The Return of the Sword

by Roger Taylor

  ‘It’s not even seeing the ambush that’s bothering me. These people are the commercial equivalent of a combined Goraidin and heavy infantry unit.’

  ‘We need a new leader if you can’t take the strain,’ Endryk advised him solemnly. He nodded towards Nertha who was in the middle of an agitated debate with a red-faced man pushing a bright yellow cart full of garments. Vredech was trailing in her wake with the air of a child who has just been given the sternest parental instruction to stay quiet. Amid a great deal of emotional arm-waving, Dacu and Endryk learned, amongst other things, that the carter had a family of sickly children on the very edge of penury somewhere, while Nertha’s horse had developed a debilitating complaint that needed her every worldly resource to cure. Being a physician, Nertha had a wealth of ominous words and alarming symptoms at her command. In the end, Vredech was presented with a stout jacket of undeniable quality and the carter went on his way, still concerned for the well-being of his family, whose condition was apparently worsening by the minute, but carrying now an elegant gown with which, presumably, to comfort his much afflicted wife.

  ‘It was no use to me,’ Nertha replied to her husband’s protestation. ‘I don’t know why I brought it in the first place. And you need a good jacket.’

  There were less entertaining meetings though. At a cross-roads a band of uniformed but unsavoury-looking individuals passed over the road in front of them, heading east towards the Thlosgaral. With them were two conspicuously well-dressed men.

  ‘Private guards escorting someone across the Thlosgaral,’ Endryk told Dacu. ‘There are lots of such people in the city, protecting individuals, businesses, properties.’

  ‘They have no civic authority to do this?’

  Endryk’s lip curled. ‘After a fashion. As I recall, there’s the Prefect and his Guards – the Weartans – but they’re corrupt. Much worse than Arvenstaat’s Wardens.’

  ‘The more I hear, the more I feel this city’s a desperate place,’ Dacu said.

  ‘Well, now you make me think about it again, I suspect it’s just the size of the place. Too many people too close together. They can’t be governed by force any more than we could be, and there are too many conflicting factions and interests to reach any semblance of a consensus for an effective form of government.’

  ‘Destined to destruction?’

  Endryk was unexpectedly optimistic. ‘I don’t think so. Destined to permanent change, yes, but they’re probably used to that. Some of their qualities might have protected us better. Made us more alert, suspicious. I don’t know.’

  Dacu was silent for a while before saying simply, ‘You may well be right.’

  Later, while they were walking the horses, they were overtaken by a hooded figure striding out, high-shouldered and tense. Both Dacu and Tirke started as he passed them while Thyrn reached out and gripped Endryk’s arm tightly.

  ‘Good day to you, sir,’ Dacu said to the man with a geniality that his friends saw was taking some effort.

  The figure hesitated, then turned to him as if surprised.

  ‘Good day to you,’ came a harsh and unpleasant voice after a moment. Then the figure was on its way again.

  A passer-by, a middle-aged man, spat noisily and sneered after the departing figure.

  ‘You know him?’ Dacu asked.

  ‘I know them,’ the man replied, his voice as full of contempt as his face. ‘Kyrosdyn. The lot of them should be burnt.’

  ‘That seems rather extreme.’

  ‘You’re strangers around here, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, We’re heading north.’

  ‘Well, welcome to Arash-Felloren, my friends.’

  ‘I don’t wish to buy anything,’ Dacu said hastily.

  The man’s expression changed. He chuckled. ‘I see you’re not complete strangers, then. Don’t worry, I’m not selling anything, I’m just going to watch one of the animal fights tonight. But I’ll give you this advice for free. While you’re in the city, keep your eyes on your goods, your hand on your wallet, and your business well away from the Kyrosdyn.’

  Dacu’s eyes narrowed at the mention of animal fights, but he asked, ‘Bad people, are they, these Kyrosdyn?’

  ‘Yes, very,’ the man replied starkly. ‘Crystal workers they’re supposed to be, but they’ve got fingers in everything.’

  ‘What are crystals?’ Dacu asked.

  The man looked at him in open surprise. ‘You must be from a long way away. They’re used in everything. Expensive jewellery, toughening iron for ploughshares, knives and the like, fancy decorations for those who can afford them, medicines . . .?

