The Waking of Orthlund

by Roger Taylor

  ‘If any problems arise with the Queen or the baby, I’m the only one who can deal with them, so you’d be better worrying about me, rather than her.’

  A look of alarm passed briefly across Yengar’s face as this revelation unfolded in front of him. Marek contented himself with raising a knowing eyebrow.

  Gradually, Yengar found himself more able to set aside his excessive concerns for the Queen, partly because of Marek’s comments, but mainly because of the conduct of the Queen herself. She continued to be able to ride over terrain that was forcing the men to walk, and when she did walk, it was generally because circumstances dictated a leisurely and cautious pace. In addition, she remained cheerful and helpful; a good travelling companion, he realized after a day or so.

  The route to Riddin was used more frequently than the one being taken by Isloman’s party to Orthlund, but it was still little used and was ill-marked. Thus the two groups spent their evenings similarly: discussing the day’s progress, planning the following day’s, making notes on maps and, after some initial reluctance by the High Guards, writing daily journals.

  As the days passed, they settled into an easy routine. At night, the Queen would superintend the bedding down of the horses, then, until they began to retire, she would share the men’s communal shelter. She talked freely about Dan-Tor and his years of scheming, and, to Marek’s relief, she talked equally freely about her husband and their happy times together.

  Later, in the silence of her own shelter, as she drifted in and out of sleep, she would think also of Dilrap, alone and defenceless at the heart of Oklar’s domain, except perhaps for Lorac and Tel-Odrel, sent back to Vakloss by Yatsu to continue the mission they had had to abandon to bring back the news of the King’s murder. The memory of Tel-Odrel invariably made her clench and unclench her right hand as a small atonement for the blow she had struck him in her pain. Regret is a persistent thorn.

  The images of Isloman and Hawklan too would come and go. She missed the carver’s reassuring bulk more than she would have imagined, but the absence of Hawklan’s strange presence left some deeper gap that she could not begin to fathom. It had the character of that left by the death of Rgoric, but it both heartened and frightened her. She had some measure of the power that had come out of Narsindal, but what might yet come out of Orthlund? And what would be the fate of those caught up in the meeting of these powers? Memories of the distant image of Vakloss raked by two converging scars of destruction persisted, rendered more vivid by the descriptions she had heard subsequently from the Goraidin.

  Despite these many distractions however, her innermost quiet was preserved by the knowledge of Rgoric’s child fluttering inside her. Other events would take their course independent of anything she did. Her concern now was to preserve her child. That, and to bring to the people of Riddin the news of Oklar’s usurpation of the throne of Fyorlund and all that that might imply to them.

  * * * *

  Athyr reached the rocky outcrop that he had chosen as his observation post and, making himself as comfortable as he could, he leaned back to watch the performance of his students.

  Shouldn’t be too long, he thought. It had taken him longer than he had anticipated to reach his vantage point and it had been a peculiarly draining trek, but at least the attacking group would be well under way by now and he would have less time to stand around waiting.

  Looking around, he soon found his fellow observers on nearby slopes. Yrain was looking at him, her hands raised high in what he judged to be mock applause at his slow progress up the hill. He waved a fist at her, then settled back against the hard rock to begin his vigil.

  The exercise they were supervising was routine enough. The small attacking group was to penetrate a larger enemy group, remove a flag to confirm their success, and escape, preferably unnoticed. The enemy group had, of course, been advised of their intention and the terrain had been chosen for its lack of cover.

  The only special features about the exercise were that it was being done in daylight and it was the first the Orthlundyn had undertaken in the mountains since the encounter with the Alphraan. Accordingly, many of Loman’s Elite force were discreetly involved with it. Ostensibly they were there as observers, but Loman had instructed them secretly to be ready to evacuate the trainees quickly in the event of any action by the unseen mountain dwellers. Then, at Gulda’s insistence, he told them to go unarmed.

  From where he stood, Athyr could see the enemy camp clearly. It was well placed and well guarded. He nodded approvingly. The two observers who would subsequently report on the exercise as seen from ground level could be clearly distinguished by their bright yellow jackets.

