The Waking of Orthlund

by Roger Taylor

  ‘His song here is ended,’ concluded the voice. ‘The . . .’ Great Silence? Stillness? – Dacu’s words! ‘. . . gave him a deeper truth, and he has chosen it.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Hawklan said, his brow furrowing.

  ‘It is unimportant,’ came the reply. ‘We are not as you. Our ways are very different. We have not the . . .’ Words? Sounds? Patterns? ‘. . . gross enough to explain to you . . . nor do we wish to try.’ There was both distaste and regret in the voice.

  ‘We are sorry,’ it continued. ‘This has been another sad meeting. You may go if you wish, we will not hinder you. We too wish to return to our . . .’ Home? Heart? Warmth? ‘. . . and be free of the memories that have been awakened.’

  ‘We can part if you wish, sound weaver,’ Hawklan said, more quietly. ‘But more than memories have been awakened. Your days of peace too are ended. For the sake of each of us we must talk – as well as we can. Isloman told you only the truth, and you must hear it. All must hear it. Sumeral is awake . . .’

  ‘No!’ The voice was startlingly loud, but there was no angry denial in it this time; rather it seemed to be trying to shy away. But Hawklan’s tone held it.

  ‘Sumeral is awake,’ he said again, gently. ‘As are His Uhriel. He is unchanged in His intent and He is growing in strength. Derras Ustramel has been built again.’

  ‘How can this be so?’ asked the voice, still, Isloman sensed, struggling not to flee back to some deeper darker haven, where this terrible light could not shine. ‘He was slain.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Hawklan said. ‘But He is with us again. We’ve seen His work and we here have all faced Oklar in his wrath.’

  ‘But you live.’ The voice was full of doubt and uncertainty. ‘None could face Oklar and live.’

  Slowly Hawklan drew his sword. ‘This protected us,’ he said, holding it out. ‘Perhaps if I’d been more skilled, it might have protected others as well, but . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished.

  ‘Your pain is great,’ said the voice, unexpectedly compassionate.

  Hawklan started slightly. ‘It will be lessened when the news of His coming is spread forth,’ he said. ‘Knowledge of Him is the beginning of our protection against Him. Ignorance is His greatest weapon and His greatest ally.’

  There was a silence, then, ‘The great . . . stillness . . . that returned you here tells of ancient powers abroad again. But humans were ever treacherous and deceitful.’ The voice was almost despairingly frank. ‘How can we know the truth of what you say?’

  ‘I know too little of you and your history to defend my kind,’ Hawklan said. ‘We too are sometimes afraid and confused.’

  ‘And wicked.’

  ‘And wicked,’ Hawklan conceded. ‘But Serian and Gavor too have seen, and their sight is not easily deceived.’

  There was no reply.

  Hawklan pointed towards Isloman’s carving. ‘And how could even a Master Carver make such a likeness if he had not seen with his own eyes?’ he asked.

  Still there was no reply.

  Hawklan held out his sword again. ‘You know this is Ethriss’s sword. Could this above all things be deceived? Could this be found and wielded by a thief to work at His bidding?’

  ‘But who are you?’ the voice said again.

  ‘Twenty years a healer,’ Hawklan replied. ‘Now, a healer and . . . something else. I don’t know what – a focus for strange and dreadful events. As for who I was before I found myself in the mountains . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I too have only faith that I’m not the agent of some great evil.’

  There was a long silence. ‘They’ve gone,’ Isloman said softly.

  ‘Good,’ said Gavor. ‘Let’s . . .’

  ‘Is it true that Anderras Darion is open?’ The voice interrupted him. It had changed in some way. There was a restrained excitement in it.

  ‘Your kin are in the mountains down there,’ Gavor answered unexpectedly, and rather impatiently. ‘Ask them.’

  A babble of sound rose up around the group, making Gavor retreat hastily to Hawklan’s shoulder. For a moment both Isloman and Hawklan too looked alarmed. But there was no menace in the sound. The excitement had broken through some restraint. Isloman felt images form in his head. Images of family, joining, the ending of long separations, and many others. An embarrassed eavesdropper, he tried to turn away from the naked intensity of some of them, so poignant were they.