  ‘Medicines?’ Nertha queried.

  The man looked her up and down as though she might be an item for sale. ‘Ointments, potions, lozenges. Draw the badness out of anything, they do.’ He leered. ‘Or put life into it if it’s . . . sagging a little.’ The leer faded as Nertha did not respond. He tried for another effect. ‘There’s some grind them and cut them straight into the blood.’ He made a scratching motion with his finger on his arm but the action seemed to disturb him more than it disturbed Nertha, to whom it obviously meant nothing. He rejoined the men. ‘Kyrosdyn do it all the time, if you ask me. That’s why they all look the same.’ He gestured towards the rapidly retreating figure. ‘All tight and jerky.’ He sneered again, then took Dacu’s arm confidentially. ‘Mind you, their star’s falling a bit, what with Imorren getting killed and all.’

  ‘Imorren?’

  ‘Their Ailad – their chief. Right bitch she was. Good looker by all accounts, but a bad lot. Good riddance, that’s my feeling.’

  Before Dacu could question him further, the man had acknowledged a salute from the driver of a passing cart and, without any leave-taking, was clambering on to it.

  ‘Certainly short on social graces, these people,’ Nertha said.

  ‘Did you make anything of that?’ Dacu asked her.

  She shook her head. ‘These crystals sound strange, though.’ She mimicked the scratching that the man had demonstrated. ‘And that sounds very peculiar.’

  Dacu’s eyes narrowed as he looked after the now distant figure of the Kyrosdyn. ‘I’d swear I felt a touch of the Power as he went past,’ he said to Tirke who nodded grimly but did not speak. ‘Thyrn, something startled you, didn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I felt for a moment as if Vashnar . . . I don’t know . . . I . . .’

  He was obviously distressed. Dacu stopped him. ‘Don’t worry. There’s no danger. Just remember it for later.’

  Then he said softly to Tirke. ‘And you too. If that was the Power then Andawyr and the others will be more than interested.’

  ‘Should we follow the man?’

  Dacu thought for a moment. ‘No. We can’t leave the others and there’s no saying what we might run into in the city. I’m certainly not disposed to seek out anyone who can use the Power without a Cadwanwr by my side. We’ll have to leave it. Just include it in our Accounting.’

  As the day passed, Nertha succeeded in transforming a few more unwanted items into the local money.

  ‘It’ll come in handy if we go into the city,’ she claimed, dropping the coins into her belt purse.

  ‘Speaking of which, I think we’ll have to decide soon,’ Dacu announced. Ahead of them, at the bottom of a gentle slope, were crossroads. Some of the traffic travelling their way was moving east and a little was moving north, but most of it was turning west.

  Set some way back was a large building surrounded by rambling outhouses and stables. A sign hanging from an arched timber frame over the gate to the courtyard declared it to be ‘The Wyndering’.

  As they drew nearer, an appetizing smell drifted over the group, drawing them to a spontaneous halt. They looked at one another.

  ‘Let’s see how far your new-found wealth goes, Nertha,’ Dacu said, voicing their common thought. ‘It’ll be nice to sit on a chair and have a meal cooked by someone else. We can decide what we want to do while we eat. What do you .
. .’

  The others were already heading for the gate.

  Chapter 16

  The owner of The Wyndering was Ghreel. He was very fat and very unpleasant. Had The Wyndering depended on his charm for its survival, it would have long since fallen into decay. As it was, it prospered, though, admittedly, little sign of this prosperity could be noted in its outward appearance, which was of a genteel house that had fallen on hard times. Its success was due almost completely to its location. Past it moved most of the traffic travelling between Arash-Felloren and the Wilde Ports, and all of such traffic as moved north and south in that region. In fairness, it had to be said that Ghreel was a good cook, being a keen judge of his own cooking – he had not always been fat – and, for most regular travellers, this was adequate compensation for his sour disposition. There was also a thriving subculture where these same travellers would exchange ever wilder stories about his rudeness, giving him, if not mythic status, at least high standing in the local canon of alehouse tales.

  He was at his usual station, leaning against a robust but crude wooden counter and glowering at his regular customers, when the door creaked noisily to announce the entrance of Dacu and the others. His beady eyes examined them as they stood blinking in the comparative gloom, but he made no other movement. The door creaked again as Thyrn tried awkwardly to close it quietly. Nertha wrinkled her nose in distaste at the smell of the place, as did Vredech, though more discreetly.

