The Return of the Sword

by Roger Taylor

  As they reached the place where they had first found themselves, Vredech paused, trying to estimate which way the riders might be coming. With nothing to guide him, however, he opted for what looked to be the easiest way. Pinnatte followed him without question.

  With his recent experience still vividly in his mind, Vredech moved very slowly, peering intently ahead and placing every step with exaggerated care. Occasionally, an exchange of high-pitched cries would well up to let them know that the riders were still nearby and, presumably, still searching for them. Each time this happened, they stopped, momentarily paralysed by the sounds, but now they had decided on a course of action, however futile it might prove to be, Vredech found that he was greeting the cries of their pursuers with a growing defiance. Gradually, however, and as he had feared, the slope became steeper and the choice of ways down more problematical, forcing them to move with increasing caution. Though the sides of the mountain were covered with sheets of tumbled rocks and boulders, these were sharp-edged and viciously spiked like miniatures of the peaks towering above them, a clamouring family scrabbling at the knees of their parents. And, too, it was not easy to see in the blue light, nor breathe easily in the clinging unpleasantness of the sour air.

  They halted in the lee of a large rock to catch their breath.

  ‘We don’t seem to be any nearer the bottom,’ Pinnatte said unhappily as he looked first up, then down the slope.

  ‘We’ve come quite a way,’ Vredech reassured him. ‘It’s just that mountains are bigger than you think. You tend to lose your sense of size and distance. What seems to be no more than an hour or so’s walk away takes half a day.’

  ‘Well, at least we’ll all be on foot,’ Pinnatte said, gazing round. ‘I mightn’t know much about mountains, but no horse I’ve ever seen could walk across this. It’s hard enough with two good feet and two good hands.’ As he looked down at his hands he turned over the one that the Sierwolf had crushed and began examining it closely. ‘Your wife thought she could bring some use back to this, didn’t she?’ he said, softly, as though to himself. ‘I’d like that. She’s got a way with her, your wife.’

  Pinnatte’s harsh city accent gave the compliment an edge that prompted Vredech to give him a sidelong look despite their circumstances. Pinnatte caught it. He stammered. ‘I meant . . . she’s kind . . . clever. Atelon saved my life when this thing was festering – burning me up – but I don’t think he even thought about how it could be made to work again.’

  He leaned forward and took Vredech’s arm in a powerful grip. ‘If we get out of here – get back to the camp – and my head’s choked up with . . . cobwebs . . . again, tell her, “Thank you”. Tell her, yes, I want my hand back, if she can do it. I’ll do whatever she says. Tell her – tell all of them . . .’ He tapped his head. ‘I’m in here. I’m listening. I’m learning. And I’m grateful.’

  Vredech was taken aback by this passionate outburst. ‘I will,’ he managed to say, but Pinnatte had not finished. He bared his teeth. ‘And tell them I’m angry, too. Angry at what those foul crystal meddlers did to me. I might have been precious little use to anyone as a street thief, but I didn’t deserve that. And I don’t deserve this either. I . . .’

  Vredech reached out and put his hand over Pinnatte’s mouth gently.

  ‘I understand,’ he said urgently. ‘I understand. And I’ll make sure everyone else does when we get back. And it is “when” we get back, not “if”. Do you understand?’

  Pinnatte’s nodded reply was interrupted by a paean of triumphant shrieking high above them. Both men started violently, so abrupt and awful was the noise. Instinctively they flattened themselves against the sheltering rock. Vredech’s defiance faltered as his protestation about their ultimate destination felt empty and futile in his suddenly dry throat.

  ‘How did they get above us?’ Pinnatte whispered.

  ‘As you said, this is their place,’ Vredech replied as he struggled to recover from the shock. Though, even as he spoke, he realized he could not properly answer Pinnatte’s question. It did not seem possible that anything could have clambered up this slope so quickly.

  ‘More to the point is why do they sound like that? As if they’ve found something they’ve been searching for.’

  ‘Perhaps because they have,’ Pinnatte replied tersely. ‘Perhaps they weren’t after us at all.’

