Into Narsindal

by Roger Taylor

  Eldric shrugged. ‘Presumably he doesn’t want to risk his precious Mathidrin,’ he offered unconvincingly.

  ‘Perhaps he hopes to meet us in force nearer the tower?’ Arinndier offered.

  ‘The Goraidin have reported no preparations being made,’ Loman replied, shaking his head.

  There were one or two further, tentative, suggestions then the meeting fell silent.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve already moved against the Muster?’ Hreldar said quietly.

  It was a dark thought. Loman closed his eyes briefly. Hreldar, he had heard, had once been fat and jolly. Now, though still heavy, he was solid and hard, and the change had etched lines in his face that gave him a grim aspect, though it vanished like mist in the sunshine when he chose to smile. Loman had already learned that though Hreldar did not speak a great deal, when he did it was usually to some purpose.

  ‘I fear you may be right, Lord,’ he said, after a thoughtful pause. ‘It’s certainly the most likely alternative.’ He slapped his knees. ‘Unless you’ve any objections, my friends, I propose we break camp early tomorrow, with a view to moving as soon as the light permits. We can leave a guard with the baggage train and the rest of us can proceed at forced pace. If Dan-Tor has gone to meet the Muster, then the reduced garrison at the tower can be easily contained and we can move to attack his army from the rear. If he’s still in the tower, then we can prevent him leaving and keep the pass open for both ourselves and the Muster.’

  After the meeting had broken up, Loman turned to Gulda. ‘You’re very quiet,’ he said. ‘You’ve scarcely spoken a word at any of these meetings.’

  Gulda smiled. ‘I’m only a teacher, young Loman,’ she said. ‘And there’s little more I have to teach any of you now; I suspect I’ll become even quieter as our campaign progresses.

  Loman looked at her silently, his eyes narrowing distrustfully. ‘I don’t know who or what you are, Memsa Gulda, bane and terror of my enterprising childhood, but you’re certainly not just a teacher.’ He tapped his fingers on his chest. ‘I may not have the vision of those who’ve stood next to the Uhriel, but I know that even as I look at you I’m not seeing you truly. Nor ever have.’

  Unexpectedly, Gulda’s smile opened out into a laugh. It was a happy sound and it filled the simple tent with its rich echoing enjoyment. For an instant, Loman saw again the proud and handsome – no, beautiful – face he had glimpsed when he had burst in upon her at Anderras Darion, his mind whirling with terror and dismay after the labyrinth had rejected him. He found he was lifting his hand almost as if to protect himself from the sight, but it was gone, vanished in some timeless moment, as strangely as it had appeared. He shook his head as if to recapture it.

  Gulda’s laughter faded, and she stood up. ‘Forgive me, Loman,’ she said, laying an affectionate hand on his arm. ‘I’m afraid my circumstances obliged me to develop a . . . way . . . with men, I make them stand in their own light for their own good.’ The residue of her laughter bubbled out as a throaty chuckle.

  ‘Who are you, woman?’ Loman said, very quietly and very seriously.

  The hand squeezed his arm powerfully. ‘Someone who’s either reaching the end of a long, long journey, or who’s about to begin another one, smith,’ she replied. ‘I’ll know which only when we reach Derras Ustramel.’

  ‘No riddles, Memsa,’ Loman said, almost plaintively.

  Gulda looked at him again. ‘What you choose to see is what I am, young Loman. Truly I can tell you no more than that.’

  And then she was walking out of the tent before Loman could question her further.

  For a moment, he considered going after her, but rejected the idea almost immediately. She would be doing some necessary work somewhere and if he pursued her she would either chase him away ignominiously or let him trail after her like an uncertain puppy until tiredness got the better of him.

  It came to him suddenly that the next time he saw her, he should say, ‘Thank you.’

  That thought however, was the furthest thing from his mind the following day when Gulda’s stick poked him out of his leaden sleep.

  ‘Come on, commander,’ said a wilfully malevolent voice. ‘Time to set a good example.’

  When Loman emerged from his tent it was to a chilly, misty darkness filled with the clamour of the waking camp and the mixed smells of damp mountains and cooking.