  ‘Food, landlord?’ Dacu inquired.

  Ghreel’s eyes widened slightly. Then, without replying, he flicked his head towards a double door standing open at the end of the room. They threaded their way through the drink-soiled furniture to be confronted by four long tables as they passed through the door. There were several people eating but plenty of space for the newcomers.

  ‘At least it doesn’t stink of stale ale like that other room,’ Vredech said, sitting down with some relish.

  A slightly conspiratorial interlude followed during which Nertha was delegated to negotiate their meal with one of the young boys serving the tables. On the road, she had bargained fiercely, with much finger-jabbing and lying. Here it was a combination of studied womanly foolishness and slowness with the local coin that saw her quietly winning the day.

  ‘I can see why you married her,’ Dacu said.

  ‘I’m learning more every day,’ Vredech replied, enigmatically.

  A little later, the meal had appeared and been devoured, largely in silence, and they were all both relaxed and replete.

  ‘Excellent,’ was the consensus, this being announced with some surprise, given the demeanour of the landlord.

  ‘I’m not sure it was such a good idea, though,’ Tirke remarked, closing his eyes ecstatically. ‘It’s really going to make camp food heavy going.’

  ‘It usually is when you cook it,’ Endryk remarked.

  ‘Talking of heavy going, the landlord’s been taking quite an interest in us,’ Thyrn said, without looking up. ‘He keeps casually wandering in, by the way, and looking over here.’

  ‘I noticed,’ Dacu said. ‘He seemed surprised when I first spoke to him.’

  ‘He’s probably deciding how much to charge us for watering the horses,’ Nertha said.

  Vredech gave his wife a wilfully reproachful look. ‘You’re getting quite cynical, my dear.’

  ‘I’m getting quite used to the people around here,’ she replied emphatically. ‘I think they’d charge for the air we breathe if they could work out how to do it.’

  ‘Well, we’ll soon find out,’ Dacu said. ‘Here he comes.’

  They all turned to witness Ghreel’s lumbering approach.

  ‘A good meal, landlord,’ Dacu said genially, as Ghreel lurched to a halt and began collecting their plates. ‘You seem very interested in us. What can we do for you?’

  ‘Subtle,’ Nertha muttered.

  Ghreel nearly dropped the plates. ‘Careful,’ Dacu said, reaching out to steady the teetering pile. A broad smile pressed his question.

  Ghreel emitted a series of peculiar sounds that eventually concluded in something that sounded vaguely grateful. Then he said, ‘I hope you lot haven’t got any rats with you.’

  An odd silence descended on the group as they looked first at him, then at each other and then back to their host.

  ‘Rats?’ Dacu queried hesitantly, as if he might have misheard. ‘Why would we have rats with us?’

  ‘You’re from up there aren’t you?’ Ghreel replied.

  ‘Up there?’

  ‘The north.’

  ‘Some of us are,’ Dacu said, obtusely not identifying the guilty parties.

  ‘Knew as soon as you walked in,’ Ghreel declared knowingly. ‘The way you talked. Funny.’

  ‘I always try to please,’ Dacu said, but the sarcasm bounced off its target.

  ‘We don’t get many northerners passing through here.’

  ‘Strange, I’d have thought they’d have flocked here,’ Dacu said, still to no effect. Ghreel’s concern however, now released, had a momentum comparable with that of his frame as he thrust the dishes through a hatch and bowled back towards the table.

  ‘We had one of your kind in the other day – with his rat. And I don’t want any more, I can tell you. Do you keep them as pets or something up there?’

  ‘Well, we’ve been away quite a time,’ Dacu said thoughtfully. ‘But keeping rats wasn’t common when we left.’

  Ghreel looked unconvinced. His story had to make its full way out.

  ‘Vicious little swine it was. And teeth like I’ve never seen on any animal before.’ He made a futile effort to straighten up and draw his stomach in. ‘Mind you, my dogs would’ve had it if I hadn’t taken them in hand.’ He frowned. ‘And I had to, I can tell you.’ He indicated two large dogs asleep in the corner. Dacu nodded understandingly. ‘Rest assured, landlord, we’ve no rats or any other pets with us that you might need your dogs for. And if I hear of anyone coming this way I’ll advise them to leave their rats outside.’

