"Into Narsindal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

Chapter 3

‘Look,’ said Loman, pointing up at the four figures on the skyline. ‘That’ll be them. Fyndal’s post rider said they’d be here soon.’

Hawklan followed Loman’s gaze and smiled. He reached up and touched Gavor’s black beak. ‘Go and show them the way home,’ he said. ‘They’ll be frightened to death by all this. We’ll join you as soon as we can.’

The raven chuckled, then stretched out his great wings and floated up into the air.

Hawklan’s comment was accurate; the scene around them was indeed intimidating. A great host of people was strung out in a long winding line that disappeared into the woods fringing the nearby hills to the east. Some were riding, some were walking, and some were riding on the equally long line of wagons that was threading its way through the centre of the crowd.

Even as Hawklan was speaking, the head of the pro-cession was spreading out like a great delta, and as the crowd reached the road it divided into two separate streams, one moving southwards, the other northwards.

Gavor circled high and wide, and glided silently down on to the watching group from behind.

He landed abruptly on Jaldaric’s shoulder, startling him violently.

‘So glad you’ve come, dear boy,’ he said with huge menace. ‘We’ve gathered a few interested souls to hear your accounting.’

He drew out the last word malevolently and then laughed raucously.

‘Isn’t it marvellous to be back home, dear boy?’ he continued, jumping up and down excitedly on his reluctant perch.

‘I’m not,’ Jaldaric offered as he gathered his scat-tered wits, but Gavor ploughed on, oblivious.

‘It was very pleasant in the mountains, but one gets so weary of camp cooking and frozen extremities. I can’t wait to get back to a little decent food, some warmth and, of course, my friends. And it’s so nice to see you all again. Come along, hurry up, hurry up, everyone’s waiting for you. You can tell me what’s been happening as we go.’

Berryn and Tel-Mindor looked on wide-eyed at this apparition, then with a little, ‘Hup,’ Gavor hopped up on to Jaldaric’s head and, tapping his wooden leg in time to the rhythms pulsing around them, focused beadily on the two Fyordyn.

‘Ah,’ he exclaimed, as if reading their names from some terrible register of his own, ‘You’ll be Tel-Mindor and Rede Berryn.’ Both opened their mouths to speak, but Gavor rattled on jovially. ‘How are you? Welcome to Orthlund. Isn’t the music fine? Rather a lot of it, I’m afraid, but they’re celebrating, you see. How’s Uskal, these days? In pain I trust? Never mind, tell me later, I always prefer the good news to be last.’

‘What’s happening, Gavor? And where’s Hawklan?’ Arinndier managed to find a momentary opening in this barrage.

Gavor’s response was to click loudly. Jaldaric’s horse started forward under the command, and Arinndier could not stop himself from smiling at the young High Guard’s continuing discomfiture. Then he moved after him, motioning the others to follow.

As they neared the approaching throng they saw that the predominant emotion was happiness. Some of the people were dancing impromptu steps to the music, others were clapping, some were singing, and overall there was a great deal of laughing and talking. The four men found themselves recipients of many friendly gestures and comments.

Nonetheless, Rede Berryn could not forbear saying to Arinndier, very softly, ‘This is Orthlund’s army, Lord? It’s more like a Festival Tournament crowd.’

‘Steady on, Rede,’ Gavor interposed. ‘You’re not the only one who can hear a smart-alec whisper from eight ranks back.’

Berryn looked at the bird suspiciously and tried to recall when he had last used the phrase.

Before the Rede came to any conclusion, however, Arinndier had taken hold of his arm excitedly.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘It’s Hawklan. He’s well again.’ He raised his arm in a frantic salute, and called out Hawklan’s name, but his voice was lost completely in the all-pervading clamour.

The distant figure was looking at them, however, and raised his own hand in reply, before turning and trotting his horse back along the line to attend to some matter.

Arinndier made to urge his horse forward, but the press of the crowd prohibited anything other than a very leisurely walk and with a slight frown he let the reins fall idly on the horse’s neck.

‘Hawklan’s well, then, Gavor?’ he asked.

Gavor nodded. ‘He’s well, Lord,’ he replied. ‘We’re all well, and all anxious to be back home.’

‘Your army’s in good voice, Gavor, but seems to have precious few weapons.’ Jaldaric said, his face puzzled.

‘That’s the Alphraan making all the noise,’ Gavor replied, slightly less enthusiastically than before. ‘The rest of us are just trying to make ourselves heard.’ He looked towards the mountains. ‘One can have too much of a good thing, can’t one?’ he added, very loudly.

Jaldaric’s bewilderment merely increased. ‘But why no weapons?’ he persisted, clinging to the same question in the hope that one strand of clarity might lead to others. ‘We heard your army was in the mountains facing an unexpected foe. What’s happened? These people don’t look as if they’ve been defeated and disarmed.’

Gavor fidgeted restively. ‘It’s unbelievably compli-cated, young Jal,’ he said patronizingly. ‘As, I’ve no doubt, is your own tale. I can’t begin to explain everything in the middle of all this. Let’s get to Anderras Darion, take the weight off our feathers and have a talk at our leisure.’ He paused and nodded to himself, well satisfied at this suggestion. ‘I seem to remember that you Fyordyn are very good at talking,’ he added with a laugh, and then he launched himself forward and soared up into the air to avoid any further questions.