  With the brief vividness that only a scent can bring, Loman was back in the mountains of Orthlund with Isloman, on one of their youthful camping expeditions, full of ridiculous laughter in an infinitely larger world, and long before they became men and were both drawn to the same blonde tresses and blue eyes; long before they quarrelled and were reconciled; and longer still before the coming of Hawklan and the opening of Anderras Darion . . .

  ‘There’ve been no incidents overnight.’ Arinndier’s voice scattered the memory, though it left a pleasant warmth in its wake. Whatever the future, there was little wrong with the present, and the past had been good.

  ‘Good,’ he said, speaking his thought to serve as a reply to Arinndier. ‘Just remind everyone to be especially vigilant today. The faster we move, the more careful we must be.’

  It proved to be a needless injunction, however. Loman sent the Goraidin and the Helyadin ahead of the column in force, not with any pretensions of making a surreptitious assault on the fortress, but to secure the rocky flanks of the valley from ambush. They encountered nothing, however, and within hours signalled back the message that Narsindalvak itself seemed to be deserted.

  ‘Tell them not to go any nearer,’ Ryath said urgently. ‘We can’t protect them from here if they’re attacked by Oklar.’

  Loman nodded, then ordered the leading companies of infantry forward at the double, with himself and some of the Cadwanwr riding vanguard with the cavalry.

  Thus, well before the day was through, the first contingents of the army approached Narsindalvak. Loman stared up at the great Fyordyn watch tower. Its broad, sprawling roots seemed, like Anderras Darion, to grow straight from the rocks before curving gradually into the body of the tower itself and soaring high above the neighbouring mountains. At the top, the walls flared out again to form the base of the high-domed Watch Hall. All around the tower, at every level, rings of windows stared out blankly, ominously, over the mountains. It was a dizzying spectacle and Loman found himself leaning backwards in his saddle as he looked at it.

  Fyndal, one of the Helyadin, emerged from behind a tumbled mass of rocks.

  ‘It looks empty,’ he said. ‘We’ve seen no movement of any kind since we arrived.’

  Loman turned to Ryath.

  The Cadwanwr sniffed, then half-closed his eyes as he looked up at the tower. ‘I can feel no presence,’ he said. ‘Oklar isn’t here.’

  Loman looked at him intently. ‘He’s not here,’ the Cadwanwr confirmed positively.

  Loman grimaced. If Oklar was gone, then he could even now be leading the Mathidrin against the Muster. Could Oslang fend off the Uhriel on his own? Could Urthryn deploy his cavalry effectively in the unknown and mountainous countryside? Unanswerable and urgent questions, yet he could not gallop off in search of the answers until he had answered the other question – how many men remained in this seemingly empty fortress? He gazed up at it again; it could contain thousands, ready to surge out and cut his passing army in two, or fall on their rear as they marched to the relief of the Muster.

  ‘We’ll have to purge this place before we can move on, Lord,’ he said to Eldric. ‘And as quickly as we can.’

  Eldric nodded and took charge. ‘That’s the main entrance,’ he said, pointing to a wide ramp that swept up to a large double door. ‘But it can only be opened from the inside. Seal the ramp with a shield line and archers, with pikes at the rear, then we’ll send the Goraidin in through those two smaller doors at the side. We have the keys to those and they’re the only other entrances.’

  ‘I’ll go with them,’ Atelon said, his eyes widening excitedly, then, more ser
iously, ‘There might be traps laid there that your men can’t see.’

  Eldric looked at Ryath who, albeit rather disapprovingly, nodded.

  Eldric conceded suspiciously. ‘This is no game, Cadwanwr,’ he said sternly. ‘Those are hard, tough fighters, who’ll have to put themselves at risk to protect you. You can go if you’re needed, but do exactly as you’re told. And be alert.’

  Loman watched the exchange in silence. He was well content to leave the whole operation to the Fyordyn; it was their fortress and they knew its layout.

  Soon the archers were crouching behind their shields in anticipation of the double doors crashing open and some wild enemy charging out in force.

  The Goraidin flitted to the side doors.

