by Roger Taylor
Chapter 5
The room Andawyr ushered Antyr into was circular. A group of men and women sat at a table in the centre. Some were reading, some were writing, others were talking quietly. One appeared to be asleep, his head cradled on his arms, though a quick nudge from his neighbour brought him suddenly upright, wide awake and diligently applying himself to the study of a large book. As the two men entered, the group turned and made to stand up but a signal from Andawyr sent them back to their tasks. Nevertheless, as had been the case throughout their tour of the Cadwanen, Tarrian and Grayle proved to be a discreet distraction.
Around the walls, set close, side by side, were a great many of what again appeared to be windows. They looked out over the mountains, filling the room with sunlight. Around each of them were yet more of the symbols that had attracted Antyr’s attention, though they were much smaller than those he had seen in the corridor. Some of them were glowing.
‘More mirror stones, I presume?’ Antyr said.
Andawyr nodded. And as Antyr looked round at the views they offered, he could see this confirmed disconcertingly by the fact that most of the individual vistas were not continuous with their neighbours.
‘We think of them as windows as well, if it helps,’ Andawyr said with an encouraging smile. But Antyr was staring at a series of views of what he now knew to be the Pass of Elewart. Though part of it was flooded with bright sunlight, this cast jagged threatening shadows and merely served to deepen the darkness of the shade that pervaded the rest. Antyr shivered. He had not spent long in the Pass but it had had an atmosphere that weighed on him like nothing he had ever known before and that he felt was not due solely to its stark barrenness and the wind whose moaning tones shifted and changed constantly. Even Yatsu and Jaldaric had seemed subtly uneasy and had pressed on at a very steady speed, sombre-faced and unspeaking. The horses too had been noticeably unhappy and Tarrian and Grayle had been unusually silent, drawing away from him utterly, deep into their wolfish selves, as they trotted ahead of the riders, ears flattened and tails between their legs.
‘Yes, it’s not a happy place, is it?’ Andawyr said, easing him away from the bleak view. He gestured towards the group around the table and one of the women stood up and came forward in response. About the same height as Andawyr, she was slightly built with an oval face framed by neatly trimmed black hair. She had brown, challenging eyes and a slightly crooked nose that served to enhance her appearance rather than detract from it. The long hooded robe she wore was similar to that worn by everyone else Antyr had seen in the Cadwanen, though it was particularly neat and clean and had a small golden clasp securing it at her neck.
Tarrian’s approval rumbled into Antyr’s mind and, dropping his bone noisily, the wolf pushed past him and walked straight over to her.
‘Stop that!’ Antyr snapped silently. But it was too late: Tarrian was standing with his forelegs on the woman’s shoulders, rapturously receiving a brilliant smile and a vigorous caress of his long head. As he dropped down gently, Grayle, leaning against the woman, received the same.
‘Aren’t you both beautiful?’ came the words that Antyr had heard so often when the two wolves chose to act thus. Tarrian replied to Antyr’s rebuke with a malevolent chuckle.
The woman’s accent was noticeably different from Andawyr’s, with an almost musical lilt to it.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Antyr said to her, adding, with a glower at the two wolves, ‘I’m afraid they’re not particularly well disciplined. And usually they don’t like to be touched.’
‘It’s all right,’ the woman said, turning the same smile on him. ‘They’re a delight, aren’t they? Are they yours?’
‘No,’ Antyr replied quickly. ‘They don’t belong to anyone. They’re just my companions. They choose to stay with me.’ The woman gave him a quizzical look.
‘This is Antyr, Usche,’ Andawyr said. He nodded towards the mirror stones. ‘As you probably saw, he arrived with Yatsu and Jaldaric. He’s come a long way and there’s much more than meets the eye to him and his…’ He glanced significantly towards the wolves who were now prowling around the room, sniffing purposefully at each of its occupants in turn but assiduously avoiding any further contact. ‘I’m looking forward to some very interesting discussions with him.’
