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

Chapter 6

Gulda looked uncertainly at Andawyr. The little man nodded and gestured her to begin.

A brief look of pain passed over Gulda’s face and, fiddling nervously with her stick, she glanced awk-wardly about the room as if looking for something that might tell her where to start her tale.

‘The war of the First Coming was unbelievably long, Hawklan,’ she began at last. ‘And it was fought on many levels and between many different peoples in many different ways. Some, mostly the battles of men, we know a great deal about. Some, involving other than men, like the Alphraan and the Mandrassni, we know a little of. Others, like the terrible cloud wars of the Drienvolk, the vengeance of the great ocean mammals, we know mainly by repute-by legend. Ethriss rarely spoke of them. "All must be won," he would say. "But men must fight men, and Sumeral has come as a man among men, thus man’s burden will be the greatest, for they must fight Him in His mortal frame."’

‘I know this,’ Hawklan said impatiently. ‘You may recall that I spent long enough in the library here before I left and… ’-he raised his hand to his temple uncertainly-‘I knew anyway.’ He grimaced. ‘Old and new memories,’ he said. ‘I can’t separate them any more.’

‘It’s of no consequence,’ Andawyr said. ‘Knowledge is knowledge.’ He motioned Gulda to continue.

‘I mention those other aspects of the war to remind you that while man did indeed carry the greatest burden, it was but a portion of the whole, and not one hundredth part of it rested on the shoulders of one single man. Each leader… commander… carried what he could to the best of his ability. Few failed Ethriss and he did not reproach those who did.’

Gulda looked at Hawklan anxiously.

‘Andawyr and I have talked about you a great deal over these past weeks,’ she said. ‘And I tell you what we believe now, not simply to assuage your curiosity, but because you must know the truth to be free of the burden of guilt which you seem to be carrying.’

‘And while I am so burdened, my judgement is marred and my value lessened,’ Hawklan said coldly.

Gulda nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s true as you above all know. But we also care for you.’

Hawklan bowed his head, momentarily ashamed of his harshness. ‘I feel no guilt,’ he said, uncertainly. ‘Not when I remember the… end.’ He hesitated. ‘Only when… I’m there… I… ’

‘Just listen,’ Andawyr said powerfully, startling Hawklan.

Gulda went on. ‘Nonetheless, you are burdened by it and it does cloud your sight. For that, and many other reasons, you should know the truth.’

‘Or at least what you and Andawyr consider to be the truth,’ Hawklan interjected.

Gulda nodded and paused again as if to collect her thoughts.

‘Among men,’ she said after a moment. ‘The Orthlundyn were Ethriss’s greatest allies. Always they had stood against Sumeral, mistrusting Him from the first and seeing Him truly for what He was, before all others. They were flawed creatures as are we all, but they remained largely free of His taint, and came to form the heart of Ethriss’s power.’

She looked around. ‘They lived here, in this land, in a manner not greatly different from that of the present Orthlundyn, though there were many more and they were… bolder, if you like… more vigorous. As individuals they travelled far and wide across the world, seeking and rejoicing in knowledge. This was why it was they who sensed from the first the true nature of Sumeral. And having seen the truth of Him, this was why they were the first to oppose Him.’

She stopped and glanced at Andawyr, as if seeking relief from this task, but he offered none.

She went on. ‘When, finally, Sumeral launched war on those who opposed Him and in so doing woke the Guardians, it was to the Orthlundyn that Ethriss first gave Sumeral’s own grim teaching. Then too, as now, they were apt pupils and learned well. Their captains and leaders went forth and fought with many armies, opposing Sumeral’s will wherever it was known.’

Hawklan frowned slightly and looked from Gulda to Andawyr. ‘How do you know all this?’ he asked. ‘In everything I’ve read about the First Coming there’s been virtually no mention of the Orthlundyn.’

Gulda did not reply, but Andawyr said simply, ‘The Cadwanol know much more about the early days, Hawklan. Hear the tale out then ask your questions.’

Hawklan nodded reluctantly, and Gulda continued.

‘By their conduct, the Orthlundyn became both a rallying point for those who opposed Sumeral-and there were many-and a target for His most savage cruelty. Sumeral gave little quarter to any of His enemies, and none to any captured Orthlundyn. Those who were not slaughtered on the field were taken for… later amusement.’

Hawklan turned his face away sharply, as if trying not to hear the words. Gulda hurried on.