Arinndier too, laughed and, patting Jaldaric’s arm, said, ‘That’s the best we’re going to get. Let’s take the bird’s advice and get to Hawklan’s castle. It’s good enough news now just to see him up and riding again.’

Gradually, the four Fyordyn eased their way through the crowd until eventually they were clear of it and cantering along the empty road. Gavor circled high above them, occasionally swooping upwards steeply and then, with an uproarious laugh, tumbling back down precipitately like a tangled black bundle.

As they moved further from the following army, the pervasive music faded and eventually it could hardly be heard above the clatter of hooves on the intricately paved road.

The daylight was fading rapidly when they eventu-ally came into Pedhavin but, high above the village, light streamed out through the Great Gate of Anderras Darion which stood wide and welcoming. It had been visible to the four riders long before they had seen the village and had drawn them forward like a bright guiding star.

As the Fyordyn passed the leaving stone and the small sorry heap of Dan-Tor’s decaying wares, Gavor flew past them noisily. ‘Up the hill, up the hill,’ he shouted. ‘Door’s open, and Gulda will be back by now. I’ll join you later!’ Then he was gone, into the deepening darkness. As the four men peered after him, the sound of a rather hoarse nightingale drifted down to them, followed by a fit of coughing.

The village itself was alive with torches and bustling activity, with people running hither and thither through its rambling maze of streets in happy confusion. Most of those that the Fyordyn encountered acknowledged them, and once again Jaldaric found himself moved as apparent strangers came up to him and took his hand sympathetically.

Arinndier gazed around, and then shook his head.

‘This is a bewildering little place,’ he said. ‘Every-thing’s covered in carvings and they all seem to be moving.’

‘Amazing,’ said Rede Berryn, gazing around in awe. ‘I knew the Orthlundyn were carvers, but this… ’

He fell silent as his eye caught a small plaque on which was carved what seemed to be a field of wheat. Under the touch of the torchlight, shadows rippled across it as though it were being stirred by a warm summer breeze. Berryn sat motionless, spellbound, while the others waited for him patiently.

‘Up the hill, up the hill.’

A friendly voice broke into their calm as a passer-by, thinking that the four outlanders were lost, pointed in the direction they should take. Arinndier thanked him, and the group moved off again.

‘What do you think of their communications, Goraidin?’ Arinndier asked Tel-Mindor with some amusement.

The Goraidin raised his eyebrows. ‘Widespread,’ he replied enigmatically.

The Goraidin’s manner made Arinndier’s amuse-ment billow out into a great laugh which rang around the small square they were crossing. ‘Very true,’ he said, after a moment. ‘But they’ve not told us anything, you’ll note.’

Tel-Mindor nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Then they were out of the village and heading up the steep road towards the castle. The activity was still continuing however, a small but steady stream of torch-bearing villagers moving slowly up and down the slope like a trail of tardy glow-worms.

As the four riders neared the top of the slope, two figures came into sight. One was tall and straight and wearing a green robe decorated with a single black feather. The other was short and squat and leaning on a stick. Even though the light from the courtyard fell on her, she seemed to be as black as a silhouette.

Reaching the Gate, all four men dismounted to find themselves submitting to Gulda’s inspection. Tirilen smiled slightly at the sight, though her eyes narrowed a little when she looked at Jaldaric and saw the subtle changes that the ordeals of the past months had wrought on his round, innocent face.

Gulda saw it too even though she had never seen him before.

‘You’ll be Jaldaric, young man,’ she told him. ‘I hear you’ve had troubles of late.’ Jaldaric met her piercing gaze, but seemed uncertain how to reply. After a moment, she nodded. ‘You’ll live, Jaldaric, son of Eldric. You’ll live,’ she said, a gentleness in her voice and manner belying the seemingly harsh words.

Then, Jaldaric released, she raised her stick horizon-tally and pointed to each of the others in turn as she pronounced her conclusions. ‘Your names have come before you as well,’ she said. ‘Rede Berryn, an old High Guard if ever I saw one. You’ve ridden the Watch, haven’t you?’ She did not wait for an answer, but moved on. ‘Tel-Mindor.’ She looked at him intently. ‘Special,’ she concluded after a moment. ‘Goraidin, probably. Fine men.’ Then, ‘And last, as is the protocol of the Geadrol, I believe: Lord Arinndier.’ She inclined her head slightly to Arinndier, who bowed his in reply. ‘Don’t be too distressed, Lord,’ she went on. ‘You’re not the first to have been quietly led astray by Sumeral and his agents.’

‘You must be Memsa Gulda,’ Arinndier said as cour-teously as he could.

But Gulda, her inspection complete, was gracious. ‘I am indeed,’ she said. ‘And this is Tirilen, a healer, and daughter to Loman, Hawklan’s castellan. Welcome to Anderras Darion, all of you. We’re honoured to have you here and you come at a propitious time… ’ Unexpectedly, she chuckled. ‘We’ve just routed an ally.’

