by Roger Taylor
He paused and his voice echoed back from the Labyrinth as a soft murmur.
‘In many ways His Second Coming was the same as His First. As before, He levied both the Uhriel and a great army against us and, as before, we knew that both had to be defeated. The one by force of arms, the other by the use of the Power. The only real difference between these two conflicts was their scale. For those involved, the pain and the horror were the same, but this time, fortunately, circumstances did not permit Him to spread His influence too far out into the world.’
Andawyr looked at his audience as if steeling himself for what he had to say next.
‘It would seem, however, that we were premature in assuming that the destruction of his mortal frame and Derras Ustramel was the destruction of whatever He really is and of His determination to return to this world.’ He waved his arm to indicate Antyr and the other newcomers to the castle. ‘The testimony we’ve received is unequivocal. Somewhere He is whole and struggling to return. Struggling desperately.’ He fidgeted nervously with some papers on the table in front of him. ‘Further signs have come from apparently quite separate matters we at the Cadwanol have been studying. Signs from the time of the Great Searing itself – if not before.’ There was a soft hiss of surprise but Andawyr ignored it. ‘It would appear that many things are being drawn together that should be ever apart. A crisis deep in the nature of existence itself is imminent – a crisis that we can’t properly articulate but which must inevitably affect all of us.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘It may even be that Sumeral Himself is as much a victim of this as we are of His evil.’
‘What!’
The exclamation came from several sources, despite the discipline that was normal at such gatherings. Andawyr made no rebuke. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not making excuses for Him. He’s as wilfully conscious as we are and just as responsible for what He does.’ He fiddled with the papers again, momentarily preoccupied. ‘Given these many different signs, the only conclusion we can come to is that it’s only a matter of time before He is with us again.’ He glanced quickly around the circle. ‘He and those He has taken to be His new Uhriel.’ His hand hovered uncertainly by his side, ready to reach out to deal with any outcry at this revelation. Instead, there was little more than a shuffling silence.
Yatsu spoke into it, softly. ‘These creatures that Vredech and Pinnatte met and which destroyed Gentren’s world are Uhriel, then? He’s found new souls to replace those that were destroyed?’ His manner and emphasis told Andawyr that this was a conclusion that the Goraidin had reached in their own discussions. He made to speak, but it was Gulda who replied.
‘Yes,’ she said starkly. ‘I recognized their ancient language in the din we heard when Vredech and Pinnatte came back from wherever they’d been. I didn’t tell you about it because for those of you who’d known the Uhriel – and for other reasons – I thought it too fearful a prospect to be made known too quickly. I know it’s not our way to withhold information like that and I may have been wrong, but in any event it’s irrelevant now. And it’s to your credit you’ve faced that possibility yourselves.’
‘And these other reasons, Memsa,’ Yatsu pressed, watching her closely. ‘How fearful are they?’
Gulda hesitated for a moment as she returned his gaze. Then she told her listeners what she had told Hawklan and Andawyr as they had stood on the sunlit balcony after Vredech’s and Pinnatte’s disconcerting return from the blue world of the Uhriel. ‘The language they now possess is the language of the Power itself. That they know it means that He has chosen to give them a knowledge of it which far outstrips that of their predecessors.’
‘You mean they’re even more powerful than Oklar and the others?’ Yrain exclaimed, her eyes wide. She was not alone in her reaction.
‘Yes,’ Gulda replied. ‘As far beyond them as they were beyond us.’
‘Gods protect us!’
Gulda tapped her stick on the floor sharply. The sound of it rolled back from the Labyrinth like a marshalling drum-roll.
‘We’re here to talk reality, not pray, girl,’ she snapped, jerking Yrain and several others smartly upright. ‘Sumeral’s renewed existence, His determination to return here, the making of His new lieutenants and the Power they can use, can be taken as fact, my friends. What we’re gathered here for now is to determine what we’re going to do about it.’
The force of her personality spread a silence over the hall that was like a smothering emanation from the Labyrinth itself. When Yatsu spoke again, he seemed to be having to struggle against it. His voice sounded distant and strained.