  Vredech looked at him unhappily. There was logic in what he was saying, but every part of him denied it. The riders were searching for them, and the triumph in their calls did not bode well.

  ‘Do we stay or do we run?’ he asked.

  ‘Run,’ Pinnatte said without a pause.

  Not that anything approaching running seemed possible, but they immediately moved away from the sheltering rock and continued their painstaking descent.

  The shrieking above them continued, first one voice, then another, rising and falling. A debate was being held. A leisurely debate, Vredech thought. Just as they had moved across the plain, so the pursuers were moving towards their prey quite unhurriedly. Though nothing in their cries was intelligible, their general tenor was unequivocal: there was nowhere for Vredech and Pinnatte to go, nowhere to hide, nowhere in this entire terrible place.

  As if giving a blessing to this conclusion, a low, moaning cry of satisfaction folded around them.

  They stopped and turned at the same time.

  Above them, on the rock they had been sheltering under, black against the dark blue sky, and still mounted, stood the three figures.

  Chapter 22

  Both Pinnatte and Vredech looked around, but flight still did not seem possible across this vicious terrain. Vredech became aware of Pinnatte slowly reaching into his pocket.

  ‘Talk first,’ he reminded him, quietly but urgently.

  Pinnatte stopped moving but his hand remained in his pocket.

  Not that Vredech had much confidence that talking would make any impression on the new arrivals. Though they were motionless, the three figures had a powerful and menacing presence and there was an aura about them which more than confirmed Pinnatte’s remark that this was their place.

  Then they were moving, and a further fearful quality was added to the scene. For though their mounts appeared to be horses, there were differences that transformed them into obscene caricatures; a subtle harshness to their lines; malevolent, almost glowing eyes; hooves that looked like claws; too-long heads on too-long necks that swayed unpleasantly as if to some sound only they could hear. It brought back to Vredech, with chilling vividness, the impression he had formed as he had watched their futile assault on the strange light that they had conjured up. Serpentine. And the way they stepped over the jagged rocks further marked their strangeness, for they moved with the silent, untroubled sureness of great cats.

  The riders halted, side by side. The heads of the mounts continued to sway hypnotically while their cruel, hunting eyes remained fixed on Vredech and Pinnatte. Their rasping breath filled the silence. Vredech forced himself to stand straight. With an effort he tore his gaze from the watching mounts and looked at their riders.

  Not that his inspection told him a great deal, for, like so much in this place, they were difficult to see – an unsettling patchwork of blueness and shadows that should not be shadows shifted in and out of focus. Yet they were all too real. There was no doubting that. And a frightening sight. Was that armour they were wearing? Black and glistening? Spiked and protected like the whole of this landscape? And what lay behind those visored helms? Vredech tried to still his imagination as he struggled to retain some semblance of calm under the silent scrutiny of the three figures and their mounts. He was about to speak when the central rider leaned forward suddenly. Vredech felt the intensity of its inspection increase almost to the point of tangibility. It was all he could do not to step backwards under its force.

  It did not lessen as the rider sat upright again. Rather it increased, though Vredech thought he could sense surprise and doubt in the rider’s postur
e. These were unexpectedly human traits. As, too, was an excitement that was beginning to emerge through them, though this was so febrile that it snatched away the solace that the previous doubt had momentarily offered.

  Then there was an exchange between the riders. A complex melange of eerie sounds reminiscent of, but quite different from, the shrieks they had announced themselves with. Awaiting its outcome, Pinnatte glanced over his shoulder, again searching for some means of escape. One of the mounts craned forward and hissed at him. It bared its teeth, predatory and feral. Pinnatte froze.

  The exchange faded away, whistling echoes of it drifting into the distance.

  ‘Welcome,’ the rider said.

  The voice was jarring and repellent and the word seemed to be not so much spoken as wrung out of one of their awful shrieks. It was surrounded by quivering overtones and dissonant harmonies that set Vredech’s teeth on edge.