‘Eventually the war became total, with all the horror and injustice that that meant. Savage and vengeful marauders committed atrocities in Ethriss’s name; wise and just nations found themselves led to fight by the side of Sumeral and his allies.’ Gulda shook her head and her voice became impassioned. ‘In those days, what tragedy could happen, did happen. Not a race existed that was not involved in the conflict in some way. Lands blighted, seas poisoned… ’ Andawyr reached out and touched her arm. She stopped speaking and looked at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, recovering herself after a mo-ment and turning back to Hawklan. ‘It’s difficult to be orderly in telling so vast a tale.’ Her hands fidgeted briefly with the top of her stick before she began again. ‘The armies of the Great Alliance stood against Sumeral at all points, sometimes victorious, sometimes not. But Sumeral knew that the heart of Ethriss’s will, the heart of all men’s opposition to Him, lay in the Orthlundyn, and that they must eventually be destroyed if He was to prevail. At first he sought to cut off their head and he succeeded in having one of their kings assassinated, and various Lords at different times… ’

‘Kings and Lords? In Orthlund?’ Hawklan exclaimed.

Gulda nodded. ‘By then, yes. They it was who built Anderras Darion-with a little help from Ethriss. War needs and breeds leaders and hierarchies, you know that. But the Kings and Lords of Orthlund were chosen by the people for their worth, and remained close to them, closer even than those you’ve met in Fyorlund. The great strength of the Orthlundyn in battle came not only from each individual’s belief in their cause and the trust they had in their leaders, but also, to a high degree, from the personal knowledge they had of them.’ An irritable wave prevented any further interrogation.

‘In any event, such deeds of individual slaughter availed Sumeral nothing, serving only to harden the resolve of the people to remain firm against Him. It was truly said of the Orthlundyn that when a leader fell their army was but one man the less. Eventually, therefore, Sumeral’s every manoeuvre was dedicated towards bringing His many armies together to attack Orthlund itself, even though He knew the cost of such an assault would be appalling.’

She paused, reluctant again. ‘And He was aided in this intent by Ethriss.’

Hawklan frowned again as a memory flitted by. ‘Stand your ground,’ he said, echoing the words that had returned to him but minutes earlier.

Gulda nodded. ‘We come nearer to your time, Hawklan,’ she said. ‘For Ethriss too knew that if he was to defeat Sumeral, then he must crush His army utterly. And seeing Sumeral’s intention, he brought together a great council of the leaders of the Great Alliance. In secret conference they determined that Sumeral should be subtly allowed to gather His armies together and bring them to Orthlund’s southern border. Once there, the Orthlundyn would retreat to draw Him between the mountains and the Great River, and then the armies of the Alliance would close behind Him, and drive Him into the spears of the Orthlundyn, entrenched and defensive.’

‘Stand your ground,’ Hawklan said again, emptily.

‘It was a good strategy,’ Gulda went on, gently. ‘Well prepared, well laid, well executed.’

Hawklan nodded. ‘I supported it,’ he said, his voice distant. ‘My army can hold off any attack. Let them come, they’ll break like waves against the rocks… ’

‘Your army?’ Andawyr said.

Hawklan’s eyes narrowed as he struggled again for some elusive memory. ‘My… father’s army?’ he said doubtfully. ‘Did I beg for the command?’

Neither Gulda nor Andawyr answered and after a moment he gave up the fruitless striving and spoke again.

‘They were glorious,’ he said. ‘All my friends, back from distant places and great deeds for this one final stroke. Years of secret planning and manoeuvring it had taken, but the Great Corrupter’s army was at last to be crushed between the hammer of the Great Alliance and the anvil of the waiting Orthlundyn. We waited, banners and pennants fluttering in the wind, swords and armour glinting in the sunlight; the horses, the soldiers, all restless and ready. Like a great celebration, a magnifi-cent tournament.’

He gritted his teeth and leaned forward. ‘A great array was to meet the enemy, then retreat, reform, retreat again, luring them ever deeper into our land. And then we would hold them. We had line upon line of traps and defence works laid for them. And line upon line of spearmen and archers and slingers and great artillery machines. Lines that seemed to stretch to the very horizon. The mountains guarded our eastern flank and the forest and the river our western.’