Then, without offering any explanation for this remark, she turned and stumped off through the Gate, beckoning the men to follow.

‘You’ll want to tend your own horses, I presume,’ she said as they strode out to keep up with her. ‘I’ll show you to the stables, then’-she signalled to a young apprentice who had been hovering like a tiny planet some way from this weighty group-‘this young man will show you to your rooms. You’ll be able to bathe and change out of your travelling clothes. Then we can eat and talk.’ She nodded to herself. ‘Considerable talkers, you Fyordyn, as I remember. I’ll look forward to it. I’ve no doubt we’ve a great deal of news for one another.’

‘That would be most welcome, Memsa,’ Arinndier said. ‘But we need nothing to eat at the moment. The villagers on the way have been more than generous.’

Gulda nodded again. ‘That’s as may be, young man,’ she said. ‘But I’m ravenous. It’s been a long walk today and I’ve had nothing but camp fodder for the past few days.’ And without further comment she walked off into the Castle.

Some while later the Fyordyn were ushered into a large room. A blaze of glowing radiant stones formed a focus for the warmth that filled it and a bright but mellow torchlight brought alive the carvings of rural scenes which decorated the walls. The ceiling was a great skyscape in which huge heavily laden clouds seemed to make a slow, endlessly changing progress.

The four men were soon lounging luxuriously in the long-stored sunlight being released by the torches and the fire. For the most part, they were silent; even Jaldaric, who had seen the Castle before, was awed by the craftsmanship and beauty that he found surround-ing him once again.

Of the four, Rede Berryn was the most vocal, moving from carving to carving like an excited child examining his Winter Festival gifts.

‘This place is amazing,’ he said finally, flopping down noisily on to a long, accommodating settle, and carefully straightening his stiff leg. ‘Look at those torches. And those radiant stones. They splutter and crackle like burning logs. This room, this whole building, must catch and return every spark of their warmth for them to have matured like that. Marvellous, I haven’t seen anything like them in years, if ever. And these carvings defy description. I must get my old wood chisels out when I get home. I’d almost forgotten about them, there’s been so much sourness in the air these last few years, but at the first opportunity… ’ He left the sentence unfinished, but beamed a great smile and waved his clenched fist as a token of his resolution.

Arinndier and Tel-Mindor smiled in return, though Jaldaric seemed a little uncertain about how to handle this sudden onset of childlike enthusiasm.

As they rested, each felt the calm of the room begin-ning to unravel the tangles of dire concerns that had grown over the past months to cloud their hearts and minds. Gradually they all became both silent and still, until eventually the only sounds in the room were the occasional murmur of the radiant stones and the muffled echoes of the activities outside as the Castle prepared to receive again its key-bearer and the many others for whom it was now home. But neither these nor the various people who came in from time to time to inquire solicitously about their comfort, offered any disturbance to the calm of the four men.

Slowly but perceptibly the noises from outside changed in character, becoming more intense and purposeful, like a distant wind gathering energy.

Then, abruptly, Hawklan was there.

The large doors of the room flew open and a clatter of laughter and noise cascaded over the four Fyordyn, swirling the warmth around them, and lifting them out of their reveries. They all stood up expectantly.

For a moment Hawklan stood motionless, framed in the doorway and gazing around the room. It seemed to Arinndier that the dancing music that had flooded through the land earlier that day was still washing around the feet of this strange, powerful man. Then the lean face split into a broad smile and Hawklan strode forward to greet his guests affectionately. Behind him came Loman and Isloman, followed in turn by Tirke and Dacu and several others, including Athyr and Yrain. Following them all, like a dour and watchful shepherd-ess herding her sheep, came Gulda.

There was a great flurry of introductions and greet-ings including an alarming bear-hug of forgiveness and welcome for Jaldaric from Loman. Then the questions that both parties had been quietly fretting over for the past hours began to burst out, and very soon there was uproar, with everyone talking at once.

Arinndier looked plaintively at Hawklan, who smiled and brought his hands together in a resounding clap. ‘Friends,’ he said loudly into the surprised silence. ‘We all have too much to tell for us to learn anything like this.’ He affected a great sternness. ‘We must therefore comport ourselves in the Fyordyn manner, so I shall put our meeting in the hands of the Lord Arinndier. No one may now speak without his permis-sion.’

There was a little spatter of ironic applause, but the clamour did not return and as the company settled itself about the room, some on chairs and settles, some on the floor by the flickering fire, Arinndier rather self-consciously began relating the events that had occurred in Fyorlund since Rgoric had suspended the Geadrol.

As if listening themselves, the torches dimmed a little, and the yellow glow of the radiant stones became tinged with red and orange.

Despite Arinndier’s succinctness, it proved to be a long telling, and the bringing of food and drink for the latest arrivals proved a timely interruption.

At the end there was a murmur of general satisfac-tion at the news of the defeat and flight of Dan-Tor, but it was Tirke who yielded to temptation.

‘He’s really gone?’ he exclaimed, unable to restrain himself. ‘We’re free of him? That’s… ’ He clenched his fists and looked upwards for inspiration. ‘Incredible… marvellous,’ he produced, rather inadequately. ‘I’m only sorry I missed the battle.’

