by Roger Taylor
Gulda shook her head. ‘There are depths in humanity 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 seemingly 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.’
Chapter 7
The sound of Eldric’s own footsteps echoed behind him as he strode purposefully along the corridor. With so many conflicting memories around him he still felt slightly ill at ease in the Palace. There were distant and deep memories of happy, reliable times when his father had been alive and when Rgoric’s father had reigned, and he, Eldric, had been a young trooper on Palace secondment facing a future that was as true and straight as the past. Then came the memories of the double blows of the King’s early death and the Morlider War to be followed by the creeping lethargy and uncertainty that had grown relentlessly through the years of Rgoric’s cruelly blighted reign. And finally and most vividly, the memories of the terrors and triumphs of the last months, with his imprisonment and rescue, the miraculous recovery and brutal slaying of Rgoric, the exposing and routing of Oklar and, dominating all, the gradual realization of the true nature of what had come to pass in Narsindal.
Automatically he acknowledged a cheery greeting from a passing official and, somewhat to his surprise, the involuntary smile that had come to his lips remained. This is an ancient building, he thought. Many others in the long distant past must have walked this way and pondered similar thoughts, and indeed faced worse problems. He was not alone, nor ever would be. Somehow, Fyordyn society had acquired a great momentum through the ages and it was even now righting itself, recovering from the blows that Dan-Tor had inflicted on it over the years. And though it was still sorely hurt and weakened, it would become whole again.
Eldric felt his step lighten a little. Later, he knew, this optimism would be plagued by doubts and worries: about Dan-Tor and his Mathidrin in Narsindalvak; about the banished Lords, the continuing trials, the great bitterness and anger that could taint all the country’s affairs for many years to come. These and many others would conspire to bear him down and make him look to a bleak and wearisome future.
His smile became at once a little grimmer and more amused. These moods were as much to do with his liver as the state of the country, he decided pragmatically. There was a path to be trodden that was for the most part quite clear. How he felt about it was irrelevant.
His brief inner discourse ended as, passing through an elaborate archway, he reached his destination: the Crystal Hall.
He stopped and gazed around, immediately glad to be in this remarkable place with its shimmering inner carvings that flickered and changed endlessly to a mysterious rhythm seemingly beyond analysis. Around him, farmers ploughed their fields and harvested their crops, scholars sat and debated, soldiers fought, castles and cities fell, craftsmen worked at their trades, great boats sailed majestically on sun-sparkling seas – a source of some puzzlement to the land-locked Fyordyn – mountains filled horizons and great skyscapes billowed to the heights and welled over on to the elaborate vaulted ceiling.
It was not a place he visited very often, but each time he did, he regretted his neglect and promised resolutely that in future he would spend more time here. Circumstances, however, seemed to be conspiring to ensure that that particular future was slipping further and further away from him.
‘Lord Eldric,’ said a voice. ‘Will you join me?’
Eldric looked across the hall towards the glittering image of the great tree. Sat in front of it was the Hall’s sole occupant, Dilrap. Eldric brought his mind to the matter in hand, and walked over to him.
‘I was looking for you, Dilrap,’ he said, sitting down next to the Secretary with a little grunt of effort.
Dilrap smiled. ‘You catch me malingering, Lord,’ he said, turning his attention back to the tree. ‘I make a deliberate point of coming to this place every few weeks to just sit and watch. It’s a place that holds very special memories for me.’
Eldric laughed gently. ‘You’re a stronger man than I, Honoured Secretary. I’m afraid I too easily allow the urgent to displace the important,’ he said, adding anxiously. ‘But am I disturbing you?’
Dilrap shook his head. ‘No, Lord,’ he said. ‘Nothing can truly disturb me now.’
Eldric looked at the portly figure beside him. Dilrap looked the same as ever, yet in some way he was utterly different. For one thing, Eldric had noted, with an untypical awareness for such matters, someone had ‘done something’ to Dilrap’s
formal robe of office, and it was no longer necessary for the poor man to be eternally twitching and tugging at it to ensure that it remained on his shoulders. But that was superficial. The man was changed from the inside.
Almost as if sensing his thoughts, Dilrap turned to him and answered his unspoken question.
‘I’ve known such terrors these past months, Lord,’ he said. ‘It was frightening enough when he was just Dan-Tor the schemer, but after he stood exposed in his true form . . .’ He shivered.