He looked earnestly at Gulda. ‘We were not children and callow youths,’ he said. ‘We were battle-tried and hardened; all of us. We knew that for all the splendour of the sight and the hopes we held high, this would be a long and grim battle; one in which there would be no respite until the end, and one in which we could not falter or all would be lost. Even the initial retreats would take a sad toll. Each stand would have to be more desperate than the last or Sumeral would sense the trap and retreat.

‘Then they were there.’

He stopped and, gazing upwards, shivered. ‘I re-member a cloud passed over the sun and I felt a cool breeze on my face like a bad omen just as a look-out cried, "Enemy ho."’ He turned towards the fire. ‘We’d all seen them before, they were ever a foul, frightening sight, but they were even more so in the clear light of Orthlund. They seemed to bring their own ghastly night with them. The dust of their march, the forests of tall pikes, the awful carrion birds that flew with them. The mockery of their golden flag with its single silver star-the One True Light as they called it.’ Hawklan’s lip turned up in contempt. ‘The pulsing rhythm of their stamping feet, and their endless chanting. The very sight of them had scattered armies in the past.

‘But not us. We knew them for what they were. Men and Mandrocs and other, fouler, creatures of His inventing. Fearsome and terrible, but all of them fallible and none of them proof against sword and spear. And though we could see Him shining among their ranks we knew that Ethriss and the Guardians would be guarding us somehow from the awesome power that He and His Uhriel could use. Men must fight men. We would hold.’

He pointed his finger in emphasis. ‘And we did. Day after aching day. I’ve never seen such slaughter. We stood firm, taking few casualties at first while they kept walking forward into our volleys of arrows and shot, falling like corn under the scythe until they had filled up our trenches and pits with their dead and dying and could walk over them. Though He never ventured so close. Time and again the archers and slingers broke open their infantry and our cavalry smashed into it, but… ’ Hawklan shook his head, his eyes distant. ‘They never truly broke, never scattered and ran. They retreated, taking dreadful losses, then another group would take their place while they reformed.’

He fell silent and for a long time sat motionless, staring into the fire. Neither Gulda nor Andawyr spoke.

‘But we would have held them,’ Hawklan continued eventually. ‘We knew how they would fight, possessed by their Master’s will, and we were prepared. Though we’d not truly realized the sickening weariness of it all. Night after night we’d sit and watch their distant camp fires and try to rid ourselves of the clinging horror of it all; try to cheer each other with talk of victory, and what we’d do afterwards. But it was to little avail; the nearness of His presence was like a miasma hanging sickly in the air.’

He paused again and looked up at his listeners. ‘And day by day we gained an increasing measure of His true nature. When His men died, they became… normal again… free of His firing spirit… free to die lost and bewildered in a foreign land far from their homes and loved ones… ’ His voice trailed off briefly. ‘We didn’t understand the Mandrocs,’ he went on after a moment. ‘They were just demented savages to us, but I suppose it might have been the same with them too.

‘But we would have held them,’ he repeated. ‘We had the equipment and the will. Soon the army of the Alliance would smash into their rear and then… ’

Half-heartedly he struck the palm of his hand with his fist.

His brow furrowed. ‘Then, somehow, there was confusion and disarray on our left flank. Somehow it had been turned and they were pressing home a powerful cavalry assault.’ He put his hand to his forehead and bowed his head, searching yet again for some memory. ‘How could that have happened? I remember… ’ He looked up almost weeping. ‘Ethriss! Where are all their names, their faces? My friends? My kin? Where are they? I remember… towards evening… the infantry managed to reform and throw back their cavalry as night fell, but we’d taken heavy casualties and our left flank had been pushed far back.’

Some of the distress left his face, though now it was drawn and grim. ‘No one knew what had happened. Suddenly they were there. A great force had come from nowhere and was driving through our flank guards. "Only the night has saved us," someone said. "They’ve broken a gap we can’t defend. They could be moving through right now, to take us in the rear at sunrise, if not sooner." I could do no other than order an immedi-ate retreat. The anvil had broken before the hammer had even struck.’

Hawklan stopped speaking, and showed no inclina-tion to start again.

‘What else do you recall?’ Gulda prompted gently after some time.