  Gradually the sound merged into the single voice again. ‘Tell us of our kin . . .’ Soaring shadow? Sky prince? Isloman gave Gavor a sidelong look of disbelieving mockery as these images formed out of the sounds, but Gavor was stretching his head high, and ruffling his wings importantly.

  ‘They struck down a strange bird that was following us,’ Hawklan said quickly, before Gavor could get into his story-telling vein.

  The babble began again. Struck down a bird? To aid a human?

  ‘Come with us,’ Hawklan said, cutting across it. ‘Come to Anderras Darion. See for yourself. Speak to others who . . .’

  The noise stopped suddenly, and the voice spoke again, full of great sadness. ‘We cannot,’ it said. ‘The ways are long sealed since the felci went.’

  Both Hawklan and Gavor started. In the word ‘felci’ came vividly the image of the sinuous creature that had set about the men attacking Andawyr’s tent at the Gretmearc. It was pervaded with a deep sense of loss. Also came images of isolation, of glories long decayed, ancient places crumbling, inaccessible.

  ‘You may travel with us,’ Hawklan said, frowning as he tried to encompass the many meanings in the Alphraan’s speech.

  ‘No,’ said the voice unequivocally. ‘Wait.’

  There was another long silence. Absently, Hawklan replaced his sword in its scabbard, and then peered into the dark tunnels ahead.

  ‘You’ll see nothing,’ Isloman said. ‘Wherever they are, they’re well beyond my vision.’

  ‘We will come,’ said the voice suddenly. Thanks and expectation glowed around the words, though they were mingled with some fear and uncertainty.

  Hawklan smiled. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘We’ll wait for you with the others while you . . . make your preparations.’

  ‘Do not wait,’ said the voice. ‘We will be with you.’

  ‘But . . .’ Hawklan began.

  ‘Do not wait,’ the voice repeated. ‘We will be with you. We do not need your help.’

  The tone was final, dismissive almost, although again thanks hovered around it. With a resigned shrug to Isloman, Hawklan moved towards the cave entrance.

  Dacu stood up from the rock he had been sitting on when Hawklan and the others came out into the overcast, but bright, morning daylight. ‘Take care on the scree,’ he called out needlessly. His voice sounded clear and simple in the cool air, after the disorienting and subtle speech of the Alphraan.

  Hawklan raised a hand in acknowledgement and paused at the cave entrance to look around at the surrounding peaks, solid against the grey sky. Then he extended his arms and took a deep breath. ‘It’s good to be back,’ he said.

  Without a word, Gavor launched himself from Hawklan’s shoulder and, dipping first low over the scree slope, rose high above his watching friends to settle on the air currents rising up the cliff face. He began to glide round in great arcing circles, pausing occasionally to fold his wings and tumble precipitously downwards before suddenly sweeping upwards again to join yet more of the pathways that only he knew. The mountains echoed back his laughter.

  Hawklan watched him, and smiled. Then he looked at his hands and flexed them again. ‘Very good,’ he added softly.

  ‘What happened?’ Dacu said, when Hawklan and Isloman reached him. ‘We heard noises, but nothing that sounded dangerous.’

  ‘They’re coming with us,’ Hawklan said without explanation. Dacu looked surprised and then concerned. ‘How many?’ he said, glancing at the pack horses in some alarm. ‘We’ll have even less supplies now you’ll be eating again. And how are they going to t
ravel?’

  Hawklan laughed at the Goraidin’s blunt practicality. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I can’t answer any of your questions. They said they didn’t need any help, so let’s assume they don’t, or at least that they’ll have the wit to ask if they find they do.’

  Dacu’s mouth tightened abruptly and, taking Hawklan’s elbow, he led him a little way from the others. ‘This is getting worse and worse, Hawklan,’ he said anxiously. ‘You and Isloman seem unconcerned, as if nothing untoward had happened this past hour or so, but frankly I’m struggling to keep my mind in balance.’

  Hawklan reached out to him, but the Goraidin waved his hand aside almost irritably. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll manage. I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything as strange as all this. Or heard,’ he added ruefully. ‘But I’ve seen worse, and both experience and training have taught me to see what I can see, even if can’t understand it.’