  Methodically he began scanning the surrounding terrain for signs of the approaching attack group. After two thorough passes, he began to frown. He could see nothing.

  Somewhat reluctantly he reached into his pack and drew out the polished seeing-stone that would enable him to see distant images more clearly.

  But even with this, another pass over the area again yielded nothing. He looked down at Yrain. She too was using a seeing-stone, and her face was concerned. The attacking group were all good students, and if they acquitted themselves well enough in such a difficult daytime exercise they would be eligible to begin training for the Elite corps. But they weren’t this good! It was unlikely that they could have escaped detection by both him and Yrain under normal circumstances, and it was impossible that they should have done so when being sought through seeing-stones!

  He glanced up at the sky. The attack group should be very near by now if the exercise was to be completed in time for them to return to their main camp before nightfall. He looked around at the other high observers. The result was the same. Most of them had resorted to using seeing-stones and were now searching randomly.

  This was unbelievable. The attack group must be lost. Some elite group they’d make!

  Athyr raised his fingers to his mouth to signal the others when a distant whistle reached him. It was Englar, newly appointed to the Elite corps and on his first exercise as an observer.

  ‘Due east,’ came his message. Turning his seeing-stone towards him, Athyr saw Englar confirming the direction with a pointing hand. He followed it to find himself examining the slopes of a mountain on the far side of the valley. Touching the edge of his seeing-stone he made the image larger.

  There, excellently disguised and very difficult to see, were the members of the attack party. In three separate groups they were slowly and skilfully approaching a small plateau. A plateau they must surely be able to see was quite deserted.

  Athyr felt his mouth dropping open in bewilderment. What were they doing? Before he could react however, a cry floated up to him from the camp below. Lowering the seeing-stone, he looked around for its cause. It did not take long. Down in the waiting camp there was a flurry of movement, and he needed no seeing-stone to see it was a fight.

  He watched as the two yellow-clad observers converged on the conflict like angry insects. More cries and shouts drifted up to him, then, to his horror, he saw the turmoil spread as members of the group turned on the two intervening figures.

  Furiously, Athyr thrust his fingers into his mouth and blasted of a series of shrill whistles. Englar and a couple of the other observers were to retrieve the attack group from the empty mountain they were assailing and the others were to get down to the camp and find out what in thunder’s name was going on.

  Glancing round, he was pleased to see that his last command had been anticipated and several of the observers were making for the camp as quickly as the terrain would allow.

  When he himself finally reached the camp he was angry enough to face a cavalry charge. An extremely wide avenue opened up spontaneously through the trainees as he strode towards the waiting observers.

  The look on Yrain’s face however dispelled his anger almost immediately.

  Taking his arm before he could speak, she said, urgently, ‘We’ve got a serious knife wound. I’ve patche
d it up, but we’ll have to get it back to the castle immediately. They’re rigging a carrier now on one of the horses. And I’ve told them to break camp,’ she added.

  Athyr winced. ‘Who’s been hurt?’ he asked. Yrain shrugged. ‘I don’t know their names. Two lads from Halyt Green, I think.’

  ‘Two?’

  Yrain nodded. ‘The other’s got a badly cracked head. He’ll have to travel back slowly.’

  ‘Where are they?’ Athyr said. Yrain indicated a small group standing watching them nearby. As they walked towards it, he noticed she was limping.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I twisted my foot coming down. It’ll get me home if I keep my boot on and take it easy.’

  Athyr frowned slightly. Yrain came from a mountain village and was as fleet and nimble as a goat. Such an accident was out of character. Before he could pursue the thought, however, he was standing by the two casualties. Both were unconscious.

  Kneeling down, he gently examined the wounds and confirmed Yrain’s diagnoses. He glanced around the wide and shamefaced circle of which he was now the centre. A large number of minor injuries became apparent.

  ‘What else have we got?’ he asked grimly, standing up.