Usche took Antyr’s offered hand. ‘Anyone who rides with the Goraidin and travels with wolves must necessarily be interesting,’ she said, looking at him keenly. ‘Welcome to the Cadwanen, Antyr, traveller from a distant land, friend to the Goraidin, Yatsu and Jaldaric, and companion to…?’ She looked at the two wolves. ‘Do they have names, your companions?’
‘Tarrian and Grayle.’
‘Companion to Tarrian and Grayle.’ Usche completed her greeting and released his hand.
‘Usche’s a Riddinwr. They can be very fussy about introductions,’ Andawyr said. ‘Think yourself fortunate she didn’t know any of your relations. Meeting someone you know in Riddin can be a very lengthy matter.’
Usche gave him a look of both reproach and threat. ‘And our great leader here, unfortunately, isn’t a Riddinwr – as you’ll realize as soon as you see him on a horse – and thus hasn’t been brought up in the ways of civilized courtesy.’
‘I was just showing Antyr how we protect ourselves here,’ Andawyr said, ignoring the taunt. He swept an arm around the many views being brought into the room. ‘From here, as you can see, we can watch every part of the mountains around us for a considerable distance.’ Quite abruptly a look of pain passed over his face. ‘We always have done, after a fashion,’ he went on softly. ‘But we allowed the Watch to become a mere ritual; a condescending nod to the past. A dreadful lapse. Such arrogance.’ The last words were spoken as though to himself. He straightened up and the mood was gone as quickly as it had come. ‘But now we watch and we watch well,’ he concluded emphatically.
Antyr looked at the views before him. They were a remarkable sight, and even a cursory glance told him that no army or, for that matter, any lone rider could approach the Cadwanen without being seen. But his memories of the mountains were very fresh. ‘What do you do when the mist comes down?’ he blurted out.
His tone provoked some laughter.
‘Which is most of the time. Yes, we know,’ Andawyr conceded. ‘But as with everything else here, there’s…’
‘More than meets the eye? Like me.’ Antyr finished the sentence for him.
‘Yes,’ Andawyr replied with a hint of apology.
‘Anything that moves, we have ways of seeing, or hearing,’ Usche volunteered. ‘Do you know anything about the Power?’
‘He knows of it, I suspect, to his cost, but not about it,’ Andawyr replied on Antyr’s behalf. ‘But we can put that right with a little effort.’ Usche gave a slight bow and took a step backwards.
Antyr pointed to the symbols surrounding the Mirror Stones. ‘As you seem to be so well protected against assaults by armies and the like, I presume these and all those littered about the place use this Power to protect you against anyone who could use it against you.’
Andawyr gave him an appreciative look. ‘Yes, indeed,’ he said.
A fleeting recollection of his fateful confrontation with the blind man flitted through Antyr’s mind, leaving, as ever, tantalizing hints of all that he had then known and now forgotten. ‘A web, you called it. Then the Power pervades this entire place?’
Andawyr’s face took on the expression of a parent asked a too-penetrating question that time and circumstance, perhaps even ability, did not allow him to answer as he would have wished.
‘The Power pervades everything, Antyr,’ he replied, rather hastily. ‘Itis everything. I’ll explain what I can later. We both of us have a lot to talk about and there’s no urgency.’ He became brisk. ‘Usche, are you free to come with us now?’
The woman hesitated for a moment. ‘Yes, my duty spell here finished a few minutes ago, I was just discussing something.’
‘Well, if your discussion can safel
y be left, would you come with us, please?’
‘Of course.’
She picked up a book and some papers from the table and followed them. Tarrian and Grayle recovered their dropped bones and acted as her escort.
A short walk brought them back to the room from which they had set out. Yatsu and Jaldaric were still there. Both of them were writing. Antyr was conspicuously surprised. He greeted them with an exaggerated and apologetic shrug. ‘I’ve been doing my best,’ he said. ‘Doing what you told me. Taking careful note of where I’ve been in case I might have to return that way. But this place is so bewildering. I could’ve sworn we’d been walking away from here all the time. Not to mention, on the whole, moving upwards.’
‘No nose at all,’ Tarrian muttered disdainfully as he flopped down noisily underneath the large window and began gnawing his bone again. Grayle joined him.