  There was a sudden silence and then, at their own signal, the Goraidin threw open the two doors and charged inside.

  Loman watched as they disappeared from view; he could see them moving left and right alternately as they passed through the doors, shields raised defensively. He saw Atelon stumble and an unkind hand drag him brutally upright again.

  Some shouting could be heard inside, then there was another silence. Loman became aware for the first time of the sound of the wind moaning about the great tower. His horse shifted a little, its feet clattering on the rocky ground.

  Then, slowly, the double doors began to swing open. The archers prepared to fire and a ripple went through the waiting pikes, but a solitary figure appeared in the widening gap. It was one of the Goraidin. He raised his shield in a beckoning gesture and shouted something. Only the word ‘. . . empty . . .’ reached Loman.

  The archers however, cheered and began moving forward.

  Loman gazed around in admiration as he rode with the others into the huge ante-chamber that was served by the doors. Great ribbed walls arched high above him, wrapped by several tiers of balconies, and the space seemed to reduce the entering army to echoing insignificance.

  A raucous cry above made Loman start suddenly, but it was only the Goraidin working their way methodically through the balconies and their adjoining corridors.

  When the rest of the army arrived, the lower part of the tower had been searched and found to be empty, and the Goraidin, accompanied now by the Helyadin, were moving rapidly up through the many floors of the great building.

  Finally they reached the Watch Hall itself and found it, too, deserted. Their relief at finding this, however, was marred by what they found there.

  In the barracks and offices occupying the lower floors of the tower, the only sign of the previous occupants was the squalor and filth they had left. But in the Watch Hall they had made a determined effort to destroy everything that could be destroyed.

  Many of the smaller seeing stones had been smashed, together with their ornate supporting frames, and the larger ones had been cracked and damaged.

  Eldric walked around the Hall, his face ablaze with rage.

  ‘We’re blind,’ he said bitterly. ‘We haven’t the craftsmen to repair these things. And we’ll have to tie up men and resources in look-out chains now.’

  Loman looked at him anxiously, then at the other Fyordyn, wandering aimlessly around the Hall. The wanton destruction seemed to be disturbing them all profoundly.

  Abruptly, Eldric bent down, picked up a heavy fragment of a seeing stone, and hurled it violently at a temporarily rigged globe nearby. ‘And get those damned things out of here!’ he roared. ‘Every one!’

  The globe burst noisily, discharging a small cloud of unpleasant smelling smoke and sending glittering shards tinkling across the floor. For a moment it sparked angrily, then with a splutter it fell silent.

  Eldric caught Loman’s eye. He waved an angry arm around the scene, then the rage seemed to leave him abruptly and he slumped a little. ‘I’m sorry, Loman,’ he said. ‘A childish outburst. But this place lies at the heart of our neglected duties. And this destruction is a measure of it even more than the damaged heart of Vakloss. If only we’d seen Dan-Tor’s hand in the abandoning of the Watch. If only we’d opposed those who wanted this place closed and forgotten. If, if, if . . .’ He picked up another piece of broken stone but this time he turned it over in his hand tenderly. ‘It’s as if we’d done all this ourselves.’

  Loman did not attempt to console him. He knew that he could not truly understand the Fyordyn’s distress. Instead, he ignored it and turned to a large wall bracket which had been badly bent out of shape. Wrapping his powerful hands around it he gave it one slow, twisting heave, and restored it almost exactly to its original shape and position.

  Then he did the same to its partner and stood back to examine his work with a narrow critical eye. Eldric watched him, his immediate grief being slowly set aside by amazement at this display of both strength and skill.

  As he moved to repair other pieces of damaged metalwork, Loman threw a piece of seeing stone to Fyndal, standing nearby. ‘I’m no hand as a rock judge, Fyn,’ he said. ‘But we should be able to do something about all this. Show that to some of the senior Guild members and get them up here quickly.’

  ‘We might be able to help with those, too,’ said Atelon, still breathless and flushed from his rampage through the building with the Goraidin.