Arinndier gave him a stern look for this breach of etiquette. ‘Don’t be, Fyordyn,’ he said grimly, pulling his rebuke into the last word. ‘There was no joy in it, and there’ll be others that you won’t miss, I fear. That’s why we’re here. We’re not truly free of him. He’s alive and unhurt and ensconced in Narsindalvak with a large part of his Mathidrin intact. I doubt he intends to stay there long, and I doubt it’s in our interests to leave him there unhindered too long, though what we should do remains to be decided.’

Hawklan lifted his hand to speak. Arinndier ac-knowledged him.

‘We must talk further about these blazing wagons that Dan-Tor used,’ Hawklan said thoughtfully. ‘And the materials that were in the warehouse that Yatsu fired.’

‘Indeed we must,’ Arinndier said. ‘They were terrify-ing. With a little more thought, he could have destroyed us.’ He frowned as he tried to set the thought aside. ‘Still, there are many things we need to discuss in due time, but tell us of your journey now, Hawklan, and your illness and your apparently miraculous recovery.’

Hawklan shrugged apologetically. ‘What happened to me after I struck Oklar and until I was awakened, I haven’t the words to tell. I’m sorry,’ he said, holding out his hands towards Dacu.

It was thus the Goraidin who told the tale of their journey from Eldric’s stronghold and of their strange encounter with the Alphraan and the mysterious awakening of Hawklan. His spare, unadorned, Fyordyn telling forbade interruption, but a deep, almost fearful, silence fell over his audience as he described Hawklan’s brief but terrible battle with the monstrous remnant of Sumeral’s First Coming.

Then he was concluding his tale. Telling how, after leaving the Alphraan’s strange caverns, they had found the gully that had led them safely across the shoulder of the mountain, and how their journey thereafter, though slow, had become gradually easier as they moved south and away from the premature snowfalls.

‘We have the route well mapped now,’ he said casu-ally to Arinndier. ‘But it’ll need a lot of work-roads, bridges and so on-to make it suitable for use by a force of any size.’

He finished his telling with the mysterious and sud-den disappearance of the Alphraan in the last part of the journey-if, as he wondered, disappearance were the correct word for the sudden absence of beings they had never actually seen.

‘They used to join in our conversations, just as if they were with us,’ he said. ‘Then’-he snapped his fingers-‘they were gone. Silent. It was very strange. We’d grown used to this disembodied voice talking to us, but there was nothing until we walked into your… army and that… whatever it was… that great clamour.’

‘It was an ousting of the old, the inflexible, by the new.’ Unbidden, Gulda interrupted the proceedings, though she threw an apologetic glance at Arinndier. ‘Or perhaps, more correctly, it was the ousting of the old by the very ancient.’ She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. They’re a people… a race… almost beyond our understanding. We’ll probably never know what happened. In fact I doubt they’d even be able to explain it to us. Suffice it that in some way they’re now whole again and our friends, or at least our allies. Something that hasn’t happened since the beginning of the First Coming.’

‘Hence the singing, the… celebrations… we heard, several hours ride away?’ Arinndier said.

Gulda nodded and Arinndier motioned her to con-tinue. ‘Geadrol protocol demands that the first shall be last, Memsa,’ he said wryly, twitting her gently for her own remark earlier.

Gulda looked at him sideways and the Orthlundyn waited expectantly. But no barb was launched at the Fyordyn lord. Instead, it was launched at them as, very graciously, Gulda said, ‘Thank you, Lord. It’s a refresh-ing change to be amongst people who know how to discourse in an orderly and rational manner.’

Her own telling however, was almost breathtakingly brief: the Orthlundyn had been made ready for war; the Alphraan had interfered, first by causing accidents and then by stealing the labyrinth that guarded the Ar-moury. They had been contacted and confronted.

‘The rest you know,’ she concluded. ‘And the details we can discuss later.’

She ended abruptly and there was a long silence in the room. ‘They sealed the labyrinth?’ Hawklan asked eventually, almost in disbelief.

Gulda nodded. ‘It’s open again now,’ she said almost off-handedly. ‘First thing I checked when I got back. To be honest I’m surprised they’re not here, but… ’ She shrugged, reluctant to speculate on the behaviour of these strange people. ‘The whole thing was very worrying, but it’s been a useful exercise and we’ve learned… ’ She pulled a rueful face. ‘Re-learned, a great deal about our command structures and the logistics involved in moving so many people about.’

‘And your verdict?’ Hawklan asked.

Gulda paused thoughtfully. Loman found his eyes narrowing in anticipation of some caustic reply, but Gulda just nodded and said, ‘Not bad. There’s plenty of room for improvement, but I think they’ve got the wit to see that for themselves now. Not bad at all.’

‘Good,’ Hawklan acknowledged, smiling at the con-fusion of relief and surprise that Loman was struggling to keep off his face.

Arinndier looked round at the others. Several wanted to speak, but many were also showing distinct signs of weariness. He glanced quickly at Hawklan for approval.

‘We’ve heard enough for tonight, I think,’ he said firmly, pulling himself upright in his chair. ‘Even though we’ve raised more questions than we’ve heard answers. I think it’s going to take us some time to acquaint one another thoroughly with what’s been happening and I see no benefit in going without sleep while we’re doing it.’