‘You’re a bitter disappointment to us,’ Yatsu said, shaking his head with mock reproach as he returned to his writing.
Andawyr intervened. ‘No small part of your confusion is wilfully built into the design of the Cadwanen, Antyr. If you were to study it carefully, you’d find that, amongst other things, it’s extremely defensible by conventional means should the need arise. In many ways it has the qualities of an elaborate board game, except that any enemy who managed to gain access would know neither the shape nor the layout of the board, nor the number, positions and strengths of any of the pieces. And they certainly wouldn’t know the rules. We’re protected inside and out against every assault we’ve been able to envisage.’ He rubbed his hands gleefully. Antyr’s response, however, was a weak smile.
Though he had known Andawyr for less than a day the man’s manner was such that he felt it had been much longer. He had to remind himself that this rather scruffy little individual was the leader of the Cadwanol and presumably responsible for the running of this enormous place. Further, from what he had been told by Yatsu and Jaldaric, Andawyr was highly respected not only by the Cadwanwr themselves but by all those who held authority in neighbouring lands. And, too, it seemed he possessed great personal courage.
Yet as he had walked about the Cadwanen with him, Antyr had had no sense of Andawyr’s exalted status. Indeed, there seemed to be very little sense of hierarchy in the whole place. People had accosted Andawyr as they might a friend in the street, and addressed him directly by name, without any formal salute or title – even Ar-Billan, whom Antyr now took to be a Novice. And Andawyr had answered in like vein, openly and straightforwardly. Antyr himself found that he was treating him as a friend of long standing. The word ‘openness’ seemed to typify everything he had seen and heard. Not only with Andawyr, but in the place itself. Open and airy, it was like a building in which all the windows and doors had been opened so that sunlight and spring breezes could drift through. And the few people he had met seemed to be as willing to listen as they were to speak. Yet there was a paradox, too. The place wasnot open: it was an intricate network of caves buried deep within and beneath the mountains; the people must have their ordered places and responsibilities, and the precautions taken to protect the place far outweighed anything he had ever known in his own apparently much more violent society. They disturbed him.
Andawyr stopped rubbing his hands and looked at him closely. ‘You find our concerns for our safety obsessive?’ he said shrewdly.
Antyr hesitated for some time before Andawyr’s manner again drew a frank, albeit reluctant response from him.
‘Intense, certainly. They feel somehow out of place in what I’d taken to be primarily a teaching Order. My admittedly limited dealings with the powerful in my own society showed me how such things can come about, and how they darken people’s lives; the constant looking over the shoulder, searching into shadows for fear of ambush. But that was in connection with gaining and keeping political power. People who for various reasons didn’t aspire to those heights – or depths – scholars, tradesmen, ordinary people – weren’t constantly worrying about enemies.’
Jaldaric caught Yatsu’s eye, then cleared his throat conspicuously.
‘Well, all right,’ Antyr added, flustered. ‘I did feel the need to take one or two lessons in swordwork, I’ll admit. But that was because…’
‘Because Serenstad was a violent place,’ Jaldaric said with an emphatic jab of his finger, though not without some humour. He addressed Andawyr authoritatively in the same vein. ‘It was frightening just walking the streets there. Not like Vakloss or…’
Andawyr rescued Antyr. ‘Leave him alone,’ he said sternly. ‘You survived, didn’t you? And I suspect he’s much further away from his home here than you ever were in his land. Get on with your letter.’ He pulled a chair up to the window and, resting his elbows on the broad sill, cupped his head in his hands and stared out at the view.