Hawklan’s eyes opened, wide and weary. ‘Riding, walking, encouraging, fighting endlessly… but always retreating; all the time retreating. We stood here and there, but they were too many for us, away from our entrenchments. I remember passing towns and villages; some were already deserted; some had thrown up rough fortifications manned by the old folk, and children… ’ His face became pained again. ‘I wouldn’t let any of the army join their kin in these towns. "We must keep together while we can. The Alliance army will strike soon and the enemy will have to turn to face them. Then we’ll be on their rear."’ He shook his head sadly. ‘We told the people to flee to the mountains or to the river, in the hope of crossing to Eirthlund.’ He paused again.

‘I remember Anderras Darion, sealed and shrouded in mist, as we marched past one dark day. It was raining… as if the whole sky were weeping for our plight.

‘I remember red night skies to the south, vying with the sunsets, as the enemy sacked the towns and villages.

‘And the Alliance never came.

‘That dreadful army pursued us relentlessly, draw-ing ever closer. Only our total extinction would stop them.

‘And I remember their terrible birds, swooping down on us, screaming, clawing.’ He shuddered, then, unexpectedly, he smiled, and reached up to touch Gavor. ‘But as we were driven into the northern mountains, some power sent us a rare ally.’ Hawklan leaned forward, anxious to describe this brief triumph. ‘When we woke one morning, the birds were waiting for us as usual, perched all about the high rocks and crags, flapping their ragged wings and shrieking to one another the way they did, as if they were goading one another on. The din grew and grew, and we took our swords and pikes to deal with them, but as they rose into the air, a great fluttering black cloud welled up high above them from the tallest of the peaks.’ Hawklan raised his hands, suddenly the fireside storyteller. ‘A great multitude of ravens. Without a sound, they fell out of the sky onto Sumeral’s appalling creatures… ’ Gavor clicked approvingly. ‘It had a strange beauty all its own. The ravens were smaller… but such fliers… swooping, diving, twisting… Soon the air was full of clouds of feathers, falling like snowflakes, and splattering skeins of blood, and tumbling dying bodies.’ His lips drew back in a triumphant grimace and his fingers curled. ‘We dealt with those that were not dead by the time they hit the floor.’

He nodded to himself. ‘They flew with us ever after, the ravens,’ he went on. ‘But Sumeral’s carrion never returned. Not until… the end.’

Then, as suddenly as it had come, Hawklan’s brief exhilaration passed and he sank back into his chair, silent again.

‘And the end?’ Andawyr said softly.

Hawklan turned his gaze back to the fire. ‘We moved ever northwards into… Fyorlund,’ he said, frowning uncertainly. ‘Though it wasn’t called Fyorlund then I’m sure. I doubt it had a name. It was an empty, fertile land occupied by deer, horses… ’ He shrugged. ‘All manner of harmless things living their peaceful lives. Until we arrived and brought them after us.

‘We were exhausted in both spirit and body. We’d left our precious land to its most terrible enemy. The people had looked to our great army for protection with the same certainty that they looked to the sun for warmth and we’d had to tell them to flee like frightened animals before this predator. The darkness that was pursuing us still must surely envelop us and everything that we held dear.’

‘You turned and stood,’ Gulda said flatly.

Hawklan nodded. ‘We’d no choice,’ he said. ‘They would have pursued us if we’d run forever, such was Sumeral’s hatred of us. Our supplies were long gone. We were in little shape to forage. We had scores of wounded with us by then who we may as well have dispatched as left behind. So we chose a site-a low hill in the middle of a plain-polished our weapons and shields, formed our battle array, and waited.

‘It was a splendid, foolish sight. Weapons glinting in the sun, pale-faced men and women fearful yet resolute, flags flapping in the breeze.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s a lonely sound,’ he said sadly. ‘We knew our cavalry would be wasted against so vast an army so we’d released the horses to roam free, and formed ourselves into a single square. No one spoke. Each communed with his own heart and made whatever peace he could with his conscience. Whatever had happened to the Alliance, it would have been no betrayal. We knew that.’ There was doubt in his voice. ‘Just as our defence line had been breached, so some setback must have struck them also. All we could do now was what we had set out to do from the beginning: hold as long as we could and inflict as much harm as possible on our foe.’

Hawklan looked down at his hands. ‘But I found no peace,’ he said. ‘I had sought the command, and it was mine. I had had the finest advisers and friends to guide me, and my own knowledge, which was considerable, but some vanity on my part had caused me to underes-timate the power of our enemy, and all was lost as a consequence.’ Abruptly, tears welled into his eyes, but he did not weep. ‘Yet no one offered me any reproach.’ For a moment, he could not speak. ‘Ethriss, I knew too, would forgive me, but I would not forgive myself. I would die unshriven, by choice.’

