"Into Narsindal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)Chapter 5Over the next few weeks, Hawklan felt the whole Castle resounding to the arrival of Andawyr and the others. And indeed, it seemed to him that every step he took through its countless corridors and hallways rang out like a small peal of welcome. He remarked on it to Loman. The smith smiled. ‘It’s been like that ever since you left and we started studying and training in earnest,’ he said. ‘New people coming and going all the time debating, thinking, planning. The Castle seems to thrive on it in some way. As if it were waking after a long sleep. You can feel it all around like the opening of thousands of flowers.’ Hawklan gave his castellan a look of great gravity at this poetic image, but Loman ignored the gentle taunt and ploughed on. ‘I find new things every day, in the carvings, the pictures, everywhere, even whole new rooms. Things that perhaps I’ve been looking at but not seeing for years.’ He paused. ‘In truth I don’t know whether it’s the Castle or me, but it’s wonderful.’ Hawklan agreed. ‘It’s probably both,’ he said, smil-ing. Isloman too noted a difference, and not just in the Castle. ‘Have you seen some of the carvings that are being done?’ he asked, eyes wide in appreciation. ‘And with everyone having less time for it as well. I’ll have to look to my chisels if I’m not to be replaced as First Carver.’ ‘You don’t seem too concerned,’ Hawklan said. Isloman gave him a large wink. ‘It won’t happen,’ he said, banging his fist on his chest and laughing. ‘I’ve learned a trick or two from those wood carvers up north.’ Yes, Hawklan thought. And you faced and survived Oklar’s storm fully conscious. That will add qualities to your work beyond measure. He himself, however, felt oddly unsettled. This was his home; and yet not so. These were his people; this his time; and yet not so. A restlessness niggled deep inside him like a burrowing worm. He succeeded for the most part in disguising this unease, but Gulda saw through him and brought him down with brutal ease. ‘Sit!’ she said, entering his room unannounced and finding him peering out through the window, frowning. Hawklan’s legs responded before his mind caught up with them. Gulda swung a chair round and sat down facing him, hands folded over the top of her stick and her chin resting on them as usual. ‘Where’s your pain?’ she said. Hawklan looked bewildered. ‘I don’t understand,’ he replied. Gulda glanced towards the window. ‘What were you frowning for then?’ Hawklan shrugged uncertainly. ‘Nothing in particu-lar.’ Gulda’s eyes widened. ‘You’re unhurt, you’re in this most wonderful of places and surrounded by splendid friends, yet you frown at nothing in particular,’ she said. ‘Heal yourself, healer.’ It occurred to Hawklan for a moment to protest, but the thought wilted under Gulda’s penetrating gaze. ‘How?’ he asked simply. ‘Face again what you’ve faced in your journeyings,’ Gulda replied. ‘Face again what you must face in the future.’ Hawklan frowned again. ‘I’ve no problems with what happened on my journeyings, as you call them. Unpleasant though some of it was. But how can I face what I was before or what I’ll become? The one I’m striving to remember, the other I’m striving to see.’ Gulda fixed him with a steely gaze. ‘Leave them,’ she said with stark finality. ‘Your past will return to you when you need it, and There was a humour in her voice but Hawklan felt the cold inexorability of her words exposing the folly of his fruitless concerns. It happened with such sudden-ness that for a moment he felt almost winded. ‘You’re right,’ he said, with a brief grimace of self-reproach. ‘I’m sorry. They sneaked up on me.’ Gulda laughed. It was like sunshine melting the frost. ‘They do,’ she said. ‘And they will again. But be more careful in future. Neither the warrior nor the healer can risk being ambushed like that too often.’ Hawklan stood up and walked back to the window. Gulda joined him. Below them was a cascade of windowed walls and a patchwork of rooftops, glistening silver-grey in the drizzling rain. Beyond was the curving sweep of the wall of the Castle, and beyond that was a vague, rain-shrouded impression of the rolling Orthlund country-side. A few hunched figures walked to and fro along the wall. Hawklan smiled; for all its damp bleakness, the scene had a peace of its own which had eluded him but minutes earlier. No, he corrected himself gently. The peace had not eluded him, he had simply allowed his darker nature to turn his heart away from it. Gradually the days shortened, and Anderras Darion began to sparkle with its winter lights, shining out through the dark nights as brightly as it gleamed in bright summer days. And within it was the constant shimmer of activity as its occupants worked and talked and planned