Gulda grunted approvingly and soon the group was breaking up noisily. Hawklan took Arinndier’s arm as he rose to leave. ‘First light tomorrow, Arin, we’ll send messengers to Riddin to find out what’s happened to your Queen,’ he said.

Arinndier bowed. ‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘She’s probably all right. She had a good escort and she’s not without resource as you know, but these early snows… ’ He shrugged helplessly.

Hawklan walked with him to the door. ‘Your people did well, but I grieve for your losses,’ he said.

Arinndier nodded. ‘Your arrow bound him, Hawk-lan, and gave us the chance. Without that… ’

‘It’s of no relevance now,’ Hawklan said, raising a hand. ‘Loman’s arrow. Ethriss’s bow, my… ’ he smiled self-deprecatingly, ‘marksmanship. Many things made the whole, not least the courage and discipline of your men, and it was the whole that tilted the balance and gave us all a little more time. What’s important now is that we use it to the full.’ He motioned to Tirilen, standing nearby. ‘We’ve a great deal to talk about yet. I’m glad you’re here. Tirilen will show you and the others back to your rooms. We’ll talk further tomorrow.’

As he closed the door behind them softly, Hawklan paused. Then he turned and with a gesture further dimmed the torches.

Only Gulda remained in the room. She was sitting by the radiant stones which were now glowing red and, in the reduced light, casting her shadow on to the walls and ceiling like a great, dominating presence. In her characteristic pose, resting her chin on her hands folded over the top of her stick, she seemed the stillest thing in the room.

Hawklan sat down opposite her quietly. Gulda looked up at him and, for an instant, in the light of the dimmed torches and the glowing fire, he saw again a fleeting vision of a powerful woman of great and proud beauty. But as quickly as it had come the image was gone and she was an old woman again.

‘You knew that Dan-Tor was Oklar and didn’t tell me,’ Hawklan said, his voice even.

‘I thought… ’ Gulda began.

‘You knew,’ Hawklan insisted, before she could continue.

Gulda lowered her eyes.

‘You reproach me,’ she said into the firelight.

‘Should I not?’ Hawklan replied.

Gulda was silent for a long time, then, ‘You had Ethriss’s sword and bow, arrows as good as could be made in this time, a fine horse, a stalwart friend… ’

‘Yes, you let Isloman go too,’ Hawklan interrupted. ‘Two men against an elemental force.’

Gulda looked up, her face scornful. ‘Don’t whine, Hawklan,’ she said. Her anger carried through into her voice all the more powerfully because it was command-ing in tone and quite free of the rasping irritation that normally laced her more severe rebukes. ‘Oklar is no elemental force, he’s a mortal man as you are. A flawed mortal man, corrupted by being given too great a power, as perhaps you might have been had you stood too close to Sumeral with your whingeing begging bowl of desires.’

Hawklan’s eyes narrowed in response to Gulda’s biting anger. ‘Don’t quibble, Memsa,’ he said, almost savagely. ‘You understand my meaning well enough. You knew who he was and you let me-us-go without any warning.’

Gulda turned her face towards the glowing stones again.

‘And you’d have me explain?’ she said. There was a strange helplessness in her voice.

Hawklan stared at her, his anger fading. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’d have you explain that and many other things as well. Who you are? How you come to be here? How you know so many things about this Castle, about wars and armies? The list is long.’

Gulda nodded slowly but did not speak for some time. When she did, her voice was quiet.

‘I am what I am, Hawklan,’ she said simply. ‘And I am here because of what I was.’ She looked at him. ‘As are you. As are we all. And how I came to know what I know, you don’t need to know.’

‘Gulda!’ Hawklan made no effort to the keep the exasperation out of his voice.

She held his gaze. ‘Had I told you that Dan-Tor, that dancing twisting tinker who came to torment your little village with his corrupt wares, was Oklar the Uhriel, Sumeral’s first and greatest servant, with power to lift up whole mountain ranges or hurl them beneath the ocean, would you have believed me? And would you have done anything other than go and see for yourself in your doubts? And Isloman with you?’

Hawklan did not reply.

Gulda continued, ‘And had you believed me, would you still have done anything other?’

Hawklan lowered his eyes. ‘Damn you,’ he said after a long silence.

‘We had choice and no choice, Hawklan,’ Gulda said softly. ‘Both of us were free to walk away, but both of us were bound to our paths. It was ever thus for people such as you and I, people with the wit to see. And it ever will be.’

A faint reproach still flickered in Hawklan’s voice. ‘Perhaps had we known, we mightn’t have confronted him so recklessly,’ he said.

Gulda turned back to the softly whispering stones. Idly she prodded them with her stick, making a small flurry of cached sunlight spark upwards. Unexpectedly, she chuckled.

‘What would you have done to meet such a foe, assassin?’ she said mockingly. ‘Crept into his room at night to smother him or stab him? Bribed the Palace servants to poison his food?’

Hawklan frowned uncertainly.

