by Roger Taylor
The room shook with an ominous rumble. Andawyr looked round in alarm.
‘They’re attacking us here as well. Directly,’ his voice said. ‘How could they have found us? It’s not possible. Unless… ’
He spun round and stared at Hawklan angrily. His manner was so grim that Hawklan started back and reached for his sword, knocking over his chair in the process.
‘What did you bring from that pavilion, Hawklan?’ Andawyr’s tone was commanding.
‘Nothing,’ said Hawklan, alarmed at this sudden power from the little man.
‘You’ve something of theirs. Some corruption. You must have. This place couldn’t be located without that, let alone attacked.’ He put his hands to his head desperately, then snapped his fingers.
‘Have you any of the tinker’s wares with you?’
‘No,’ replied Hawklan earnestly. ‘I didn’t know they were corrupted when I left.’
A booming impact interrupted him and the room shook violently as if it had been struck by a great hammer. The two men staggered and Gavor flapped into the air with a raucous cry. Papers cascaded off the table, books tumbled off shelves and an ominous crack appeared in the ceiling.
Andawyr looked at the crack, the alarm in his face changing to terror. ‘Ethriss protect us if they’re that strong,’ he said. ‘We’re lost before we can begin.’
‘The bird, Hawklan,’ Gavor cried suddenly.
‘Bird? What bird?’ said Andawyr.
Hawklan looked vaguely at Gavor.
‘The brown bird!’ Gavor shouted impatiently. ‘From the mountains.’
Hawklan nodded and, digging into his pocket, re-trieved the corpse of the little bird and held it out to Andawyr.
Andawyr’s eyes opened wide in horror, and as if mimicking him, the bird’s eyes opened, a baleful blazing yellow. Beak gaping, it flew directly at Andawyr’s face with a shriek that sounded like a thousand voices screaming in triumph and hatred. Hawklan lifted his hands to his ears, but, like Dar-volci’s voice, the appalling sound seemed to be inside his head.
Andawyr let out a cry of terror and caught the bird with the flat of his hand as he lifted it to protect his face. There was a red flash and he staggered back, grasping his hand in pain, while the still shrieking bird flew crazily into a far corner of the room, colliding with the walls and floor several times on the way.
Andawyr lifted his uninjured hand and levelled it at the bird as it prepared to fly at him again. Hawklan turned his face away as a bright whiteness shone from the extended hand and engulfed the bird. It thrashed frantically in the corner and its screeching became demented with rage, but it could not escape. Sweat started out on Andawyr’s forehead.
‘This is the one the Alphraan downed, Gavor?’ he said breathlessly. Gavor nodded.
‘A powerful sign, Hawklan, the Alphraan protecting you. They’ve little love for hum… ’
He staggered and Hawklan caught him. The light holding the bird wavered and its screeching and thrashing became even more frenzied, as if it were drawing power from some unseen source.
Hawklan’s face was lined hard and grim by the glar-ing light. He looked at Andawyr. The man was failing visibly.
‘What can I do?’ he shouted.
‘Nothing,’ gasped Andawyr. ‘This creature’s beyond me. It’s part of a greater whole. But it must be bound. I must go to the Council by a route that you can’t travel. If I survive that, I fear I must go to Narsindal to seek… ’ He paused and gasped for breath. Another violent shock rocked the room. ‘Dar-volci will help you escape the tent. Flee for your life… your soul. Return to Anderras Darion now, as quickly as you can. Learn everything you can from the Gate, and from the lore of Orthlund. I’ll try to reach you if I can, or send another. Above all, Hawklan, be on your guard. Watch the shadows, your days of peace are ended. They’ll try to bind you again. Be on your guard. Go quickly now.’
Hawklan moved to help him, but Andawyr waved him to the door with his injured hand. Hawklan ignored the gesture and looking into the old man’s pained eyes, laid his hands gently on his head. Andawyr closed his eyes and some of the pain left his face. Then he opened them abruptly, and nodded desperately to the door.
Hawklan lifted his hands from the old man’s head, ran to the door and pushed it open. However, instead of walking through it, he found himself pitched forward headlong as if an enormous hand had pushed him squarely in the back. Gavor joined him in an equally undignified manner.
As the two rolled over, there was a great echoing boom and the bird’s frantic screeching stopped abruptly. Turning, Hawklan saw the hole in the tent wall disappear, and he had a fleeting vision of the room he had just left dwindling rapidly into the distance, sparking white with Andawyr’s flickering light.
Before he could gather his wits properly, there was a raucous shout from outside the tent, ‘They’re ’ere,’ and a long knife blade was thrust through the tent wall. With one swift rasping stroke, the entrance was rent open to reveal a bulky figure standing dark against the early morning sky.