  This began to impinge. Ghreel’s face crumpled into a scowl. Dacu intercepted the pending reproach by standing up and taking his arm in a companionable manner. ‘I understand. You’ve a business to run here. Obviously you can’t have strange animals wandering in and out as they feel like it. It’d soon get the place a bad name. What was the man like? There aren’t many of us up there, as you might have gathered from the number who come here, so we might know him. We can speak to him about it if we see him.’

  Partly mollified, Ghreel described the offending customer, concluding with, ‘And he’d a big hat, even though the sun was belting down.’

  Dacu’s expression of recognition was not feigned. Nor was Tirke’s. ‘And the rat?’ Dacu pressed. ‘Are you sure it was a rat?’

  Ghreel scowled again, though this time in thought. ‘He said it was a welci, or flooky, or something.’

  ‘A felci?’ Dacu suggested.

  Ghreel nodded grimly. ‘Still looked like a rat to me.’ A fat finger prodded the table. ‘And I don’t want any more. You tell him, if you see him.’

  ‘I certainly will.’

  ‘And tell him I wasn’t impressed by that trick he did.’

  ‘Trick?’

  ‘Making it look as if it could talk.’

  Dacu raised an eyebrow. The finger prodded the table again, then indicated the doorway. ‘Just when they were leaving. Stood on its hind legs over by the counter next door, thanked me for the meal, then laughed.’ He snorted scornfully. ‘Told me he was a teacher. Lying sod. If you ask me he was just another street clown who hadn’t the nous to make a living here and went scuttling home. Tell him I’ve seen better acts washing dishes. Him and his talking rat.’

  ‘We’ll be sure to mention you didn’t appreciate it if we run into him,’ Dacu said, signalling to the others to leave. ‘Was he heading back north?’

  Jowls shook in indignant dismissal. ‘How would I know where he was going? He had some halfwit with him. I think he we
nt north.’

  In the courtyard, as they mounted, Dacu and Tirke looked at one another.

  ‘Atelon,’ they said, at the same time.

  ‘And Dar-volci, I’ll wager,’ Dacu added. ‘He wouldn’t be able to resist a parting jibe at the likes of our friend in there. What in the name of mercy were they doing out here? And who’s this “halfwit” he’s got with him?’

  ‘You know this “northerner” with his talking rat?’ Nertha asked.

  ‘It sounds like an old friend of ours,’ Tirke replied. Suddenly he was quite serious. ‘Atelon’s a Cadwanwr. He’s probably only about my age, but he’s lifetimes older. He stood with Oslang and the other Cadwanwr and kept Sumeral’s Uhriel from destroying the army with the Power. It took a toll I don’t think we can begin to understand.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to sound flippant.’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s just a little disturbing to hear about him like that.’

  ‘Do you think he might be in danger?’

  ‘I doubt it, he’s a Riddinwr.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning that like all the Riddinvolk, he and his horse together make a lethal combination. And, for a Learned Brother, Atelon’s more than a fair hand with a sword.’

  But Dacu had reservations. He turned to Thyrn. ‘I’ve no reason for this, but I feel uneasy about what we’ve just heard. I’d like to press on towards home. See if we can catch up with him.’ He held out a hand westward towards the unseen Arash-Felloren, his face questioning.

  Thyrn looked in the direction he was pointing, then thought for a moment. ‘Some other time. I decided not to come here once before, it’s not hard to do it again. I’m sure it’ll be here for some years yet.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Dacu said.

  ‘Besides,’ Thyrn added, ‘I’m intrigued by this talking rat.’

  They moved out of the courtyard and, after watching the busy crossroads for a while, turned on to the emptier road that ran northwards.

  ‘This talking rat is almost certainly Dar-Volci,’ Dacu told Thyrn. ‘He’s a felci. One of the few that take a serious interest in people and probably the only one who’ll travel anywhere. They’re rock dwellers and they look nothing like rats.’ He smiled to himself. ‘If I’m any judge of our erstwhile host, he’s tried to set his dogs on Dar and they’ve been seen off.’