‘No,’ Gulda went on. ‘You’d still have had to see first. Then having seen and decided, I suspect you’d have shot an arrow into his malevolent heart, wouldn’t you?’

Despite himself, Hawklan smiled ruefully at this cruelly perceptive analysis.

‘I was no different, Hawklan.’ Abruptly Gulda was explaining. ‘I could see no other way than to wait and see what would be. I could not face him myself… not yet. I was a spectator whether I wished it or not. All I could do was arm you with weapons of some worth, and have faith in the resources I saw within you.’

‘And had we died?’

‘You didn’t,’ Gulda’s reply was immediate.

‘But… ’

‘You didn’t,’ she repeated.

‘We might have!’ Hawklan insisted through her denial.

‘You might indeed,’ Gulda replied passionately. ‘But you still know I could have done nothing about it. I knew that you had to see him for what he truly was, and both my heart and my head told me that even if I could have given you a measure of the man-which I couldn’t, as you know now, he’s beyond description-it would have hindered you more than helped you. Clouded your vision with fear. Marred the true strength that only your… innocence… could take you to.’

Gulda turned again to her contemplation of the radiant stones. Hawklan leaned back into the comfort of his chair and looked at her stern profile, red in the firelight.

‘You were so certain of the outcome?’ he said after a while.

Gulda smiled ruefully. ‘Certain?’ she said. ‘Cer-tainty’s a rare luxury, Hawklan. The butterfly beats its wings and stirs the dust, which moves the grain, which moves the pebble, which… ’

‘Moves the stone, the rock, the boulder, etc., etc., and down comes the mountain.’ Hawklan finished the child’s lay impatiently, though as he did so, the memory returned to him of colourful wings stretching luxuri-ously on the toe of his boot as he had sat shocked and bewildered in the spring sunshine after he and Isloman had fled from Jaldaric’s doomed patrol. He recalled that the butterfly too had fled at the approach of a shadow.

Gulda’s voice returned him to the present again. ‘I went as far as my reason and my intuition could go, Hawklan,’ she was saying. ‘After that all I had was faith and hope.’

‘Faith and hope in what?’ Hawklan asked.

Gulda shook her head and, after a moment, began to smile broadly. ‘Just faith and hope that my reason and my intuition were right.’ Her smile abruptly turned into a ringing laugh that rose to fill the room. ‘Have you finished my trial, judge?’ she said, turning to Hawklan, still laughing. ‘Me, who gave you Ethriss’s bow and made Loman forge those splendid arrows for it? Me, who you would have brushed aside if I’d fallen weeping at your knees imploring you not to go. Me who, above all, told you to be careful.’

She drew out her last words and, despite himself, Hawklan fell victim to her mirth.

Yet even as he began to smile, the thought came to him that he had done right to make Gulda release her doubts and fears; she would be less impaired now. It was a cold and sudden thought, and as such thoughts had done before, it repelled him, for all its truth. I had the same need, for the same reason, he thought in hasty mitigation of this unwonted harshness.

Gulda’s laughter gradually subsided and she took out a kerchief and began to wipe her eyes. ‘Who knows what butterfly blew us all here, Hawklan?’ she said, still chuckling. ‘And who knows where it’ll blow us next. Let’s take some joy in the fact that what happened, happened as it did and that Oklar’s hand is stayed for the moment. And that you and Isloman and all the others are alive, and unhurt, and wiser, and here.’

Abruptly she jerked her chair nearer to Hawklan and, reaching forward, seized his wrists affectionately. Once again Hawklan was surprised by her grip. It did not crush or hurt, but he knew that it was more powerful even than Loman’s or Isloman’s.

‘Now I must interrogate you,’ she said, releasing him, but still staring at him intently. ‘What has Oklar’s touch taught you, key-bearer?’

Hawklan turned away from her gaze. ‘His touch on Fyorlund and its people taught me that there’s no end to his corruption; it’s unfettered, without restraint of any kind,’ he said. ‘It taught me that I must seek him out again, and his Master, and… destroy… them both, and the others, wherever they be.’

‘Has Hawklan the warrior slain Hawklan the healer then?’ Gulda demanded.

Hawklan looked at her, unsure of her tone.

‘There’s no warrior in this room, unless it’s you, swordswoman,’ he said after a moment.

Gulda looked at him enigmatically and, sitting back in her chair, placed her stick across her knees.

Confused by his own strange remark, Hawklan glanced awkwardly round the darkened room, his huge shadow seeming to turn to listen to him.

‘I doubt there’s any real difference between warrior and healer here anyway,’ he said diffidently. ‘Oklar is a disease beyond help; his Master, more so. Excision is probably the only treatment.’

‘You already knew that,’ Gulda retorted, leaning forward. ‘Any half-baked stitcher of gashes could have told you that. Now answer the question you know I was asking. What has Oklar’s touch taught you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hawklan replied after a brief silence.

Gulda’s eyes narrowed. ‘Go back to the source, Hawklan,’ she said purposefully, leaning back in her chair again.

Hawklan looked into the fire and welcomed its warmth on his face. The terrible confrontation at the Palace Gate came to him again as it did every day, as did all his doubts and questions.