  Hawklan nodded. ‘What’s the matter then?’ he asked.

  ‘You,’ Dacu replied brutally. ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you standing here, seemingly fit and well, as if the past weeks, with Isloman carrying you around like a great doll, had never happened. But they did happen, Hawklan, and I have to ask myself, have they had no effect on you at all?’

  Hawklan lowered his eyes. ‘They did have an effect,’ he said, his tone enigmatic. ‘A profound effect. But not in the way you imagine, and not in any way that will jeopardize our mission.’

  Dacu lowered his voice. ‘But you have jeopardized it, Hawklan. Twice now.’ Hawklan looked up, his face uncertain. Dacu continued the theme he had begun in the cave. ‘You took an unnecessary risk in staying in that cave to contact those . . . people. And you risked others with you. Others who are important to us. Now you’ve invited along a delegation to travel with us! With no thought for supplies, horses, anything. Who knows what their needs are? Or their intentions! We’re days from both Fyorlund and Anderras Darion and any semblance of help. What if these people are already His? What if they’re just coming with us to find out our strength before another attempt is made to capture you?’

  Hawklan’s eyes suddenly blazed angrily. Dacu stepped back a pace under the impact of the gaze, but gritting his teeth he stepped forward again almost immediately. ‘Damn you, Hawklan,’ he said fiercely. ‘Don’t treat me like that. You know what we all feel for you, but I can’t allow my affection for you to stop me speaking out. You know I’m right.’

  The anger had slipped from Hawklan’s eyes even while Dacu was speaking, to be replaced by a look of sadness and regret. He looked around again at the mountains and at the high circling Gavor. ‘It’s so good to be back,’ he repeated, very quietly. Then, his voice sterner. ‘I’m sorry, Dacu. You’re right. I apologize. The least I should have done was discuss the matter with you. I’m afraid I let my . . . euphoria . . . cloud my judgement. Don’t worry. It won’t happen again. Lord Eldric appointed you Commander, and I accept his decision totally.’

  Dacu’s shoulders slumped slightly and his face looked pained. ‘Enjoy the mountains, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘We’ve all been badly unsettled by what’s happened. I suppose time will quieten us down.’ He straightened up, ‘Especially if we use it to make some distance.’

  He walked across to his horse and mounted it, signalling the others to do the same.

  Before the group moved off, Dacu looked back up at the cave. ‘Keep your eyes open for our new . . . companions,’ he said. ‘We’ll give them the benefit of the doubt, but don’t turn your backs.’

  Chapter 22

  Dacu’s injunction, however, yielded no results. As the party wended its way through the increasingly harsh terrain, no sign was seen of anyone following them.

  ‘They must have thought better of it,’ Dacu concluded, as they all settled down in their shelter for the night. ‘We’ve been through some exposed countryside today, I doubt they could have hidden from us.’

  Hawklan agreed, but looked puzzled. ‘It’s strange,’ he said. ‘They seemed quite determined to come with us once they’d made their minds up. Perhaps we moved too quickly for them.’

  ‘No, dear boy,’ Gavor said. ‘No one’s been following you that I could see. But they do live underground.’

  Dacu was unconcerned. ‘They’re no loss,’ he said dismissively. Then, repenting a little, he looked at Hawklan and held up the map he had just taken from his pack. ‘I’ve marked the position of that cave as well as I could, and I’ve got my notes. When we reach Anderras Darion, your people will be able to send out a patrol, or whatever, and try to contact them again.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Goraidin,’ said a voice, seemingly just outside the small shelter. ‘We are here, as we said we would be, and we shall remain with you for some time yet.’

  Dacu tensed momentarily then relaxed very suddenly. Reading his intentions, Hawklan leaned forward quickly and laid a hand on his arm to prevent him diving headlong out of the shelter in search of the voice’s owner.

  ‘Do you have shelter and food?’ he said casually, still gently restraining Dacu.

  ‘We have what we need,’ came the reply.

  ‘As we’re travelling together, won’t you join us?’ Hawklan asked, sitting back. Dacu shot an agitated glance around the already crowded shelter, but his concern was unnecessary.