‘We’ve faced many terrible truths over the years, Memsa, and somehow we’ve been able to prevail. It’s an article of faith with all of us that it’s the safest – the wisest – thing to do. But it needs no great grasp of strategy and tactics to know that if what you’ve just said is true, then nothing will be able to stand against Him. Oklar cut a swathe through Vakloss with little more than a wave of his hand – he smashed buildings and killed hundreds. When the Lords’ army moved against him, the orders uppermost in the minds of everyone there weren’t those for waging the battle but those for scattering and regrouping if there was the least sign of him using the Power against them. If Hawklan’s arrow hadn’t bound him in some way the war would’ve been lost before it started.’
The mention of Hawklan’s name turned many eyes towards the tall black-clad figure sitting next to Andawyr, Gavor perched on his shoulder.
Silence welled into the hall again.
Hawklan replied to Yatsu. ‘It’s not an article of faith, old friend,’ he said. ‘It’s an article of truth, tried and tested more rigorously than any of the Cadwanol’s theorems and theories. It’s the only way for us. And it’s the only way we’ll find an answer to this threat.’
‘But . . .’
‘But yes, we’re all sick at heart at the prospect.’ Hawklan’s voice was suddenly edged with pain and anger. ‘Not to mention sick to the stomach. For all we defeated Him, for all the good that’s come about since His return awakened our three countries, the war hovers over us like an accusing wraith. I doubt there’s anyone who was touched by it who doesn’t remember some part of it every day. But that’s of no consequence, unfortunately. You know the rules, soldier. I heard Yrain spelling them out to Marna only the other day: “When you’re knocked down, get up – or die; your choice.” A simple training adage that applies to everything that’s happening to us now.’ He stood up and his voice became grim. ‘Choosing to live on one’s knees rather than dying on one’s feet is also a choice for each of us when we’re faced with aggression. But if we look at what Sumeral did in the past and what’s happened to Gentren’s world, then it seems the choice He intends to offer us now is to die on our knees or to die on our feet. The Memsa’s reading of affairs – which I agree with – is that, knowing the Guardians are truly gone from this world and having been twice defeated by fighting as one of us, Sumeral has given His Uhriel the task of simply destroying us.’
‘Why should He want to do this?’ Marna asked abruptly, her flushed face fearful.
Hawklan echoed Andawyr. ‘We don’t know. We’ve never known. There are very human qualities in much that He does – hatred, vengefulness, malice, savagery – qualities we can understand – qualities we all possess. Perhaps when we know why we have such traits ourselves we’ll understand why He has them also. Perhaps not. As for His intentions . . .’ He stopped, and once again he was standing on the mist-shrouded causeway that crossed Lake Kedrieth. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to distance himself from this persistent image. ‘The vision He showed me was of worlds of great beauty, worlds where all was perfection, where there wasn’t the least flaw. “Thus shall Ethriss’s folly be remade”, He said.’
There was an unexpected response. Marna curled her unsteady lip disparagingly. ‘He sounds like a spoilt child,’ she snarled.
Hawklan looked at her. ‘Indeed He does,’ he said, with a soft, ironic laugh. ‘Though I
doubt I’d have arrived at that conclusion myself in an age’s thinking. And unfortunately He’s a very large and powerful spoilt child. One, it would seem, more than capable of destroying an entire world.’ He turned again to Yatsu. ‘Which brings us back to your concerns.’
‘All our concerns,’ someone said, to a general murmur of agreement.
Yatsu spoke. ‘From what’s being said, His next Coming will be a conflict of the Power against the Power and He’s preparing to use it to an extent far beyond the ability of the Cadwanol to oppose.’ He tapped the table idly and looked down at his hands before continuing. ‘I long ago accepted that I might well have to die on my feet, if need arose, but there’s a feeling of futility about this which I find . . . distressing . . . to say the least.’