‘I was frozen with terror after my arrow hit him,’ he began. ‘I felt his malevolence overwhelming me before I could even reach for a second one. Then Andawyr’s voice came from somewhere, very weak and distant. "The sword," he said. "Ethriss’s sword."’ Hawklan’s eyes widened as the scene unfolded before him inexorably, their green eerie in the red firelight. ‘But I didn’t know how to use it against such a foe-no part of me knew how to use it-no dormant Guardian rose up from within to protect me when his power struck me-nothing. I did what I could. I tried to heal. I felt the sword severing his dreadful destruction but still it came on, pushing me deeper into… darkness.’

He stopped and looked at Gulda. ‘Perhaps if I’d not used the sword… not cleaved his power… those two great swathes of destruction wouldn’t have been cut across Vakloss. Perhaps all those people would have been spared.’

Gulda shrugged, though in helplessness, not cal-lousness. ‘They would have been spared had you kept to your bed that day,’ she said relentlessly. ‘But a thousand times their number would have died the sooner if you hadn’t defied him.’

‘It’s a bitter consolation,’ Hawklan said.

‘There’s none other,’ Gulda replied gently. ‘Finish your tale.’

His doubt not eased, Hawklan hesitated, then his face darkened. ‘As I fell, I felt His presence… icy… terrible.’

Gulda leaned forward, her face urgent and intent. ‘He came there?’ Her voice was the merest whisper. ‘He reached out from Narsindal?’

Abruptly her face was alive with pain and uncer-tainty. Hawklan reached out and took her hands. She was trembling and her pulse was racing as if with passion. For a moment she did not respond, then with a casual gesture she freed herself from his grip and motioned him back to his chair.

‘How did you know it was Him?’ she said stonily.

‘How could I not,’ Hawklan replied. ‘And He spoke.’

Gulda sank back into the shade of her chair. ‘He called me… the Keeper of Ethriss’s Lair.’

Hawklan wrapped his arms about himself and shuddered. As if in response, the radiant stones flared up brightly, throwing up a brilliant cascade of sparks and sending a myriad subtle shadows dancing through all the ancient carvings.

For a long time, the two sat silent, and the fire sub-sided, clucking and spluttering to itself unheeded.

‘Only the pain and terror of His Uhriel could have lured His spirit from Narsindal,’ Gulda said eventually, her voice low as if fearful that her very words could bring Him forth again. ‘Only that could have enabled it to happen. I think Loman’s arrow was truer than even I thought. And perhaps you too, wielded the sword better than you knew. Perhaps you did not divide Oklar’s power, but cut the heart out of it and returned it whence it came, as Ethriss himself might have done.’

Hawklan looked at her. ‘I am not Ethriss,’ he said.

‘Perhaps,’ Gulda said, ‘perhaps not. You’re certainly Hawklan the healer, as you ever were, though more knowledgeable, as I fancy you’ll tell me in a moment. But you’re something else as well.’ Hawklan scowled, but Gulda dismissed his denial. ‘Sumeral’s Will reached out to His Uhriel, but He didn’t destroy you, as He could have done, protected though you were by Ethriss’s sword. He let you be.’

Hawklan shook his head and wrapped his arms about himself again. ‘I felt Him,’ he said.

Gulda shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘He didn’t touch you. His voice alone would have shrivelled you. You caught the edge of His merest whisper. He let you be, and He bound His Uhriel to ensure that he too would not assail you further.’

‘He bound His own?’ Hawklan repeated surprised.

‘None other could,’ Gulda replied.

‘But… that would have left Oklar defenceless,’ Hawklan said.

‘We have no inkling of Sumeral’s intent,’ Gulda said. ‘And the binding would be subtle. Oklar would not be defenceless, have no fear.’

‘It cost him Fyorlund,’ said Hawklan emphatically.

‘We have no inkling,’ Gulda repeated deliberately, to end the conjecture. ‘Tell me of the darkness.’

Unexpectedly, Hawklan smiled. ‘Have you any words to describe sleep?’ he asked. Gulda did not reply. ‘I remember nothing,’ he went on. ‘Nothing until a dancing spark of life reached out and touched me.’

‘Sylvriss’s baby?’ Gulda asked.

Hawklan nodded. ‘From then on, it was like a strange dream. I was awake, but not awake. There but not there. Resting yet striving. Listening, learning, understanding, but not fraught, anxious, concerned-not even at the pain I knew my condition was causing to Isloman and the others. It wasn’t good, but… ’ His voice trailed off. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t explain. I don’t know how long I would have stayed like that. Nothing seemed to change until… the silence.’

‘Yes,’ Gulda said. ‘Dacu spoke to me of that almost within minutes of our meeting. It seems to have had a profound effect on him.’

‘It had a profound effect on us all,’ Hawklan said. ‘It wasn’t just a silence, it was a great deep… stillness… but not the stillness of emptiness. Whatever it was, there was a powerful will at work. Benign I’m sure, but powerful. It reached out and… brought me together… woke me, if you like; and it stunned the Alphraan utterly.’

A thought came to him suddenly. ‘It was searching for something,’ he said. ‘Or someone.’