for the day when Sumeral’s cold hand must inevitably draw them forth. Yet for all the grim prospect that lay ahead, the Castle’s inner light forbade entry to its dark shadow; as also did Hawklan, now keenly alert for signs of the clinging ties of fear and doubt that might appear like silent cobwebs to mar that very future by shrouding the present. Many other threads of endeavour were woven through the weeks. A messenger was sent to Fyorlund with the news of the safe arrival of Arinndier and the arrival and recovery of Hawklan. A messenger too was sent to Riddin, but he was obliged to return as the snows took possession of the higher peaks and valleys. Andawyr and Gulda wandered the Castle together, pored over tomes in the library together, and talked and talked. The Fyordyn joined with Loman and the other Mor-lider veterans in the training of the Orthlundyn army, Dacu and Tel-Mindor taking a considerable interest in the Helyadin. All however, sat at the feet of Agreth to learn about cavalry warfare. Jaldaric and Tirke were offered the opportunity to train with Athyr in the Helyadin. Rede Berryn eventually took his stiff leg to Hawklan. Dacu and Tel-Mindor were impressed by the Helyadin. ‘I’d never have thought it possible to achieve so much in so short a time,’ Dacu said. ‘You’re to be commended, Loman. Your people are remarkable and you yourself must have learned a great deal during your service under Commander Dirfrin.’ Loman grimaced. ‘Not from choice,’ he said. ‘It was learn or die. One doesn’t forget such teaching. And Gulda knows a great deal, though how she came by such knowledge I’m not even going to think about asking.’ The two Goraidin agreed with that sentiment and concentrated on adding their own expertise to that which Loman and Gulda had already taught. They had already bruised themselves badly against Gulda by casually protesting about the physical dangers to the women in training alongside the men, especially in the severe training required of the Helyadin. Hearing their unexpected complaint and being in no position to advise against its utterance, Hawklan and Loman had both developed a sudden deep interest in nearby carvings as Gulda had stopped writing, paused, and then slowly looked up from her desk. ‘The Muster women seem to manage,’ she began. ‘As did those who fought by Ethriss’s side.’ Although her voice was soft, it was withering in its disdain, and her blue eyes defied description. When she had finished, Dacu and Tel-Mindor retreated from the field in disarray to the barely disguised amusement of Hawklan and Loman. Dacu was heard to mutter, ‘Poor Sumeral.’ Apart from minor frictions however, the Fyordyn and the Orthlundyn worked well together and to their considerable mutual benefit. The Goraidin in particular responded to the intuitive flair of the Orthlundyn while they in their turn came to appreciate the Fyordyn’s painstaking thoroughness. Both Tirke and Jaldaric welcomed the opportunity to join the Helyadin under Athyr’s command. Tirke accepted with enthusiasm, having been much impressed by Dacu on their journey through the mountains and presuming that he in turn could impress Athyr with some of his new-found knowledge. Jaldaric, however, accepted grimly, carrying within him desperate memories of his capture first by Hawklan and then by Aelang, but worst of all, the memory of the impotent witness he had borne to the massacre at Ledvrin. These initial intentions however, began to change rapidly as the two young men faced the Helyadin’s simple but effective aptitude test. It involved a leap from the edge of a sheer rock face on to a nearby flat-topped spur. The gap was not too wide, but the top of the spur was small and the drop beneath it breathtaking. Roped for safety, but nevertheless terrified, both managed to pass the test, and both grew a little in wisdom. Rede Berryn, a robust bachelor, was slightly embar-rassed by the presence of Tirilen, but he watched intently as Hawklan carefully examined his knee. It was stiff as a result of a riding accident many years previ-ously and various healers had shaken their heads over it from time to time. He could not avoid a small sense of disappointment however when Hawklan too shook his. ‘Never mind,’ he said philosophically. ‘I’m glad you’ve had a look at it. If you can’t do anything for it, then I doubt anyone can.’ But Hawklan had not finished. ‘I can’t loosen the joint for you, Rede,’ he said. ‘Like you, that’s well set in its ways by now. But Tirilen will show you how to massage it and how to exercise these muscles here’-he prodded dispassionately-‘and here, so that they’ll carry more of your weight. It’ll be a little uncomfortable at first, but it should ease the pain considerably.’ ‘Oh, that won’t be necessary… ’ began the Rede with spurious heartiness, but a gentle hand on the chest prevented his attempt at a hasty departure. Tirilen smiled at the old man’s discomfiture. ‘Come now, Rede,’ she said, rolling up her sleeves. ‘I’ve seen uglier things than your leg.’ Berryn cleared his throat and coloured a little. As Tirilen approached he caught Hawklan’s sleeve and pulled him forward. ‘Perhaps… you… or maybe… the Memsa… ’ he whispered tentatively. Hawklan sucked in his breath and shook his head, frowning. ‘Different school of medicine, Gulda,’ he whispered back earnestly. ‘Different entirely. Takes no prisoners and dispatches her wounded,’ And with a broad wink he was gone. ‘Come in,’ Andawyr said. The door to his room opened slowly and Hawklan peered in cautiously. ‘I’m here,’ Andawyr said, striking a small torch into life. ‘I was just relaxing.’ The torch gently illuminated the chaos of books and scrolls that filled the small room Andawyr had chosen for his study, but he himself was not to be seen. Hawklan gazed around uncertainly for a moment until, abruptly, a bushy-haired head appeared above a stack of books. A beckoning hand followed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, Andawyr,’ Hawklan said, entering and treading warily around the books and scrolls that littered the floor. Andawyr shook his head decidedly and beckoned again. Hawklan advanced further, eventually finding the Cadwanwr sitting cosily in the lee of a broken cliff-face of books and other documents illuminated warmly by the small torch and a fire of radiant stones. Andawyr motioned him to sit down, carefully lifting a mound of papers from one chair to another. As he released them, they slithered gracefully to the floor. With a small click of irritation, he bent down and gathered them together loosely then, after looking vainly for a blank space on a nearby table, he dropped them unceremoniously on top of another pile of papers. Hawklan watched the small drama with great interest, and could not forbear smiling. ‘You’re a profoundly untidy man, Andawyr, Leader of the Cadwanol,’ he said. Andawyr shrugged a small concession. ‘But not here,’ he pleaded, tapping his head. Hawklan eyed the shadowy crags and peaks of the impromptu mountain range of documents that Andawyr had built, and looked conspicuously doubtful. His doubts however, rolled serenely off Andawyr’s beaming face. ‘You’re a fine and generous host, Hawklan,’ the little man said. ‘And you keep a fine inn here, with rare bedside reading.’ Hawklan nodded graciously. ‘Didn’t there used to be windows in here once?’ he asked. Andawyr looked vaguely over his shoulder. ‘I’ll put all these back when I’ve finished,’ he said earnestly, like an ingenuous child. Hawklan waved a dismissive hand. ‘I know,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Gulda looks after the library.’ Andawyr surrendered to this threat of vastly supe-rior force with a chuckle and settled back in his chair. ‘What did you want to talk about?’ he asked. Hawklan shook his head. ‘Nothing special,’ he re-plied. ‘I thought I’d let you know that a messenger just arrived from Fyorlund to say that Arinndier has been empowered unconditionally by the Geadrol to speak for them in whatever military arrangements we’re making.’ Andawyr looked surprised. ‘Remarkable,’ he said. ‘I presume that this is the Lord Eldric stamping his will on the Geadrol, Ffyrst or no.’ ‘Stamping reality on them more likely,’ Hawklan replied. ‘He and Darek and Hreldar.’ ‘Does the message say anything about Oklar, or about what they’re going to do with their errant Lords?’ Andawyr went on. ‘The High Guards are patrolling the northern bor-ders, but the Mathidrin have entrenched themselves along the approaches to Narsindalvak, so presumably Oklar is free to come and go about Narsindal as he wishes.’ Hawklan looked regretful and there was a note of irritation in his voice. ‘We’re lucky he’s not coming and going about Fyor-lund, Hawklan, and don’t you forget it,’ Andawyr replied with some reproach, then, more anxiously, pressed his question, ‘And the Lords and everyone else who supported Dan-Tor?’ Hawklan smiled appreciatively. ‘I always knew El-dric was a considerable leader,’ he said. ‘But he’s proving to be quite a healer as well. As far as I can gather, there’s a great deal of accounting and breast beating going on, as you might expect. Individuals who were involved in acts of violence, other than in the battle itself, are being tried openly before the courts. But those who helped Dan-Tor in other ways are being given the choice of join us or join him-no punishment either way.’ Andawyr looked relieved. ‘I agree,’ said Hawklan speaking to the Cadwanwr’s unspoken approval. ‘Any acts of vengeance would have been very detrimental, however they were disguised in law. We need a united Fyorlund, not one riven with embittered factions, all piling up more and more scores to settle.’ His voice was hard. Andawyr threw him a mocking salute. ‘Shrewdly said, Commander,’ he said. Hawklan could do no other than laugh self-deprecatingly at the gesture. ‘Tell me about Dar-volci,’ he said unexpectedly. Andawyr looked at him steadily for a moment, then said, ‘Dar’s an old friend and a typical felci pack leader,’ he said. ‘What do you want to know?’ Hawklan gestured vaguely. ‘Nothing special,’ he said. ‘I’m just idly curious. I’ve never seen anything like him before, that’s all. Why was he so excited by the Alphraan?’ Andawyr shrugged. ‘Dar’s Dar,’ he said, with a ges-ture which indicated that that was a complete explanation. ‘He comes and goes as he pleases-as I said, a typical felci pack leader.’ Hawklan shifted a little uneasily. ‘There’s something odd about him,’ he said. ‘Odd?’ Andawyr queried, watching Hawklan’s face intently. ‘I don’t know,’ Hawklan said uncertainly. ‘Nothing specific, just… unusual, strange.’ ‘They’re unusual creatures for sure. They burrow through rock,’ volunteered Andawyr. ‘Hence the teeth. And they’ve got claws to match. And minds both as sharp and as strong as their teeth and claws, as I’ve no doubt you’ll find out when he condescends to come back.’ Hawklan shook his head. ‘I’m sorry to be vague,’ he said. ‘It’s not important. It’s just that there seems to be something profoundly different about him… some-thing very deep. Alien almost.’ Andawyr smiled gently. ‘According to their own legends-which are very colourful, I might add-they were here before our time; even before Ethriss’s time.’ Then, intoning deeply in imitation of Dar-volci, ‘Creatures of the deep rock, brought unwilling to this new world when the deeplands were desecrated by the plundering mines of Sumeral… ’ His mimicry broke down into a happy laugh. Hawklan’s unease faded in this sudden sunshine and he responded to the little man’s merriment. ‘I gather you don’t feel anything strange about them?’ he said. Andawyr’s laugh carried over. ‘I feel great affection for them,’ he said, reaching up to wipe his eye. ‘But you didn’t come here to talk about Dar-volci, did you?’ Hawklan shifted in his chair awkwardly again. ‘No,’ he said after a pause. ‘I suppose not.’ Andawyr opened his hands as a signal for him to continue. Hawklan hesitated, uncertain again. ‘We’ve all been working, studying, reorganizing. You’ve spent a great deal of time with Gulda and… ’ He gestured around the stacks of documents. ‘I feel we’re nearing the time when we have to decide what we must do next. I thought we ought to start talking about it.’ Andawyr bowed his head slightly in acknowledge-ment then turned to stare pensively into the fire. ‘Gulda tells me you remember things,’ he said abruptly. Hawklan started a little. ‘She’ll have told you what things, then, I presume,’ he replied, though not unkindly. Andawyr nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘More awareness of your skills. Hazy memories of your life’-he looked up at Hawklan-‘but no details of who, what, when; no faces, no names. Nothing to tell you who you were, or are.’ He leaned forward. ‘Would you like me to search your mind as I did at the Gretmearc? We’re both wiser than we were.’ Hawklan looked at him narrowly. ‘You still think I’m Ethriss, don’t you?’ he said. Andawyr pulled a wry face. ‘I don’t know,’ he said hesitantly. ‘You’ve been given his Castle and his sword. And you wielded the sword to some effect against Oklar.’ Hawklan shook his head in denial, but Andawyr ignored it. ‘It occurs to me that perhaps you wielded the sword too well. That in protecting yourself and your friends you did not receive the power that would almost certainly have awakened your true self… ’ Hawklan’s face was suddenly angry. ‘It was a happy chance then,’ he said. ‘I might be incomplete, but this is my true self.’ He struck his chest forcefully. ‘If this… great Guardian… requires the sacrifice of a city for his rebirth, then better he stays asleep.’ Andawyr flinched away from Hawklan’s powerful denunciation but only briefly. ‘That confrontation was of your choosing,’ he said, struggling with his own anger, which had risen in response to Hawklan’s. ‘And don’t forget that the sword which you feel you used so inadequately may have halved the destruction of Vakloss, and that Sumeral Himself reached out from His fastness and bound His own servant rather than see you assailed further.’ ‘Damn you,’ Hawklan said softly, his green eyes black and ominous in the red glow of the fire. Andawyr met his grim gaze squarely. ‘Ethriss was cruel only in the clarity of his vision of the truth,’ he continued. ‘He bound nothing lightly; either by chains or deceitful words. He let things be free. He gave us the freedom that he himself cherished, to do with as we will. Sumeral is the one who binds; the manipulator, the deceiver, the twister of minds and realities.’ His finger jabbed out. ‘You yourself uttered what were virtually Ethriss’s own words when you said that to fight Sumeral with treachery and cunning would be to choose to fight Him only with the weapons He offers us; when you said that we should fight him with our greatest strengths-with simplicity and directness.’ He stopped speaking and slowly sat back in his chair. Hawklan looked away from him and rested his head on his hand. ‘I’ll oppose Sumeral to the end, Andawyr,’ he said after a long silence. ‘I see no alternative. But under-stand, I faced Oklar’s power and felt no vestige of godhood in me. You must look elsewhere. Whatever I was, I was not Ethriss. I was as I am; mortal and frail. That I know.’ Silence seeped down from the waiting books to surround the two men like a mountain mist. ‘And ponder this,’ Hawklan said quietly. ‘Why did Sumeral reach out to save me? Is it not possible that He, the deceiver, the manipulator, might seem to protect me, perhaps even conspicuously bind one of His Uhriel, with the intention of leading astray those who were searching for His most feared enemy?’ Andawyr stared at him, unmoving. ‘Damn Hawklan lowered his eyes and, after a moment, gave a single ironic grunt. ‘Now I’ve given us no choice,’ he said, ‘with my own inept manipulating. Now we’ll have to find out who I am if Ethriss is ever to be found.’ Andawyr pursed his lips and nodded. ‘Sit back and relax,’ he said, standing up. ‘Just re-member that whatever you see and hear, you’ll be here all the time. You’ll hear me; feel my presence. Nothing can harm you except yourself.’ Hawklan closed his eyes. Andawyr reached out and placed the palms of his hands on Hawklan’s temples. Hawklan felt their gentle warmth, and then, as he had at the Gretmearc, he found himself floating free in a strange world of shimmering, fragmented sounds and images. ‘Open your eyes,’ came Andawyr’s voice. Hawklan did as he was bidden, but no barren empty plane appeared this time. Instead, he was still floating, drifting amidst elusive, disjointed images, and vaguely significant whisperings. A woman on his arm, laughing…? An aching memory of a swirl of auburn hair and the soft irresistible curve of a cheekbone. Hawklan reached out to touch it again… Warm and comforting sunlight, and the scent of fresh grass and yellow flowers… Children, running, playing… More laughter… Fond, stern voices commanding and teaching… Music and beauty in a shining singing castle… Darkness at the edges… nearing. Darkness on the horizon. Smoke… Burning… Fear… Then Choices… ‘Men must fight men.’ A chilling knell… The fearful stirring clarion call of battle trumpets… Turmoil… Flickering flames and choking smoke… Destruction, terror… ‘You’re here, Hawklan,’ came Andawyr’s voice gen-tly. ‘Still safe, in Anderras Darion.’ Hatred… But still hope shone, like a silver twisting thread glittering through the gloom. ‘Stand your ground,’ was the command and the intention. Then, like black vomit, memories that could not be faced. Failure. Defeat. Broken ranks. Rout. The finest destroyed under the endless waves of… ‘You’re here, Hawklan,’ Andawyr’s presence was beginning to waver. And then there came the memory that Hawklan knew too well. His body and heart wracked beyond all pain and weariness. Endless, endless hacking and killing, and all to no avail; a mere sideshow as His army swept past unhindered. On and on they came… unending… chanting, screaming… eyes and swords glinting red in the blazing fires… the sky black with acrid smoke and the great birds, also fighting their last… And the ground under his feet, uneven, treacherous-a ghastly mound of the broken bodies of his men. And this was A distant cry of horror and guilt began to form in-side him. ‘Hawklan, you are here,’ said Andawyr’s voice, anx-ious and more distant. ‘You are safe. Nothing can harm you.’ But the cry grew, long and agonized. He felt his last friend die at his back, gasping out, ‘I’m sorry,’ even as he fell. Hawklan’s terrible cry grew until it seemed to fill the sky, mingling and overtopping the final triumphant roar of his enemy as blades and malevolence closed around him. ‘Hawklan!’ Andawyr’s voice was faint and desperate. ‘Hawklan. You are here… ’ But Hawklan could not hear it. He was plunging headlong into the dreadful, bloody darkness. Then, abruptly, a hand was laid on his shoulder. Eyes wide in horror, mouth gaping, he lurched for-ward, but the hand sustained him, and others reached out to support him. He sank into their strength. Slowly, the darkness of the battlefield faded to be-come the gentle light of the small torch and the radiant stones that lit Andawyr’s room. His scream dwindled to become his own gasping breath. Andawyr’s arms were wrapped about him as if he were a hurt child and the little man’s face was both pale and covered with perspiration. It was suffused with a mixture of concern and distress. A hand still rested on his shoulder, sustaining him until he was truly back in Anderras Darion. He turned his head and looked up. The hand was Gulda’s. She seemed to tower over him though her face was full of compassion, and tears shone in her eyes. Gavor sat on her shoulder, head bent forward, eyes intense. ‘You are with us,’ Gulda said, part statement, part question. Hawklan nodded and Gulda slowly released his shoulder. Andawyr too gradually let him go, helping him back into his chair. Then he sat down heavily on his own and, producing a large kerchief, began to mop his face in undisguised relief. ‘Thank you, Memsa,’ he said. ‘I didn’t expect such… power.’ He looked uncertain. Gavor hopped on to Hawklan’s shoulder and closed his one claw about it reassuringly, though he did not speak. Hawklan reached up and touched his beak. Gulda liberated a chair from its burden of docu-ments and sat down between the two men. ‘You’d have got him back,’ she replied to Andawyr simply. ‘I shouldn’t have interfered, but… I couldn’t bear his pain, I had to… ’ Uncharacteristically, she left the sentence unfinished. Andawyr looked at her then laid his hand on hers. ‘Thank you,’ he said again. Hawklan watched vacantly as the memory of the turmoil that had so nearly overwhelmed him washed back and forth like a frustrated ebb tide. ‘What…?’ he began, but Gulda held out her hand gently to quieten him. ‘Rest a little while longer,’ she said. ‘We can talk in a moment, when the Castle’s seeped back into your bones completely.’ She smiled. You were very beautiful once, Hawklan thought, though even as the thought formed itself, it became you are beautiful, and his head began to swim as his eyes tried to focus on the confusion of images that was Gulda’s face. She reached out and put her hand on his forehead. Its coolness cleared his vision. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Rest.’ The four sat in silence for some time and gradually the intensity of the eerie happening began to dwindle. As a sense of normality returned, Hawklan’s breathing quietened and Andawyr finished wiping his face, though even in the red glow of the fire he was still pale. ‘Not as… easy… as last time,’ Hawklan said even-tually, his voice unsteady and hoarse. Andawyr shook his head. ‘All things happen in their time, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t the knowledge to take you further then though I didn’t realize it.’ He smiled reflectively. ‘I thought at the time that your early life had been sealed away by some other hand. Now, I think perhaps it might have been a deeper, wiser part of either you or I who created that strange barrier we found, for our own protection.’ His smile became a chuckle. ‘It’s very difficult to be simple and straightforward when we have such a capacity for deceiving ourselves.’ Hawklan tried to smile but his face did not respond. ‘And what else have you learned?’ he asked. ‘Those memories were mine, I know, but I’m no wiser.’ He spread his arms out, hands palm upwards in a gesture of helplessness. ‘And where was Ethriss in all that whirling confusion except as someone other than myself? He it was I followed and failed.’ Andawyr and Gulda exchanged glances. ‘And how are you here?’ Hawklan asked, turning to Gulda. She looked at him. ‘I was drawn by your joy and happiness and then by your pain,’ she said, then, lowering her eyes. ‘I’m not sure I should have interfered. Perhaps what we need to know lies in the darkness that came after you fell on that field.’ Hawklan’s eyes opened wide in horror and he wrapped his arms about himself. ‘After my… death?’ he said very softly. ‘No, I’ll not go back again.’ Gulda nodded. ‘Neither of us would take you,’ she said. ‘You did not die,’ Andawyr said. Gulda looked at him sharply. Andawyr shook his head. ‘There’s an inexorability about death that would have drawn us in like a great maelstrom. No power could have pulled us from it. Even Hawklan’s own memory of his… end… was nearly irresistible. It was folly on my part to venture so close. I should have known from what you told me that that memory dominated all others.’ Gavor flapped his wings restlessly, throwing great shadows over the walls and ceiling and the waiting mountain range of books. Andawyr looked at Hawklan, his expression enig-matic. When he spoke, his voice was flat and toneless. ‘You are not Ethriss, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘And I fear our position is more grave than I had thought.’ Hawklan felt suddenly like a small guilt-ridden child. ‘Who am I then?’ he asked. Andawyr turned to Gulda. ‘Tell him about the Orthlundyn, Memsa,’ he said. |
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