Hawklan looked round at the other Goraidin. Yatsu spoke for all of them and it was no whining plaint. For a moment he contemplated giving voice to rousing words to lift their spirits, but he knew that this would be an insult to them. He could almost hear the Labyrinth throwing such words back to him mockingly. He gave a conceding shrug.
‘Me too,’ he said simply. ‘When I faced Oklar I was like Antyr, Farnor, Vredech, Pinnatte, Thyrn.’ They were sitting together and he indicated each of them as he spoke. ‘I held out Ethriss’s black sword and something within it, or within me, protected me, though to this day I don’t know what it was or how it happened. It’s one of many memories that plague me almost every day and I’ve no desire to face the likes of him again – ever. What’s happened to Gentren’s world is chilling beyond description and anyone who knows what we know can’t feel anything other than fear and a sense of futility.’
He looked around the circle of watching faces, pale and silent.
‘Perhaps, before we go on, it would be advisable to talk about a choice we each have and that we haven’t touched on so far. In fact we must talk about it.’ Hawklan paused thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. ‘Knowing what we know, and in the absence of another, less grim interpretation – which I think is unlikely – each of us must decide whether or not we wish to do anything at all.’
He sat down to a bewildered silence.
‘What do you mean?’ Yatsu stammered.
‘What I said,’ Hawklan replied quietly.
‘Do nothing?’
‘It’s a choice.’
There was a rumble of dissent from the Goraidin and some of the others, but it was far from unanimous. Hawklan addressed Antyr and his companions.
‘Each of you faced a terrible ordeal and discovered an unexpected strength – a frightening strength – in yourself. You came here for help and guidance only to learn that you might be about to face an ordeal far worse – that perhaps you’re living through the last days of the entire world.’ He pointed to the Goraidin. ‘These people are soldiers. Fine soldiers, whose service to others few could equal, but it’s in their bones to fight to the last when no other alternative exists. You, on the other hand, aren’t. If you wish . . .’ He broadened his statement with a wave of his hand to take in everyone there. ‘If any of you wish to walk away from this – to make the most of what time may be left – then do it now. The only regret you need take is ours that we couldn’t help you more.’
There was some uneasy coughing and shifting of chairs, but Antyr spoke almost immediately.
‘We’ve discussed this already, Hawklan – at great length.’ He looked around the hall and smiled nervously. ‘The light that’s shone into places around here seems to make that inevitable. But circumstances, fate, call it what you will, thrust each of us into the darkness and then brought us here. Whatever lives we had are gone and can’t be recalled – indeed, none of us would truly wish them recalled.’ He faltered. ‘We’re all terrified by what we’ve learned since we came here. We wish it would just go away. But we belong here, and this is where we want to be.’
Hawklan lowered his gaze, both humbled and heartened by this declaration. But Antyr had not finished.
‘And you, Hawklan. What choice will you make?’
‘Greatest of my Uhriel.’
Jolted by Antyr’s question, Hawklan’s mind filled abruptly with Sumeral’s words and the vision He had shown him. He cursed its treacherous lure. Who was he that Sumeral should seek to draw him to His side? Old questions flooded through him. How had he come to this time? Or how had Gavor, for that matter – unknowingly bearing some part of the spirit of Ethriss? Fragmented memories of his final, long-past battle were still with him – the remnant of his broken army surrounded – fighting back to back – the last of his companions falling – a hand on his shoulder – a hand he had taken to be Ethriss’s but which he knew now could not have been.
‘That hand was mine, Hawklan,’ Sumeral had told him. ‘Ethriss spared none of his creations. I saw your true worth and I took you to be mine when I should rise again.’
Was he, after all, just another of Sumeral’s creatures? An unwitting pawn in some terrible game?
As he looked at Antyr and his companions, what he had just said to them returned to him. Like them, he – or he and the black sword together – had a quality of which he knew nothing save that it could redirect events and was seemingly beyond his control. Yet was it beyond his control? Consciously it was, beyond any doubt, but perhaps its actions were determined by his other, more deliberate choices. Perhaps it was like fire or water, or the Power itself – neutral, indifferent, capable equally of sustaining or destroying at the choice of the user. Just as Antyr and the others, all improbable heroes, had chosen to stand against an evil, so their antagonists – the blind man, Rannick, Dowinne, Imorren, Vashnar – had chosen to embrace it. And the unknown skills of each had manifested themselves accordingly.