Andawyr slowly wrapped his arms about himself, chilled by the pain and self-reproach in Hawklan’s tone.

Hawklan looked up. ‘When they came, they were vast even then. And He was still with them, but always keeping His distance from us. They paused awhile and made camp; to taunt us, I think. The birds were there again, but so also were the ravens, and their dark gleaming spirits were higher than ours by far. I doubt they lost their day.

‘Then, after many hours watching, they attacked. Wave upon wave of them. The din was appalling. The screeching of the fighting birds, the rumbling chanting, the thunder of stamping feet, our own battle song and war cries. We slaughtered them in their thousands again; our archers and slingers were formidable. And those who reached us perished on swords and spears. But relentlessly, their endless, mindless sacrifice wore us down. Eventually all our arrows were spent and we’d sent back to them all their own. Our slingers were out of shot and there was little natural ammunition on that grassy hill. So we faced them with swords and locked shields.

‘And then they fired the hill, and where their storm-ing missiles and charges had failed, smoke and flame succeeded and our dwindling square was broken. Many of us reformed, but many fell alone, cut down as they staggered away from the fire, blinded by the smoke… ’ Hawklan wrinkled his nose. ‘Whatever they used to fire the hill, the smoke was black and foul like nothing I’d ever smelt or seen before, it blotted out the sun and it burned and burned.

‘And it was over. A handful of us were left, standing, slithering on the heaps of our own dead. One by one we fell, until there were just three.’

Hawklan’s face was desolate.

‘I remember the enemy falling back and standing silently watching us. I remember the sky, black with smoke, and flickering with fighting birds. There was a raucous command from somewhere, and the enemy lowered their long pikes-they were not going to close with us again. Then the figure next to me shouted defiance at them, hurled its shield into their midst and reached up to tear away its helm.’ Hawklan paused and his eyes glistened as he relived the moment. ‘Long blonde hair tumbled out like a sudden ray of sunlight in that terrible gloom.’ He shook his head. ‘I hadn’t realized who it was. A great roar went up from the circling army. I called out her name… ’ He opened his mouth to call again. Both Gulda and Andawyr watched, lips parted, as if willing him this release, but no sound came from any of them.

‘Without taking her eyes from the approaching enemy, she reached back and her hand touched my face briefly. "I am here," its touch said. "I am with you to the end." I threw away my own helm and shield and took my sword two-handed as she had. Then the figure at my back cried out in recognition. He too I had not recog-nized in the press. Thus by some strange chance, we three childhood friends formed the last remnant of our great army.’

He paused again and clenched his fist, as if around his sword hilt. ‘A group of the enemy threw down their pikes and rushed forward to take the girl. She killed three of them with terrible skull-splitting blows, but…

‘So I slew her. I slew my friend. With a single stroke. I saw her head tumbling red and gold down the slope and into the darkness under those countless trampling feet.’ He shook his head. ‘Better that than that she be taken alive…

‘The rest of her attackers fled back to their pikes and the enemy began its final slow advance. Back to back the two of us held. Pushed aside and broke their long spears. Killed several. Then my last friend and ally fell and I… ’ he faltered.

‘He said, "I’m sorry," even as he fell.

‘That last burden was my end and I too sank to my knees… ’

He drew in a long breath.

‘Then a hand took my shoulder.’

Hawklan looked up at Gulda. ‘A hand took my shoulder,’ he repeated. ‘Then… darkness.’

He fell silent again and, for a long time, all in the room sat motionless as if not daring to move for fear that this might bring Sumeral’s terrible army crashing down on them over the top of their protected, book-lined redoubt, so vivid was Hawklan’s dreadful telling.

Gulda pulled her hood forward and her face was hidden in deep shadow. Andawyr’s eyes were glassy with shock as he struggled to accept the reality of what he had heard and the true nature of the teller.

It was Hawklan who eventually spoke.

‘Is this the tale you’d have told me?’ he asked, his face still drawn, but seemingly composed.

Gulda drew back her hood. Her face was unreadable.

‘Yes and no,’ she said. ‘Yes, I’d have told you about the destruction of the Orthlundyn army and much of its people, but no, I could not know what you’ve just told us.’ She reached out and took Hawklan’s hand in an uncharacteristically feminine gesture. ‘My poor prince,’ she said softly.