Eldric nodded. Hitherto he had always felt sorry for Dilrap, seeing him as a man thrust by tradition into a role for which he was far from well suited. Now, however, he saw him as a man who had been forged by circumstances and who had not merely filled that role, but transcended it heroically.
And, to crown this with dignity, Dilrap had quietly declined all the honours that the Geadrol would have granted him for his silent and relentless opposition to Dan-Tor.
‘Lords, I am the Queen’s Secretary,’ he said. ‘That is honour enough for any man, and to be allowed to retain that post and fulfil my duties is all I ask for.’
Reluctantly the Geadrol had bowed to this wish and Dilrap had set to with relish repairing the damage that Dan-Tor had wrought to the elaborate machinery of Fyorlund’s government. It was of great help to him that he had been an unwilling party to much of it.
It was not unfair to say that Eldric stood in some awe of Dilrap’s achievement. On an impulse, he said, ‘It defies me how you were able to stand so close to . . . Dan-Tor . . . Oklar . . . for so long without him sensing your defiance. I always found him alarmingly perceptive.’
Dilrap raised his eyes so that he was looking at the topmost branches of the tree. Despite the overcast and chilly weather outside, the Crystal Hall had found a grey winter brightness against which to set the tree, now a sharp, black, many-veined silhouette waving slightly in response to some breeze unfelt by the watchers.
‘I think perhaps my constant terror confused him,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he could see through it.’ He turned and looked straight into Eldric’s eyes. ‘Forgive my interfering, Lord,’ he said. ‘But I’ve seen how the Goraidin work, and should you ever think of sending a man secretly into the Mathidrin with the intention of coming close to him either to deceive or assassinate, rid yourself of the notion now. I was fortunate. I was of some use to him but he despised me and presumably didn’t see me as a threat so he never asked the questions that would have made me betray myself. He cannot be lied to. And, as I said, I think my constant terror blurred his vision. I fear a braver man would fare far less well.’
‘And I fear you see straight through me, Dilrap,’ Eldric said. ‘That was indeed an idea that Yatsu and I had considered.’
Dilrap shook his head slowly to confirm his absolute rejection of the idea.
‘However,’ Eldric went on. ‘There are other related matters that I’d like to discuss with you. Could I ask you to join me and Commander Yatsu in a leisurely ride about the City while we talk.’
Dilrap looked alarmed. ‘Ride, Lord?’ he exclaimed, briefly his old twitching self. ‘I’m an unhappy horseman; a poor specimen to ride in such company. I’d hinder you.’
Eldric laughed and the branches of the tree seemed to sway in approval. ‘I’m not proposing a tournament, Dilrap,’ he said. ‘Still less a cavalry charge. Just a gentle ride through the City. I need some air, some space, and some blunt company about me to clear my mind. Besides,’ – his voice became a little more serious – ‘it’s important that you be seen in my company. Not everyone in the City understands why you remained as Dan-Tor’s adviser.’
‘You understand, Lord,’ Dilrap replied. ‘That’s sufficient for me.’
Eldric stood up and held out his hand. ‘It’s not sufficient for me, Honoured Secretary,’ he said. ‘And it would be a sorry happening if some cringing inadequate who’d spent his time cowering in his cellar sought to redeem himself by stabbing you for aiding the enemy.’
Dilrap eyed him uncertainly. There had been such attacks against individuals immediately after the battle, and though Eldric had dealt with them with uncharacteristic ruthlessness, they still occurred from time to time. And it was true, he knew, that despite the widespread proclamation of his help in opposing Dan-Tor, there would be some who could not or would not understand.
He heaved himself to his feet. ‘Well, I suppose I should do more riding,’ he said. ‘Had I been able to ride better, I could have fled with you and your son in the first place and spared myself much pain.’
Eldric laughed again.
A little later saw Eldric and Yatsu accompanying an anxious Dilrap mounted on a sturdy chestnut mare, carefully selected for her placid demeanour. As promised by Eldric, their pace was indeed leisurely but it was some time before Dilrap eased his tense-knuckled grip on his reins and stopped looking down nervously at the ground far beneath him.
Eldric looked round with approval as they rode away from the Palace. The broken and exposed buildings lining the two great avenues of destruction that Oklar had cut through Vakloss in his assault on Hawklan had gradually begun to deteriorate and crumble under the effects of the weather, the many rescue operations, and various half-hearted attempts at repairs. The resultant aura of neglect and decay had earned them the inevitable epithet of ‘the rat-runs’ and it had been an almost unanimous decision by the Geadrol that these tangible signs of Oklar’s will should be obliterated as soon as possible.