Gulda nodded. ‘Other forces are moving with us, Hawklan,’ she said. ‘We need our every ally, we must find the source of this will. I’ll speak to the Alphraan about it. Perhaps they understand it better now.’

Hawklan smiled. ‘They might,’ he said. ‘But even if they do, there’s every chance they won’t be able to explain to you in our "crude" language.’

‘Nonetheless… ’ Gulda said, leaving her intention quite clear and refusing to be deflected by Hawklan’s levity.

She leaned forward and, folding her hands over the top of her stick, rested her chin on them again. ‘And your own new knowledge, healer?’ she asked, reverting to her original question.

‘New and not new, Gulda,’ Hawklan replied flatly. ‘No great blinding revelations. It was like a wind slowly blowing sand away and exposing a familiar rock. What I know now, I also know was there all the time.’

He paused. Gulda waited silently.

‘I’ve knowledge of the governing of a great people, of the leading of a great army, of a life of learning and effort to make my body and mind what they are now.’ He smiled sadly. ‘No magical gift from some ancient Guardian made me what I am. Just effort and fine teachers. But… ’ He entwined his fingers and brought his hands together tightly as if trying to wring the truth out of something. ‘… no names, no faces, no… small memories to tell me who or what I truly am… or was.’

He paused again, his face pained.

‘Also I have the memory of a terrible battle… or part of it,’ he said. ‘The last part. The air full of awful noises, the sky flickering black, the ground uncertain under our feet, and hordes upon hordes of… them… coming eternally against us, regardless of their own losses.’

He closed his eyes as if to dismiss the thought for-ever.

‘What else?’ Gulda prompted.

Hawklan did not answer immediately. Instead he looked down at his still clenched hands. ‘I led them there, Gulda,’ he said reluctantly. ‘In my arrogance, I led my army, my whole people, to annihilation.’

‘You know this?’ Gulda asked.

Hawklan leaned back and looked up at the ornate ceiling, red in the firelight like towering storm clouds at sunset.

‘We were the last,’ he said softly. ‘The rest of the army had been… destroyed. Destroyed by sheer numbers… savagery… ’ He looked back at Gulda. ‘Perhaps treachery. I don’t know,’ he added uncertainly. ‘We stood alone, back to back, a shrinking circle… ’

He stopped. ‘And I know nothing other than that. That and a terrible grief and despair.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Something… touched my shoulder… I think.’ Hawklan’s face was riven with concentration, but to no avail.

‘It’s a vivid memory?’ Gulda asked.

‘It’s the clearest memory I have. It comes to me every day. Without the pain of the despair and grief-that’s only a faint, distant echo now. But the images are intense.’ His hands separated. ‘What does it all mean, Gulda?’

The old woman shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said simply. ‘You’re beyond my reach and beyond my vision, and always have been. All we know is that Sumeral fears you sufficiently both to spare you when He could have destroyed you, and to bind His Uhriel to ensure he would not use the Old Power against you again. But why He should fear you?’ She shrugged. ‘You’re as profound an enigma as ever, Hawklan.’

‘Could it be that He wishes me spared for some more devious reason than just fear?’ Hawklan suggested hesitantly.

‘It’s a risk,’ Gulda said. ‘Always has been. But there’s nothing we can do about that. We must play the parts we see and keep our wits about us for ambushes.’ She leaned forward and looked intently at Hawklan again. When she spoke, her voice was almost a whisper. ‘You’re someone who might be turned to His way, Hawklan. Someone even who could become one of His Uhriel. Perhaps that’s what He had in mind for you.’

Hawklan shrank back in his chair, his eyes horrified. ‘No,’ he said hoarsely, his voice both fearful and savage. ‘Never!’

‘All the Uhriel were great men once,’ Gulda said grimly. ‘They weren’t made the way they are at a flick of His hand. They were led to Him step by patient step, until they found they could not retreat.’

Still shaken, Hawklan caught an unexpected note in her voice. ‘You sound almost sorry for them,’ he said.

Gulda was silent for a moment, then, with a slow shake of her head, she said, ‘We all choose our own way.’

Before Hawklan could speak again, she waved a dismissive hand. Whatever doubts she might have, they were not to be pursued further here.

‘What are you going to do now?’ she asked, relaxing.

‘Stay here for a few days to rest,’ Hawklan replied after an uncertain pause. ‘And talk, and think, and walk around the castle, and just sit. I’ve travelled so far since I left for the Gretmearc, I need a little stillness for a time.’

Gulda eyed him. ‘And when you’ve finished this comprehensive list of chores, what then?’ she asked.

Hawklan chuckled and retaliated immediately. ‘You’re relentless, Gulda,’ he said. ‘But when I’ve satisfied myself about everything you’ve all done so far, I intend to accept your original advice-and Andawyr’s.’ His face became anxious. ‘That strange little man saved my life at the Gretmearc and has woven himself into it in some unfathomable fashion. He sought my help twice and I couldn’t-wouldn’t-give it. Then in my darkest moment he reached out, just as Sumeral reached out, and aided me.’ He looked up at the red clouds overhead. ‘We will need this Old Power to face Sumeral, just as surely as we will need men. None here can use it, but Andawyr could. I must seek out the Cadwanol.’