‘I understand what you mean, Antyr,’ he said. ‘But I think the key to your uncertainty about us lies in the word “worrying”. The point is, we don’t worry – well, not excessively, anyway. We think, we assess, we act. We adjust our ways of living as needs demand, changing things if we can, coping with them if we can’t. And once that’s done, there’s little else that can be done, save be aware. That’s what anyone should do if they don’t want their life to slip by unnoticed.’ He gave Antyr a significant sidelong look but, still seeing that his guest was uneasy, he turned back to the view and pressed on. ‘Our history – both ancient and all too recent – tells us quite clearly that there are dark forces in the world; forces that are actively malevolent, that delight in destruction. And, as a Teaching Order…’ He gave an amused grunt. ‘Or perhaps I should say, a Learning Order, we take an interest in the nature of such forces as we do in many other things. What are they, for example? Where do they come from? Are they something inherent in nature itself or just in our nature? Are they in some way necessary for us if we’re to move forward – whatever forward might mean? Have we created them, or are they something inflicted on us from outside, something that came from beyond the Great Searing when all things are said to have begun? Or are they some combination of all these?’ He shrugged. ‘We’ve plenty of ideas, as you might expect, but no indisputable answers. Indeed, it may well be that they’re questions that are unanswerable in principle, but even discovering that for sure will teach us a great deal.’ He turned to Antyr and smiled. ‘Still, knowing what we know, we’d be foolish souls indeed to ignore the dangers that are offered. And knowing that, the steps we take to protect ourselves no more dominate our lives than do any other simple everyday precautions. It’s hardly burdensome to take care walking around the back of a horse, to dowse a camp-fire properly, to put on a warm coat when the weather threatens, is it?’
‘I didn’t mean to cause offence,’ Antyr said almost plaintively.
Andawyr’s smile became a laugh and he slapped Antyr’s arm. ‘You caused no offence, Antyr,’ he said. He pushed his chair back alarmingly and swung his feet up on to the sill. ‘You spoke honestly and it pleases me more than I can say that you felt you could. We thrive on debate. Nothing is immune from question.’ Then he became unexpectedly earnest. ‘One thing we do know. Whatever they might be, wherever they might come from, the forces of destruction pervade everything and they fester unseen in the darkness of the unspoken thought like a house-rotting fungus.’ He opened his arms wide as if to embrace the entire view before him. ‘Light, Antyr. Light. Shine it into everything. Bring clarity and reason to everything. You mightn’t always like what you find but it’s infinitely safer than any other way. And you may even gain some understanding.’
‘One of the things you’ll soon understand is to be careful what you say to Andawyr, if you don’t want a protracted philosophical harangue or an interrogation.’ It was Jaldaric who spoke and the remark provoked some general amusement.
‘Have you finished that letter to your father yet, young Jaldaric?’ Andawyr retorted tartly.
Antyr, however, was intrigued by what Andawyr was saying. ‘But don’t you ever
wish that all these precautions weren’t necessary? That this place didn’t have to be the… fortress… it appears to be? That you were free of these endless concerns?’
‘Have you ever been?’
The question made Antyr start. He stammered out, ‘Well…’ a couple of times and made a few vague gestures before ending with, ‘Yes… No… but…’
‘But nothing,’ Andawyr went on. ‘From what little you’ve already told us you’ve had many bad things happen to you. Some of them self-inflicted, seemingly, but all of them things against which you had to defend yourself eventually.’
‘Yes, but…’
‘But nothing,’ Andawyr repeated. ‘Would you say you’re a man bowed down by burdens?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘No. You’re a man doing something about what he perceives to be his burdens. Searching. Far from your home. Looking for a light you can shine into their hearts.’ He pushed his chair back precariously near to its point of balance and putting his hands behind his head, cocked it on one side to look at Antyr.
‘Why did you choose to fight the blind man?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t choose,’ Antyr replied indignantly after a startled pause. ‘I was there through no fault of my own. And it was a matter of opposing him or being bound to his will for ever. And who could say what hurt would have come of that? Not least to me.’
Still balancing his chair dangerously, Andawyr turned his attention back to the view. The sky was darkening and the mountains were beginning to throw long shadows across the valley. A skein of birds fluttered urgently over the scene.
‘Aha,’ he said, with an air of someone reaching a conclusion. ‘There you are. You did what you did because you’re who you are and because you were where you were. That’s something that three of us here understand all too well. And even Usche understands it with her head if not yet with her stomach.’
Another skein of birds flew down into the valley.