  With a grunt, Loman straightened another support. ‘Your own smiths can attend to most of this work, Eldric,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, we command the heights and we have our Orthlundyn shadow vision and our own simple seeing stones. Set men to plain, old-fashioned watching and let’s get the Goraidin and the Helyadin out looking for which way Dan-Tor has gone before we lose the light. If this place is empty then it means he’s launched his full army against the Muster: Mathidrin, militia, and your renegade Lords with their High Guards.’

  Loman’s blunt summary brought Eldric and the others out of their preoccupation, and within the hour the Watch Hall was busy with stone and metal workers striving to undo the Mathidrin’s orgy of destruction. At the large windows stood some of the keener eyed Orthlundyn, peering through seeing stones into the gathering Narsindal gloom.

  Outside, standing on a high, rocky outcrop, Loman waited for the return of the scouting patrol that had gone out in search of Dan-Tor’s army.

  He found it hard to be patient and kept slapping his hands together and pacing up and down. Now that his caution in moving along the valley had proved to be unnecessary, he began to reproach himself for the delay and to fret about the harm that the Muster might be suffering at the hands of Dan-Tor’s army.

  That he could have done nothing other offered him little consolation, though a small voice kept repeating it to him, adding, ‘And you’re too tired to think straight now.’

  I should have stayed at my forge, came a counter-blast.

  He kicked a small stone. Where was that patrol, he thought, yet again. It shouldn’t have taken them this long to find the trail of an army. What were they playing at? Had they perhaps fallen into an ambush?

  He shook his head. No, not those troops, it wasn’t possible. But hard on the heels of this came an even darker thought: was perhaps this whole venture no more than an elaborate ruse by Dan-Tor to lure the allied army into Narsindalvak and trap them there?

  He stopped pacing and his stomach turned over. It was a thought that had not occurred to him before. Just as he had been prepared to seal up Dan-Tor’s army, so also could Dan-Tor seal up his! That would leave him free to attack the Muster and to maintain command of the valley for a future invasion into Fyorlund.

  Below him, he could see the almost chaotic activity swirling around the foot of the great tower as the army moved into its new barracks. His eye drifted upwards past the many windows, now lit and shining out brightly into the fading light. They also were bustling with activity.

  The army was dispersed throughout the building and around the approaches to it. It was in no position to respond quickly to a surprise attack.

  A determined charge up the valley would scatter most of those outside and drive the remainder inside.

 
Loman grimaced. He’d not been that careless, surely? He’d placed sentries and look-outs on such of the neighbouring crags as could reasonably be reached, but . . .?

  Distant shouts began to break into his tumbling thoughts.

  Look-outs!

  Their message reached him.

  ‘Armed column approaching, fast!’

  Chapter 26

  Hawklan stood motionless in the craggy tunnel for some time then slowly drew his sword. The hilt was alive in his hand again. As he looked at it, the twisting threads glittered and wound their way far beyond his vision into the twinkling oceans of stars.

  Andawyr moved to his side. ‘We’re back in the depths of our own time now,’ he said. ‘Into dangers that we can at least, perhaps understand.’

  ‘The Vrwystin a Goleg lies along here?’ Hawklan said softly, inclining his head along the tunnel.

  Andawyr nodded. ‘Something of His does, and Isloman has heard the rock on which it lives.’

  ‘Then tomorrow we go this way,’ Hawklan said. ‘What do you know of this creature?’

  Andawyr looked at him unhappily. ‘A great deal, and very little,’ he said. ‘A great deal from our library about what it can do and how it uses the Old Power. But very little – nothing – is known about its . . . heart, its centre . . . even what it looks like. And these creatures are like the Uhriel, they exist in planes not accessible to us.’

  ‘Do you know how we can destroy it?’ Hawklan asked.

  The question did nothing to ease Andawyr’s self-reproach.

  ‘Like Sumeral Himself, it’s mortal and it will fall to the right weapon, or if the force is great enough,’ he said.

  ‘It will fall to this, then,’ Hawklan said, hefting the sword.

  ‘Or Isloman’s arrows,’ Andawyr said, nodding. ‘Or the Old Power. It fears the Old Power turned against it. I know that since our encounter at the Gretmearc.’