Why hadn’t this simple revelation come to him before? He felt a lightness that he had not realized had been so long gone from him and he smiled to himself as Andawyr’s oft-used remark whispered itself to him: ‘obvious’ is such a dangerous word.
Yet he had abandoned the black sword.
His smile faded as he bowed to Antyr and flicked a thumb towards the Goraidin. ‘I’m with them,’ he said casually. ‘Whether I like it or not – and I don’t – I’m of some importance to Sumeral. I couldn’t walk amongst my friends and neighbours knowing I’d not exhausted every opportunity to protect them, however inadequately.’ He sat back in his chair and stretched. ‘Besides, I feel that Sumeral owes me an accounting.’ There was no strutting bombast in the remark, simply a hint of grim humour. ‘Nevertheless, I’ll speak to each of you individually. We may well not survive what’s to come and some of you have made the wrong decision.’
There was a stir at this but Hawklan raised his hands to indicate that he did not wish to pursue the matter.
‘Which still leaves us with the problem of what we’re going to do,’ Gulda said, noting this signal.
‘Deal with Him before He comes here.’
It was Vredech. He hesitated for a moment as he suddenly became the focus of attention, but his years in the pulpit rescued him and, after a self-conscious cough, he straightened up and took command of his congregation.
‘I am . . . I was . . . a preacher, not a soldier, but when I was struggling with the torments of my old friend, Cassraw, a military word came to me. It made some sense to me then and I think it’s relevant now. The word was “bridgehead” – that first toehold in an enemy’s terrain – that first armoured enclave which allows an army to flood across.’ He laid a hand on Pinnatte’s shoulder. ‘We’ve seen Gentren’s world – unless there are two such, in which case my thoughts are even more urgent. It beggars belief that three . . . people . . . could have made it thus, but I don’t have your experience of the Power and I must accept what you say. However, we watched them searching for what I presume is a Gateway to this world, and they failed. Yengar and the others say they saw something similar as they were returning here with Farnor. That attempt too failed. Powerful these creatures may be, but they’re not all-powerful by any means.’ He was warming
to his subject, his speech becoming more rhetorical, with strong emphasis and telling cadences. ‘And where was their Master as they struggled? Not with them, for sure. For whatever reason, this struggle was theirs and theirs alone, and it defeated them. It would be naïve to imagine that this will remain the case but it’s a weakness, without a doubt.’ He made a sweeping gesture. ‘We mustn’t allow them to gain even the least bridgehead in this world. Whatever peculiar . . . abilities . . . we have between us, we should direct them towards perhaps finding these Gateways ourselves and, if possible, destroying them.’
He ended with a curt nod and to a stunned silence that slowly filled with approving murmurs and hesitant applause.
‘Bravo,’ Yatsu said quietly but appreciatively. He glanced at the other Goraidin. ‘I think we should all have become preachers. We might’ve worked that out for ourselves.’
Hawklan nodded. ‘Your logic’s impeccable, Vredech. Unless anyone’s anything further to add, I suggest we turn our minds now to how to achieve this.’
It proved to be a long and tiring time as everyone strove to find some order in the whirl of ideas that were being put forth. As Gulda had predicted, the ominous presence of the Labyrinth focused the minds of all there as, from time to time, in response to some outcry or sudden silence, sounds emerged from it like those of a dark and powerful creature twitching in its dreams.
Eventually fatigue began to take its toll and towards the middle of the afternoon, after a brief consultation with Gulda and a brisk allotting of tasks, Andawyr dismissed the gathering. If such a word could be used under such circumstances, it had been good, he told them. ‘Sleep on what we’ve done; we’ll talk again tomorrow.’
During the rest of the day, Hawklan did as he had promised and spoke to everyone individually. The following morning, two people were leaving.