  ‘No,’ said the voice in a refusal that was so total it seemed to hang almost tangibly in the air. ‘We must travel our own ways.’

  Dacu looked inquiringly at Hawklan and then briefly at the entrance to the shelter again, but Hawklan shook his head.

  ‘The Goraidin has doubts about you,’ he said. ‘Great doubts. He rebuked me for inviting you to come with us.’

  ‘We heard.’

  Dacu scowled and lowered his eyes to prevent them from reproaching Hawklan again.

  Hawklan however, seemed unconcerned, even slightly amused, at the revelation. ‘If you heard, then you know his reasoning was sound, Alphraan,’ he said. ‘And you do little to lighten the burden of his responsibility by maintaining both a continual absence and a continual presence.’

  The reply came in a strange combination of anger, resentment and genuine regret. ‘You own you know little of us, Hawklan. Do not judge us. Nor you, Goraidin. You above all should not so readily accuse us of being His agents. You, whose race proved such a rich vein for His mining.’

  Dacu winced. ‘I don’t judge,’ he said angrily, stung by this cruelly accurate comment. ‘I have my duty, both to myself and to others, and I must speak what my head and my heart tell me to speak. You know as little of us as we do of you, but strange to our ways or not, surely you must realize it’s hard for us to be at ease with . . . people . . . who’ve tried once to kill us, who seemingly listen to our every word, and who constantly hide from us. They’re not the actions of allies.’

  ‘We are not your allies, Goraidin,’ said the voice immediately. ‘Except insofar as we are His enemies. The . . .’ Silence? Stillness that awoke? Still so many meanings clung around some of the sounds that the Alphraan used. ‘. . . reminded us that there are things beyond us all. That and other signs showed us that we must be prepared to learn.’ Images of Isloman’s carving and Hawklan’s sword formed in the words.

  ‘And it is hard for us to follow the ways to Anderras Darion, human,’ the voice continued. ‘Soon we will have to travel through . . .’ The four men in the shelter all craned forward intently in an attempt to identify what followed. The ancient places? Barren? Dark? Lost? Silent?

  The meaning eluded all of them, but there was such a growing and chilling awfulness in the sounds that Hawklan called out, ‘Stop. We can’t understand you, your speech is far too subtle for us. But we feel your pain. What are you frightened of? We’ve only mountains ahead. Difficult and dangerous, but only if we’re careless. Join us if travelling on the surface distresses you so much. We’ll help you gladly.’

  There was a long silence, then, ‘Our way to Anderras Darion is not your way.’ The voice
faltered, as if struggling to find the correct words for a difficult explanation. ‘It is through . . . bleakness and . . . hardship . . .’ It gave up, and the shelter became silent again.

  Hawklan nodded even though his listener was not there to see. ‘We are indeed different, Alphraan,’ he said after a while. ‘We must learn about one another slowly. We mustn’t allow our impatience and fear of each other to become His tools.’

  There was another long silence, then the voice spoke again, hesitatingly, apologetically. ‘We do not eavesdrop on you, Hawklan, Goraidin,’ it said. ‘We hear you. It is difficult to do otherwise if we are to remain with you. And we have to learn to deal with the . . . crudeness . . . the inadequacies of your speech. That also is difficult.’ There was a hint of humour in the voice. ‘But patience at least is a word we both understand.’

  Dacu looked across at Hawklan, his mind suddenly full of times in the past when he himself had wandered lost and frightened in strange places. ‘If our voices guide you,’ he said unexpectedly, ‘then listen by all means. And speak should you need help . . . or whenever your heart or your head bids you.’

  A strange, touching sigh filled the shelter. ‘Thank you, Goraidin,’ the voice said. ‘Thank you.’ And the sigh seemed to fade into the distance.

  ‘Have they gone?’ said Tirke, awkwardly breaking the peaceful silence that followed.

  Dacu chuckled. ‘Were they here?’ he said.

  Tirke grimaced at the remark as if he had been struck. He put both hands to his head. ‘How do you all stay so calm?’ he said, his voice trembling.

  The three men exchanged glances. ‘The same way you will if you get as far as we’ve got,’ Isloman said, smiling uncertainly.