Hawklan gripped her hand. ‘My poor people,’ he replied.

There was another long silence, then Andawyr said, ‘Finish his tale, Memsa, unburden him.’

Hawklan looked at her. ‘Do you know my name?’ he asked.

Gulda shook her head. ‘We know who you are,’ she replied. ‘But not your name, nor even the names of those who rode with you.’

Hawklan frowned. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Do you know how I came here?’

Gulda shook her head again. ‘That’s an even greater mystery,’ she said. ‘But at least I can tell you that the Orthlundyn’s sacrifice was not in vain.’

Hawklan leaned back in his chair, his face question-ing.

‘Then, as now, to presume to match Sumeral in cunning was an act fraught with hazard,’ Gulda said. ‘We don’t know whether Ethriss’s plan was betrayed or whether it was just seen for what it was, but Sumeral saw the trap and laid His own, secretly moving an army into Riddin before he launched His direct attack on Orthlund’s southern border. It was this army that fell on your flank.’

Hawklan looked at her intently. Riddin had been like Fyorlund then; empty save for some fishing villages on the coast and a few wandering shepherds. An army could have been moved in with ease.

‘But it would be almost impossible to bring an army through the mountains. Anderras Darion guarded the easiest route… ’ He stopped.

Gulda shook her head. ‘It took great leadership,’ she said. ‘But Sumeral had many fine Commanders, and it was a deed you yourself would have honoured.’

Hawklan looked down, remembering Dacu’s patient observations on their journey from Fyorlund. Even Ethriss had presumed the mountains and Anderras Darion would protect Orthlund’s eastern flank. ‘Go on,’ he said softly.

‘When the Alliance army entered Orthlund as planned, they found the enemy occupying your entrenchments,’ Gulda continued. ‘As you retreated northwards, the Alliance army was held fast for many days. I’ll spare you the details, though they’re heroic, but eventually the new defenders were overrun and they retreated to form a rearguard to the army that was pursuing you.

‘So the hammer did strike,’ Hawklan said.

Gulda nodded. ‘Ferociously,’ she said. ‘But, as you said, the anvil was broken, though it was no man’s fault.’ Her voice fell. ‘The Alliance army pursued with all speed, driven on relentlessly at first by Ethriss’s will and then by their own desperation as they realized what had happened. They passed gutted villages and scorched farmlands, groups of straggling, bewildered survivors, and the unburied bodies of countless less fortunate until they too passed into the empty northern land we now call Fyorlund.’

She paused and looked at Hawklan reflectively. ‘However, such had been the fury of your defence, first in Orthlund and then, finally, on that lonely hill, that Sumeral’s army was but a shadow of what it had been, and He Himself was much weakened. When news came to Him that the great host of the Alliance was approach-ing, it’s said that He formed up His army to meet them, but seeing them so reduced, and fearing that Ethriss himself might in his rage be at the forefront of his army, He turned and fled. Fled up into Narsindal where once He had dwelt, with the victorious ravens taunting and harrying Him all the way.’

Gulda shrugged. ‘Whatever the truth, He and His army were gone from the field when the army arrived. Only Ethriss stood amidst that carnage; come by some means beyond us. He held the black sword and the bow of the Prince, and he wept as he wandered the battle-field. But he did not speak, except to name each of the dead as he came to them. Even those that no one could recognize.’ Gulda turned away and pursed her lips to stop them from trembling. ‘He knew them all,’ she whispered.

‘He sent the army in pursuit of Sumeral,’ she went on. ‘And while they were gone, with Theowart’s help, he threw up a great burial mound for all the dead.’

‘Vakloss,’ Hawklan said, recalling suddenly the strange unease he had felt when first he had seen the City.

Gulda nodded. ‘The army followed Sumeral as far as the borders of Narsindal and then returned, concerned about their extended supply line and the possibility that the enemy might turn and counter attack in the mountains.

"‘We have Him caged then," Ethriss said. "He must never come forth again." And he gave charge of the land to the Fyordyn, his second most favoured people, whose own land had been despoiled beyond recovery by Oklar. Their task was to watch Narsindal and protect what was left of Orthlund and the Orthlundyn. And he gave the inner lands of Riddin to a great horse-riding nation who too had been cruelly dispossessed by the war. Their task was to aid the Cadwanol in guarding the Pass of Elewart, the only other route out of Narsindal. Then he returned to Anderras Darion.