  As grotesque and unnatural as everything else in this benighted place, he thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came.

  ‘You are not as we thought.’

  ‘You are not of this place.’

  Vredech could not make out which one of them was speaking.

  ‘We are strangers,’ he managed to say, his own voice sounding alien to him.

  There was dark amusement in the reply.

  ‘Yes. There are few indeed left here who have not received our blessing since this world became His.’

  ‘Blessed be His name. Great are His works.’

  The words were intoned by all three riders. The sound struck Vredech like icy water dashed in his face. Vivid memories washed over him of the mechanical responses he had heard so many times from his own congregations.

  ‘Take us to the Opening of the Ways.’

  Vredech and Pinnatte stood silent in the face of this abrupt command for a moment, then they exchanged an awkward glance.

  ‘Take us to the Opening of the Ways,’ the voice came again, this time impatient.

  ‘I . . . we . . . don’t know what you mean,’ Vredech replied hesitantly. ‘We know of no such things. We don’t even know how we came here. We . . .’

  A gesture silenced him. ‘Take us to the Opening of the Ways!’ The speaker’s mount took a soft, menacing step forward, its neck extended and its head no longer swaying. Vredech quailed. One of the others reached out and touched the advancing rider who, with some reluctance, retreated.

  ‘You must forgive us,’ said the interceding rider. ‘The purification of this place since we were drawn here is both our duty and our delight and we honour Him in the joy we bring to it. As we do to the Search. Now you have been sent to guide us. Mysterious are His ways, Allyn Vredech.’

  Vredech’s eyes widened in shock. ‘How do you know my name?’ he asked.

  There was a sound that might have been laughter except that no laughter could have been so depraved.

  ‘Am I so changed that you don’t recognize me? You whose loving touch set me on this glorious way?’

  The rider reached up and removed his helm . . .

  Her helm.

  For Vredech found himself looking not into the face of some grim and cruel warrior but into that of a monster worse by far. Leaner and harsher than it had been, with glistening black eyes, it was nevertheless unmistakably the face of Dowinne, the wife of his erstwhile friend, Cassraw.

  Vredech drew in a sharp breath and took an unsteady step backwards. His foot caught on a rock and he would have stumbled had not Pinnatte caught him.

  ‘But you’re dead,’ he burst out, his face alive with horror. ‘I . . . I killed you myself . . . plunged you into that awful abyss.’

  ‘How could you kill such as me, Allyn? All things are to His design. You were but an instrument of His will, as are we all. Your role then was to free me from the cringing flesh of that world so that a greater destiny could be fulfilled.’

  ‘You’re dead,’ Vredech repeated feebly, though the words jangled meaninglessly in him.

  Dowinne inclined her head slightly in the manner of a teacher dealing with a capable but headstrong pupil. Her arm swept over the plain and the mountains but her dead gaze remained on Vredech. ‘You are not so blind, surely? Through the perfection, the purity that we have made here and are making yet, His will has reached out and brought us together again, touched on your great gift so that you can lead us back to that place which is the heartworld of His need.’

  Vredech was leaning heavily on Pinnatte. His mind was whirling. Though Dowinne had brought her own death on herself, his part in it had been a source of distress to him ever since. His only solace was the knowledge that he had had no alternative, that he had done what he had done not out of hate but to prevent a greater evil, that he had been justified. But still it troubled him.

  ‘It always will,’ Dacu had told him. ‘Be truly afraid when it doesn’t.’

  But now Dowinne was standing before him like a judgement.

  He felt Pinnatte’s arm tightening about him strongly, fingers pinching into his arm.

  ‘Stand up, damn you!’ came a whispered but snarling reproach. ‘We’ll never get out of this if you collapse. You’re the one who said we should talk first, remember?’

  The three riders seemed to be disputing with one another. This time, Vredech could make out Dowinne’s voice vying with the impatience in the others, though the excitement that he had noted before pervaded all of them. It was a grasping, clawing thing. And it was growing.

  Talk.