Behind him, Hawklan glimpsed other figures milling around. Their leader seemed to be a man with a ragged bandage tied over his eyes. One hand was gripping the shoulder of another man so powerfully that he was grimacing in pain, and the other, claw-like, was swinging from side to side.
There was a timeless pause as the figure in the en-trance hesitated. The healer in Hawklan reached out instinctively to the blind man, but some other part of him was repelled. The blind man cocked his head on one side as though he had heard something familiar and, slowly, his sightless gaze turned towards Hawklan. Hawklan recognized the face he had seen reeling back into the pavilion, but now its look of horror had been replaced by one of madness.
Then the swinging hand levelled itself at him like a quivering compass point, and the man’s mouth opened wide in a triumphant snarl. Hawklan felt his unspoken command.
The man in the entrance moved forward and, with-out thinking, Hawklan stepped low in front of him and then stood up. With a great cry the man flew into the air over Hawklan’s back and crashed heavily onto the floor. Even as the man was falling, Hawklan extended his right hand towards the face of another approaching attacker. Although the hand did not touch him, he too crashed to the ground as he tried to avoid it.
As he moved to face yet another, Dar-volci’s voice intruded. ‘Never mind these,’ his deep voice bellowed. ‘Run for it. Out of the back.’ Hawklan turned round but there was no one there. He hesitated. ‘Shift, you great lummox,’ came the powerful voice again, from a side room. ‘I’ll be out in a minute. I can handle these once Andy’s away safe.’
A hand grabbed at Hawklan’s shoulder and, without looking, he swung his fist back into the groin of its owner. There was a gasp and the grip vanished. Hawklan sensed more attackers behind him.
‘I don’t know where you learned those tricks, dear boy,’ said Gavor, jumping up and down agitatedly. ‘But I really think the man’s offering us good advice.’
Hawklan nodded. He spun round and laid out one more individual with an open handed blow under his chin, then ran towards the back of the tent. As he did so a small brown sinuous animal ran between his legs in the direction of the assailed entrance.
Drawing his sword, Hawklan slashed an opening in the tent wall, but before he stepped through it, he turned to see where his pursuers were. He saw one trip over the small animal, which ran on unhindered to the next man, stood on its hind legs and opened its mouth to reveal a massive and formidable set of teeth. It sank these into the man’s leg, and there was a sound of breaking bones that made Hawklan wince. The man let out a great scream and collapsed on to his fellow who was just getting up.
‘Come on, dear boy,’ Gavor flapped urgently. ‘If that’s Dar-volci’s pet, I shudder to think what he’s like.’
And with that he was gone, flying off toward the crowds and noise of the Gretmearc. Hawklan followed him, listening for any sounds of pursuit. But all he could hear was Dar-volci’s stentor
ian voice swearing roundly and filigreed about with thuds and screams.
* * * *
Within the hour, Hawklan had gathered his pack from the rest area, purchased a few supplies, and was making steady, inconspicuous progress down the road that would lead back to the mountains and to Orthlund. Gavor was flying watchful, high above him.
There had been no signs of pursuit after they had left Andawyr’s assailed tent, and the Gretmearc crowds had absorbed them into anonymity as effectively as a mountain mist, although part of Hawklan had wanted to draw the black sword and return to face those who had seen fit to so assault him and seek his downfall.
A deeper, darker voice sounded within him how-ever. These people are unknown to you, it said, and would have bested you like a child, but for Gavor and good fortune. Those who know them better told you to flee. To return might be to make vain any sacrifice they have paid.
Reluctantly Hawklan had bowed to this wiser coun-sel.
Gavor had had less sombre reservations. ‘Dar-volci’ll be all right,’ he said confidently. ‘Judging by the noises that were coming from that tent he sounds as if he’s twice the size of Isloman. And did you see that rat thing-with the teeth?’ His tone was awe-stricken, and he hopped involuntarily onto Hawklan’s head to be further from the ground.
Hawklan nodded, and grimaced at the memory of those bone-crunching teeth. ‘That was no rat,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it before. It must be some kind of a guard animal.’
‘Well, if he’s got that thing on a leash, at least we’ll have no difficulty recognizing Dar-volci if we ever meet him,’ Gavor concluded.
However, their journey was for the most part silent. Each was rapt in his own thoughts. In contrast to his peaceful journey from Pedhavin, Hawklan now found that his mind was troubled and his perceptions darker. He realized he was searching the faces of passers-by for signs of treachery and enmity. Running feet or hooves behind him would see his hand move gently to his sword hilt. A glade of trees overshadowing the road, beautiful though it was still, would become also a possible place of ambush, and part of him would peer into it, seeking out less innocent shadows.
He did not relish this new sight and he became in-creasingly anxious to be back at Anderras Darion, back amongst familiar surroundings with familiar faces and sounds around him, back amongst light and openness. But Andawyr’s voice kept returning to him.
‘Watch the shadows. Your days of peace are ended.’
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