‘There, however, surrounded by so many beautiful memories of his finest friends, his grief and remorse were appalling and it was a dark place for a long time. The people of the Alliance wandered Orthlund, seeking out survivors and helping them to rebuild their homes and restore their lands. But it was a cruel task, so broken were the Orthlundyn, so cast down.

‘Then one day, Ethriss came out of his inner cham-ber and, wandering the Castle, subtly touched all the likenesses of his friends, so that they were different. And he removed all mention of their names also. "As you love me, I beg you, speak none of these again, lest you disturb the true obeisance I must do them in my heart," he said. "Those who remain I shall repay as well as I am able."’

Hawklan grimaced at Gulda’s obvious pain. ‘What of their prince?’ he asked.

Gulda looked at him. ‘Ethriss said no more. He re-made the prince’s black sword and bow to be his own, and the legend grew that, horror-stricken at fate of his beloved Orthlundyn, he had risked all by venturing into the heart of the battle and snatching away the prince at the very point of death, laying him to sleep in a secret place against some future need.’

‘And nothing more?’ Hawklan asked.

Gulda shook her head. ‘Nothing more,’ she said. ‘But from our knowledge and yours, can you doubt who you are?’

Hawklan did not answer, but rested his head on his hand and lowered his eyes pensively.

Tentatively, Gulda went on. ‘Then there was a period of great peace for many years. Sumeral and His Uhriel were weakened in every way, but so were Ethriss and the Guardians and neither could assail the other with any hope of victory. So Ethriss and the Guardians moved back out into the world, mending what could be mended, and slowly easing the rifts that Sumeral’s words had torn between its many peoples. But always Ethriss returned to Orthlund to add some further wonder to the countryside and to Anderras Darion so that perhaps subtler forces than man might protect it should Sumeral venture forth again.’ She raised a warning finger. ‘And venture forth He did, many times. Unhindered in Narsindal, He grew in knowledge and His armies grew in strength, particularly the Mandrocs. Gradually His Uhriel and many other agents seeped out into the world to undo the work of Ethriss and cause yet more havoc and chaos. Then He too led His armies out of Narsindal, and though the horse people of Riddin always held Him at the Pass of Elewart, and the Alliance kept Him from Orthlund, He dragged war to and fro across Fyorlund times beyond number for generation after generation, until that last terrible battle, when both He and Ethriss fell.’

Gulda fell silent and no one spoke for a long time. Eventually, Hawklan looked up. ‘I feel no different,’ he said. ‘I am as I was when I found myself in the moun-tains-no prince, no great leader-though events have reminded me I am a warrior as well as a healer. I hear and feel the truth of your words, and the truth of my few memories, but in some way they bind me to here and now.’ His face was concerned. ‘I am of this time utterly, not some time long gone. Why does the absence of the names and faces of my friends… my kin… and their terrible fate pain me so little? How can I have lost so much and known such horrors and yet still be so at peace with myself?’

Andawyr reached forward and took his hand. ‘Eth-riss’s ways are beyond us, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘Grief reforges us, you know that, whether we will or no. Perhaps there lies your answer. Perhaps in the aeons you must have lain in silent darkness, the ties that bound you withered, while those which held and supported you grew strong.’ He released Hawklan’s hand and made a small gesture of helplessness.

Hawklan looked at Gulda. Still her face was unread-able, but when she spoke, her tone was certain.

‘You’re at peace now because you were at peace then,’ she said. ‘For all the pain, you accepted what was, and your actions and thoughts were true to what you saw, or as true as any man’s can be. That’s why you sense no silent horde waiting vengefully for you in the darkness of your mind.’

‘And I’m wakened now to do as I did then?’ Hawklan asked, almost angrily.

A brief spasm of irritation passed across Gulda’s face. ‘You’re wakened now to be yourself and to act as you see fit,’ she said.

‘And if the end is the same?’ Hawklan said, open horror on his face.

‘What end?’ Gulda replied coldly. ‘There was no end, there is no end. There are only steps along a journey. The step the Orthlundyn took was not the one they had anticipated, but none can see the future, and though they were destroyed, in their destruction they ensured the removal of Sumeral from this world for countless generations.’

‘You understand what I mean,’ Hawklan said.