  Vredech clung to the word. And more of Dacu’s words came to help him. However frightening, however improbable, whatever was happening here was happening. He must see it as it was and accept its reality. All else would lead to futility or worse. This was Dowinne, beyond any dispute. The Dowinne he thought he had killed. The Dowinne who had killed his friend. The Dowinne who even then had possessed strange and dangerous powers and a murderous willingness to use them. How she had come here, resurrected, was irrelevant. What was important was that, whatever she had become, he had known her. A link existed, however tenuous.

  He drew in a breath of the tainted air and gently prised away Pinnatte’s supporting arm.

  ‘I understand none of this, Dowinne,’ he said, trying to prevent his voice from trembling. ‘I don’t know how we came to be here and we want only to leave. We . . .’

  ‘Your understanding is not needed. Only your obedience.’

  The tone was dismissive and the attention of the riders was turned suddenly to Pinnatte. They were silent for a long time. Vredech, gradually overcoming his initial shock, moved now to protect his former protector. He edged a little way in front of him.

  ‘Who are you?’ Dowinne asked Pinnatte.

  ‘Jedred, your honour,’ Pinnatte replied immediately, bowing slightly and lying freely, as was his habit under such circumstances. ‘Apprentice saddler to the Faldine Guild. This man and I are strangers. One moment we were sharing an evening’s camp in the mountains, then suddenly we were here. It’s all very alarming. Personally, and no disrespect to yourself and your good friends, but I can’t help thinking I’m dreaming, and . . .’

  An angry wave from Dowinne silenced him. He gave another curt bow and began rubbing his hands submissively.

  ‘You are strange indeed,’ Dowinne said slowly, thoughtfully. ‘There are signs about you that . . . should not be. One such was promised. One that would be His vessel. But you are flawed and imperfect. He would not use so poor a thing. Yet . . .’

  ‘Perhaps if you asked Him . . .’ Pinnatte began.

  Abruptly, the three mounts were rearing, their eyes glaring and their claw-like hooves flailing wildly.

  ‘Blasphemer!’

  Dowinne’s voice, barbed and awful, hissed towards Pinnatte like a burning arrow, drawing in its wake a tangled skein of sound torn from the rasping cries of the other riders.

  Vredech stepped in front of him, a hand raised protectively even as he winced away from this ferocious rebuke.

  ‘Leave him alone
,’ he shouted into the din. ‘He’s only a boy. If you want something of me, Dowinne, ask, but let him go; he’s here by chance.’

  ‘There is no chance. There is only His will.’

  ‘Blessed be His name. Great are His works.’

  ‘He wishes only to leave,’ Vredech said.

  ‘His wishes are of no concern. He is here to serve, as are we. As all will serve when He returns. You have been sent to guide us, he . . .’ She pointed at Pinnatte, then paused. ‘We shall determine. Somewhere in him His purpose will be written. We shall find it. Come.’

  She held out a hand and beckoned Pinnatte.

  Vredech stretched out both arms sideways to prevent Pinnatte from passing. Not that such a gesture was needed, for Pinnatte had decided that there had been more than enough talk to fulfil the bargain he had made.

  ‘They’re Kyrosdyn,’ he breathed into Vredech’s ear. ‘All of them. They stink of it. This whole place does. I’m not going with them.’ The desperation in his voice made Vredech turn sharply. Pinnatte was reaching into his pocket again.

  Vredech seized his arm. ‘No! We must . . .’

  ‘Must what?’ Pinnatte’s eyes were wide with a mixture of terror and an almost manic rage. ‘Go with them? Never. I know what the Kyrosdyn can do.’ He snatched his arm free. ‘We’ve a simple rule on the streets for dealing with situations like this. They’re not going to take us anywhere for our good, so whatever else we do, we don’t go with them.’

  Vredech faltered in the face of Pinnatte’s certainty. There was a dreadful truth in it that chimed with the fear knotting his stomach. He looked round at the jagged terrain and then at the three riders. Dowinne had replaced her helm, hiding her face. Her hand was still slowly calling them forward.