  ‘Nothing much,’ Yrain said, affecting an indifference which Athyr judged to be for the protection of the gathered students. ‘Cuts and bruises. A few bloody noses.’

  ‘And your foot,’ Athyr said. If Yrain wanted to hide some of the antics that she had helped stop, she could take a little of the odium.

  ‘And a pair of disjointed fingers,’ Yrain added quickly, deflecting the comment and deftly implicating one of her fellow observers.

  Reluctantly a deformed hand appeared in front of Athyr. He took hold of it gently and shook his head resignedly. ‘When are you going to learn not to use your fists, Tybeck?’ he asked.

  The man started to speak. ‘Tirilen will be able . . .’

  Athyr lifted a finger to silence him and smiled. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Tirilen’s got enough on her hands at the moment. This’ll yield to field treatment, I think.’

  The hand jerked back, like a startled animal retreating to its burrow, but Athyr’s gentle grip forbade it and his smile turned into a grin. Suddenly he jerked his head forward as if to butt Tybeck in the face. Reflexively the man moved back and as he did so, Athyr gripped his wrist with his free hand and gave the damaged fingers a fierce tug.

  ‘Don’t cry out,’ he said softly while Tybeck was still drawing in a very long breath. ‘It’ll set a bad example to the children here.’

  ‘Your concern’s very touching,’ Tybeck managed, through clenched teeth, hugging his throbbing hand to his chest.

  ‘My foot’s fine,’ Yrain said hastily.

  * * * *

  Ireck walked briskly down the corridor towards the hall where the weapons from the Armoury were being stored. He was a little late, but he knew he would probably be the first to arrive. Moving the weapons from the hall up to the impromptu armouries recently established at ground level was hard work and little relished.

  Relished even less was the prospect of trailing behind Loman through the labyrinth to fetch more weapons from the Armoury proper, and that was what they would be doing later on when Loman had finished his meeting. Even with Loman’s close guidance, the winding journey through the whispering columns tended to produce sleepless and disturbed nights.

  Still, Ireck consoled himself, such expeditions were becoming less frequent. Many more weapons would have to be removed in due course as the people armed, but when this last batch had been taken upstairs they would have sufficient readily accessible for their immediate training needs.

  As he neared the hall, a sound interrupted his thoughts. Children? Playing? Singing? He frowned. Children played all over the Castle, and the Castle took their ringing voices and seemed to celebrate them. But Ireck had never known any to venture so far down. His frown deepened. If they were in the hall then there was every possibility that one of them might be hurt, playing amongst those arrays of lethal edges and points. And there was the labyrinth. Above all, children should not play near that. Concerned, he quickened his pace.

  Turning a last corner he came into the hall suddenly and silently. There was a hurried scuffling, and he caught a brief glimpse of two small figures flitting behind one of the stacks of weapons that were arranged in neat rows across the floor of the hall.

  He smiled to himself. ‘Come on, children,’ he called out. ‘There are better places than this to play in. You’re going to get hurt.’

  ‘Ho!’

  A voice along the corridor behind him made him turn. Glancing around he could not see immediately where the call had come from.

  ‘Help me with this, will you?’ it came again. This time Ireck identified a nearby junction as its source.

  ‘Just a moment,’ he shouted in reply, then turning back to the hall, ‘Come on, you two, out of it. I can see you.’

  ‘Hurry up, it’s heavy,’ called the voice again, more urgently. With a last glance at the stack behind which he thought he had seen the children, Ireck turned and went to assist the unknown caller.

  When he turned the corner, however, there was no one in sight.

  ‘Hello,’ he shouted, but there was no reply. The corridor was deserted. Puzzled, he looked up and down once or twice, then, concluding that the caller had managed whatever it was he had needed help with, he shrugged and turned to return to the hall.

  As he did so, he caught again a fleeting glimpse of two small figures disappearing around a bend some way ahead of him.

  Little devils, he thought with a smile. Still, at least they were away from the weapons and the labyrinth.