‘And you understand what I say,’ Gulda replied sharply. ‘You know you must choose right thoughts, and perform right acts-but the choice is wholly yours.’ She leaned forward, her face suddenly passionate. ‘If you would look for guilt at the heart of all this, don’t look to your own puny failings or waste your energies reproach-ing the Guardian who created you and then slept. Look to Sumeral and only to Sumeral. He had the choices that you have, that we all have, and he chose to destroy what others had created to replace it with some vision of his own. He brought this on us, wilfully and willingly, and what we do now with His choices is up to us.’

Hawklan made no reply. Instead, he said, ‘I’d ex-pected something different. A sudden surge of old memories probably; faces, places, happenings. Certainly not this… handful of recollections that I seem to have stumbled on by accident. The only emotion I seem to have is surprise-surprise that I feel so unchanged.’

‘You are of this time,’ Andawyr said. ‘Perhaps Eth-riss intended you to remember nothing, but to just… be here… ready armed with the blessings of your great understanding and experience. Perhaps the few memories you have, he left you as a token so that you might know your worth.’

Gulda shook her head. ‘There are depths in human-ity that are beyond Ethriss’s reach, even though it was he who created us,’ she said. ‘Did he not tell the Cadwanol that they were to go beyond?’

Andawyr nodded.

Gulda went on. ‘Hawklan can send now into those depths the knowledge that the terrible price his people paid was not in vain, nor was it through some failure or weakness on his part. It was paid because a great evil had to be opposed. Now he’s been given the chance to oppose that evil again-should he choose.’

‘There is no choice,’ Hawklan said simply. ‘It’s of no matter why I am what I am. I am here, I have such memories as I have, and I have no alternative but to oppose Sumeral.’

He looked at his two friends thoughtfully. Andawyr, the strange little man who exuded an almost childlike innocence yet who was the powerful and tested leader of an order that had preserved the knowledge of long gone times intact, and with it, skills in the use of the Power that had perhaps formed the world itself. Then Gulda, a dark deep shadow of a person, with a staggering breadth and depth of knowledge. Who was she? He remembered the indistinct figures he had seen shimmering around her in the mist at their first meeting. Figures calling out to Ethriss… Something had drawn them to her, for all she claimed to know nothing of them. Then there was her grip and the way she had handled his sword-a swordswoman for sure, but… And was it true what Loman said? That she never slept?

And on his shoulder, Gavor. Stranger by far than the two opposite, with his hedonistic and irreverent ways, and the black spurs that had come to Loman’s hand in the Armoury as mysteriously as had the black sword to Hawklan’s. Spurs that even fitted around an irregularity in the wooden leg that Hawklan had made for him. He it was who had taunted Dan-Tor at that grim silent stalemate at the Palace Gate in Vakloss and exposed Oklar.

Ravens had fought at that dreadful battle and seem-ingly won their day, surviving to harry Sumeral into Narsindal.

Who are you, my faithful companion? Hawklan thought. To save your life I struck a first blow and pinioned an Uhriel.

His eyes drifted around the room. It was elegant and beautiful, though the carvings and pictures that decorated it were simpler than in most of the rooms and halls of the Castle. Andawyr’s small torch and the glow of the radiant stones threw jagged shadows of the stacks of books on to the walls, to form a further dark mountain range beyond that which the books and documents themselves formed.

It came to him that he had lied. He was different. He was more whole, more sure in his balance in some subtle way. That most of his earlier life was gone from him pained him no more than the sight of some old, long healed wound. As Andawyr had said, he was armed with the blessings of the understanding and experience that that life had given him, and to these were added all the richness of the last twenty years among the Orthlundyn. Such memories as he did have were like flowers rising up from the dark rich earth that held and nurtured their roots. Even the vivid memories of his final terrible moments held no crippling sadness. If anything they would be a spur to his future actions.

Abruptly, his euphoria evaporated as Andawyr’s earlier remark returned to him with chilling clarity. ‘Our position may be more grave than I feared.’

‘If I’m not Ethriss,’ he said quietly. ‘Then who is? And where is he?’ He leaned forward urgently. ‘And if he can’t be found, then who in the end will oppose Sumeral Himself?’

His words hung ominously in the silence.

‘We’ve no answers, Hawklan,’ Andawyr said. ‘Only questions.’

Hawklan did not respond but, after a moment, stretched out his legs and then stood up. ‘I came here to talk about what we should do next,’ he said. ‘Now I know.’