fidgeted in her chair. "He took Milraus with him and they
have been away for hours. I came here chiefly to discuss
things with Milraus. Maea has expressed an interest to work
at the Sanatorium and I think there is no better place to
start an education, but where is our worthy surgeon now. I
cannot wait all day!"

Leaning over to the window, she drew back the curtains with
a resolute hand and exclaimed: "There they are, in the
garden, of all places to have a discussion! Say, they are
not alone, a rescuer is with them. Has there been some talk
lately of opening a rescue base here, Lamidor?"

Fredric answered in an unconcerned manner: "Yes, indeed. A
rather wise decision I would think, considering the recent
disaster, which has occurred in Vriavyn. It would tie in
perfectly with the operations of the Sanatorium."

"What a striking young fellow he is, that rescuer," she
said, wistfully. "His family must be very proud to have
someone like him."

Fredric contemplated whether it was advisable for him to be
the bearer of stupendous news and suddenly found the
challenge invigorating. In the same free and easy voice, he
declared: "That striking officer of the Force, down there
below, my Dama, is your great-grandnephew, Adilar Schurell."

"LAMIDOR," said the Duchess rolling his name over her tongue
as if she was tasting poison, "I have seen an Adilar
Schurell which was an absolute disaster. If this is some
kind of practical joke, I think I will make out a decree
forbidding, on the pain of death, the practising of
practical jokes on powerless old ladies."

A triumphant smile broke out on Lamidor's face: "You are
hardly old and powerless, my Dama, and I am hardly joking,
but every word I've said just now is the truth. I give you
my oath, with my hand upon my brow, that down there is your
real great-grandnephew."

The Dowager asked, with uncharacteristic softness in her
voice: "Have we made a misjudgment?"

Lamidor not at all concerned whether they had or not,
indicated the threesome below were coming up. He and Adilar
exchanged a crafty eye when they met, but further ignored
each other's presence.

The Science Steward, the Advocate and the Surgeon kept very
still as the Dama and the Lieutenant regarded one another.

Adilar bowed low to the Dowager and performed the three
middle fingers trigonal mark of deep respect on his brow,
"My Dama, aunt, eminent Dowager of Ayrie, may HeliĆ Shine
keep you in good health for long epochs." Dama Clarya
touched his cheek in a token of affection bestowed by the
elder to the younger. "It delights me to see the genuine you
at last, Lieutenant Schurell, unless you have many other
guises with which you can beguile your kin."

"I am sticking to this guise which suits me the best," said
Adilar smiling.

"Wine or tea, Lieutenant!" the Dowager said.

"Forgive me, my Dama," Milraus murmured, "but the Lieutenant
is here to carry out an official function first of all.
There will be plenty of time afterwards for chat and wine."

Adilar graciously gave Milraus the winning hand, and he and
Lamidor were towed away by the Director Surgeon into the
functional halls of the Sanatorium.

The Dowager grasped Grahn's arm. "Josrin, did you see that,
the colour of his eyes. They are just like Leoynar's!"

"I have foreseen that you would approve of him with full
marks," the advocate said.

"Leoynar," said the Dowager ruefully, "Oh Leoynar."

* * *

The evening lights effusing from Myarvil were shimmering in
the dusk when Adilar, toilworn in body and soul, made it to
the barn in the absolute stillness of the surrounding lands.
Night sounds had faded from Myaron as if even the wind had
departed and nature was holding its breath, brooding,
waiting for a sign or for something to happen.

Shaking off his jacket Adilar keyed in his password into the
computer and started making out his report. Finished, he
asked the stoic screen whether it had received
communication, and receiving a negative beep he left the
machine to its nightly meditation, and went to stretch out
on the makeshift bunk.

It felt extremely good to be alone at last. He had put the
finishing touches to his official assignment; that had been
his prior concern. With that out of his mind, other matters
of more worrying proportions flowed into the vacancy, and
staring into the empty loft of the barn he allowed his
thoughts to drift back to that earlier discussion he had
with Advocate Grahn over an opulent lunch of spiced
wheatcakes and grilled river fish. The consultation had
dwelled on the issue of inheritance of, not so much as his
own family, but of the Wryn House.

With his face smoothed out in total solemnity Grahn had
answered: "Understand first of all, my boy, that the Wryns
always put their words into action. Myaron was in their
opinion better governed by them and so they acquired it from
the Myars without debate. When Kolcen Wryn said he would wed
lovely Ecelyn without his father's permission, he did just
that. And when the old Lar said that his son and his son's
sons would come to nothing, he made sure that wasn't an idle
threat. By putting his signature to the Edict of
Disinheritance the old Lar made Rylan Wryn plain Rylan Wryn
for the rest of his life and of his children's lives."

"Can a Court of Dissent overturn this edict?"

"Yes and no, and by saying that I mean that all edicts
issued by Lar Protectors are law in themselves. Our sense of
honour is the only, very thin dividing line separating
judicial wisdom from judicial madness. It would not be so
arbitrarily simple in Calitre for there they practise an
electarchy. In brief, applying to a Court of Dissent is a
protracted and frustrating process, which would in all
probability tear grandfather and grandson further apart. The
only and most sensible way is to persuade Wryn Senior to
revoke the edict by a simple stroke of the pen. The problem,
of course, is how to get the patriarch to pick up the pen."

"Does he have other living issue?"

"No, definitely not. And neither has his Dama."

"What will happen to the protectorate after his death?"

"It will automatically be consigned to the second biggest
estate holder of the area, who is Hern Byrull by the way."

"Can a Phycel become a Lar?"

"Of course! The first Lar was born out of a Phycel. The
necessary application to the Hall of Rights will neatly take
care of Byrull's status. If however Lar Wryn were to bring
to bear a council to direct his affairs after his death,
like your great-grandfather stated in his codicil, that
would be an different matter altogether. I am afraid,
Adilar, the issue of the Trevarthen estate lies solely in
the hands of the Council."

With that curt observation Grahn ended the discussion, which
did not offer Adilar any answers how to help Rylan and
Glynmoran in their dilemmas, and he wanted to help so much.
Lost in contemplation of other darker issues of planetary
security he did not notice that a dark figure stood outlined
in the frame of the barn's door. Hearing a hesitant
footfall, he sprang to his feet and stared into the bronze
face of a stranger. The eyes looking back at him were as
blue and brilliant as his own and for a minute, which seemed
to last for ages Adilar thought he was staring into visions
of the past.

"Adilar?" the visitor said, and he had a rather pleasant
voice.

Adilar did not reply, he was unable to.

"I am your Uncle Leoynar."

Adilar whispered: "That is not possible."

Leoynar said sadly: "It is because I never really died."

Adilar closed his eyes as if trying to shut out a bad dream.
"Does Glynmoran know?"

Leoynar sighed: "No Adilar, I first made myself known to
your mother and when I was told about you, I have come to
you, my nephew."

"Glynmoran is your son!" Adilar suddenly darted forward, his
eyes set alight with hope: "You are his father! I cannot
help him but you can."

Leoynar stared at him, first in astonishment, then in pain.
"I cannot," he said.