It was an idea that for the most part chimed with the will of the people and now, despite the fact that winter would soon bring it to a halt, work was proceeding apace on replacing the smashed buildings with new ones. These were to be as similar to the originals as memories and the none-too-comprehensive archives of the Rede’s office would allow.
Work too was well under way with the new Palace gates and the great gap that Oklar had torn in the wall was filled with a cobwebbed archway of scaffolding, alive with clambering figures and ringing with the clamour of their work.
Thus, as the trio rode through the streets, they found themselves amid the City’s normal bustle, greatly swollen by craftsmen, labourers and apprentices, together with carts and wagons loaded with all manner of building materials, and no small number of idly curious spectators.
In his quieter moments at his stronghold and in his castle, Eldric had pondered sadly the seeming ease with which the Fyordyn had fallen under Dan-Tor’s dark spell. At such times it shook him to his heart that so strong and just and ancient a people could succumb so quickly and silently, and he was sorely tempted to let the sword slip from his own hand in despair.
Now he found himself amazed at the speed with which the people seemed to be recovering, in his mind it was as if for twenty years Dan-Tor had slowly lulled the Fyordyn into a waking sleep and then lured them into a grim mire. Then, some chance, if chance it was, had made him falter in his moment of triumph and, as the mud had closed about them, the people had reached out and clasped the root of some ancient tree. Now, after a desperate struggle they stood on firm ground again; battered and shaken, but wide awake and very angry.
Eldric looked at his companions and smiled. ‘The City’s recovering,’ he said.
‘It’s crowded,’ Dilrap replied with a worried frown, anxiously tightening his grip on the horse’s reins.
‘Don’t worry,’ Yatsu said, grinning, but pulling closer to the nervous Secretary. ‘There’s no room to fall off here.’
Dilrap was not consoled, and showed it.
Gradually however, they moved away from the heart of the City, into quieter streets, and thence into one of the great parks. The lawns and shrubberies looked damp and jaded under the overcast sky, but Eldric’s mood took him above such trivialities. He reined to a halt and took in a deep breath.
‘Cool and damp,’ he said, patting his chest. ‘Not a time of year that poets wax lyrical about, but every now and then I remember the claustrophobic smell of those miserable little rooms in the Westerclave, and th
en a single breath in the open air reminds me of what’s to be valued in life more vividly than any of our greatest works of art.’
His two companions remained silent. Both had known too many terrors in their own lives to intrude on his reflections.
Then Eldric clicked his horse forward again. ‘Winter Festival soon,’ he said. ‘It’s not something we normally make much of, but I think perhaps we should this year. Lights, music, dancing, a beacon in the middle of the winter darkness. After all, the Grand Festival was spoiled somewhat, wasn’t it?’
‘It’s a nice idea,’ Dilrap agreed. ‘It’ll serve to mark the end of a great unhappiness and the beginning of a new resolve.’
Yatsu nodded in agreement but added more sombrely. ‘It may also mark the beginning of cruel and hard times.’
Eldric looked at him. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘But Dilrap’s word says all that must be said. Resolve. That creature Dan-Tor poisoned our hearts for twenty years before we saw him for what he was. Now at least we have the opportunity to turn and face him – our true selves to his true self.’ He raised a hand to forestall Yatsu’s interruption. ‘I know. There are countless details to be planned, much information to be gathered; difficult, perhaps dreadful decisions to be made, but you know as well as I do that we’ve no true choice in the matter.’
Yatsu smiled broadly and spoke to Dilrap. ‘It’s easy to see the Geadrol’s back in session isn’t it?’
Dilrap allowed himself a chuckle.
‘You’re impertinent, Commander,’ Eldric said, though none too seriously.
‘And long may he remain so,’ Dilrap said. ‘When Lords would lead us into war.’
Eldric looked at the two men and then out across the chilly park. Then he raised his hands in surrender and laughed. ‘Well, you may choose not to accord me my lordly dignity, but I shall be using my lordly authority to ensure we have a Winter Festival the like of which we haven’t had in years, whatever its social significance. Defy me in that, if you dare.’ He offered them a jovial clenched fist.