  Perhaps he should have a word with Loman about keeping children away from here. But he dismissed the thought immediately. Apart from being impossible, such a ban would actively encourage the imps and then a real accident was highly likely. Better they be shown the dangers and allowed to come and go as they wished. He would mention that to Loman.

  Still smiling, he strode forward towards the waiting weapons.

  * * * *

  ‘What in Ethriss’s name is happening?’ Loman stood up and began pacing up and down the room. ‘Our best students attack the wrong mountain in broad daylight, and the others start their own personal war. What am I going to tell that lad’s parents if he dies of that knife wound?’ He levelled a finger at Athyr. ‘And he might well. Tirilen’s nearly unapproachable dealing with him. It’s bad.’

  ‘Don’t blame me, Loman,’ Athyr protested. ‘You know damn well what happened. I’ve done nothing but think about it since we got back. It must have been the Alphraan. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. Even I couldn’t think of anything after I’d fixed Tybeck’s hand except, get away, quickly. It just kept going round and round in my head . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Like a bouncy little dance tune. Anyway, that’s exactly what I did.’

  Loman nodded. Athyr’s forced march of the group through the night was already becoming a small legend. He slumped down into his chair again and started raking through the ashes of the discussion, looking for something that might enable him to avoid the consequences of Athyr’s conclusion.

  ‘And the attack group said they’d heard signals changing the location of the camp?’ he asked.

  Athyr nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But we sent none.’

  Loman brought the terrain to mind. ‘Didn’t they see this new campsite was deserted?’ he said in exasperation.

  Athyr looked unhappy. ‘They’re a bit confused about that,’ he said. ‘Some of them said the signals told them it was an ambush they were approaching. Others thought they heard voices ahead, and at least two thought they saw something.’ He extended his hands apologetically.

  Loman changed tack. ‘And we’ve no explanation for the fighting at the camp?’ he said.

  ‘None,’ Athyr replied. ‘Tybeck and Jenna both say the same thing. One minute ever
ything was fine, then all of a sudden this fight came out of nowhere. And when they moved in to stop it, they were attacked as well.’

  ‘What did Tybeck and Jenna feel?’ Gulda’s blue eyes fixed Athyr. He met her gaze squarely. He had anticipated the question. ‘Surprised and then a little frightened,’ he replied, echoing the response he had received from both of them.

  ‘But no anger?’

  Athyr shrugged slightly. ‘A little, obviously. Particularly when things started to get heated,’ he said. ‘That’s why Tybeck got a bit rough. But nothing at the beginning and nothing . . . unreasonable . . . at any time.’

  ‘How’s your foot?’ Gulda turned abruptly to Yrain. Slightly surprised, the woman leaned forward and rubbed it gingerly.

  ‘Sore,’ she said. ‘But it’s only sprained. It’ll be all right after a little rest.’

  ‘It’ll slow you down for weeks, and trouble you on and off for months,’ Gulda replied, coldly. ‘You were carrying that boot knife again, weren’t you? After I specifically told you to go unarmed.’

  Yrain’s face clouded. ‘How did you . . .?’ Gulda’s long fingers flicked out to cut her short.

  ‘How did I know?’ she said. ‘I didn’t. Though I suppose I might have expected it. Suffice it that they made you face the consequences of your disobedience. I’ve told you before, Yrain. Think. And learn to listen, or you’ll die.’

  Yrain scowled and Gulda’s eyes opened menacingly.

  Loman, looking on anxiously, laid a hand on Gulda’s arm. ‘It’s bad enough that our people are fighting one another in the mountains,’ he said. ‘Let’s not us start quarrelling here.’

  The two women subsided uneasily and for some time no one spoke. Loman stared down at the floor, and Gulda gazed out of the window at the motionless grey sky, high and pale.

  Yrain, too, stared pensively out across the mountains. Surrounding the window was a large landscape carving, with a sweeping mountain range in the background. As she shifted her head a little she saw that these mountains coincided with the real mountains outside, bringing an eerie, disturbing perspective to the scene. The device was unusual, and familiar though she was with the intricate deceptions inherent in all Orthlundyn carving, she felt momentarily disorientated.