by Roger Taylor
The movement enabled Yatsu to take his eyes off the officer and look around the courtyard. He could see no signs of ambush but his sense of danger was growing by the second. Somewhere a trap was closing, and this officer was playing for time.
As if in confirmation of this the officer waited very deliberately for the horses to quieten down, eyeing Yatsu coldly all the time. A horse jostled Yatsu and as its rider made soothing noises to quieten it Yatsu heard a soft whisper in the Battle Language. ‘They’ve recognized the horses.’
That had always been a risk. They had had to use the horses from the ambushed patrol because the Mathidrin horses were from the north of Fyorlund and were of a build and colour markedly different from local animals. Now some sharp eye had spotted a horse last seen going out on long patrol. Whatever this officer had set in motion, time was against them. Yatsu reached into a belt pouch with his left hand.
‘Direct command, sir. I’ve the orders here.’
Even as his hand left the pouch and swung across him to release his knife in a back-handed flick towards the throat of the watching officer, a flash of realization passed between the two of them. Ah, Yatsu thought, Mathidrin don’t keep orders in that pouch do they? And you spotted it soon enough to avoid my knife – nearly.
The officer’s supercilious expression vanished, not into fear, but into resolution as, with unexpected speed, he twisted to one side to avoid the blade which just caught the side of his neck. Yatsu registered the man’s reaction and the speed of his responses. We must find out more about these men, he thought, as he drove his horse forward powerfully.
The Lords and the Goraidin followed his move with barely any delay and, crouching low over their horses, they charged towards the nearest gate. As they rode, Yatsu turned to check the disarray back in the entrance to the Westerclave. As he did so, he saw several figures running forward.
‘Archers,’ he shouted. ‘Spread out – weave – and converge on the gate. Close round the Lords as we go through.’
Scarcely had he finished when an arrow narrowly missed his head. The group split up, making themselves into smaller, fast-moving targets, and forcing the Mathidrin archers to concentrate on rate of fire rather than accuracy. The first casualty was Arinndier who, with a cry, slumped forward over his horse’s neck with an arrow in his back. Next, one of the horses went down throwing its rider heavily on to the paved courtyard. Eldric seized the bridle of Arinndier’s horse, while one of the Goraidin swung low out of his saddle and unceremoniously swept up his dazed companion and threw him across his horse’s neck. Then the group came together raggedly for its final dash through the gate, arrows clattering about them.
The officer had obviously sent for the archers as some vague precautionary measure, as the gate still stood open to allow the speedy passage of messengers. An attempt was being made to close it now but the few guards there were milling around in mounting confusion as the riders drew nearer. Their confusion was not helped by the arrows falling among them.
Unused to horses in combat, the Mathidrin’s confusion turned rapidly to alarm and then to panic and flight as the group reached them and thundered into the short passage of the gateway, swords glinting through the gloom, and war cries mingling with the deafening clatter of the horses’ hooves. Two of the guards were downed and trampled underfoot and those who tried to assail the riders from the side were cut down ruthlessly.
Then, like a sudden summer squall, the riders were gone, swallowed up in the swirling murk.
Minutes later, Yatsu slowed the group down to a walk. ‘We’ll be less conspicuous walking than galloping now,’ he said. ‘This . . . fog . . . is unpleasant, but at least it’s working to our advantage.’
Eldric and the Lords were looking round in bewilderment at the pervasive evil-smelling gloom, but Eldric confined his questions to the important matters of the moment.
‘Where are you taking us, Yatsu?’ he asked anxiously. ‘The Lord Arinndier’s wounded.’
Arinndier was slumped across his horse’s neck and though conscious he was barely maintaining his grip on the animal. Yatsu looked at him and nodded thoughtfully. ‘Help him keep his seat, Lord,’ he said to Eldric, then he cast an inquiring glance back to the rider who had picked up the fallen Goraidin. ‘How’s Dacu?’ he asked.
‘Shoulder’s broken I think, Commander,’ came the answer.
‘We’ve been lucky to get off so lightly,’ said Yatsu, returning to Eldric.
‘We’ve been lucky to get away at all, Goraidin. Your planning left a little to be desired didn’t it?’ Eldric had no sooner spoken than he pulled an angry face at himself for having allowed his anxiety to express itself as such ingratitude.
Yatsu caught the look of repentance in the old Lord’s eye and his own dark look softened. After all, he thought, they’d been quite impressive, those four.
‘Yes, Lord,’ he replied. ‘But circumstances left us no alternative. Dan-Tor’s wreaking havoc, and repression is growing daily. He’s disbanded the High Guards now. We had to do something and information’s not easy come by. The Mathidrin have got as many zealots as thugs in their ranks and they all live in fear of one another. They’re not as easily corrupted as you’d imagine.’
The party turned into a wider street. It was illuminated by globes which had lit automatically when the light faded. Their garish light shone eerily through the haze and, because several of them had been broken, the street was littered with patches of light, like wet stepping stones catching the sunlight. Acrid fumes from the broken globes added to the already foul atmosphere. A great many people were running about, and the street rang with the sounds of voices raised in both anger and fear.
Eldric thought he saw bodies lying in the shadows but everything was too indistinct. In spite of himself, he spoke out. ‘What’s happened, Yatsu? What in Ethriss’s name’s happened?’ Yatsu, however, was looking worried and was glancing round frequently.
Eldric let his question lie. ‘Do you think we’re being followed?’ he said.
Yatsu shook his head. ‘No, Lord, but these uniforms will have us in trouble soon unless we’re lucky. Damn!’
The oath was provoked by the sight of a crowd gathered at the end of the street. Yatsu reined his horse back and listened. ‘Quickly. This way,’ he said, and, turning sharply, he cantered off down a narrow alleyway. The others followed. A roar greeted their manoeuvre and the crowd started up the street towards them. Slowly at first, then running. However, by the time the crowd reached the alleyway, the riders were well out of the way, though they could hear the abuse that followed them and the sounds of missiles falling short and rattling along the paved way.
‘What’s happening?’ Eldric demanded of Yatsu again.
‘Later, Lord – please,’ replied the Goraidin. ‘When we’re in a safer place. Accountings will be made, but right now we’re in danger from both sides.’
‘Sides?’ Eldric muttered to himself, but he did not pursue his questioning.
‘Mind your heads,’ Yatsu called out as he led his horse under a low arch into an even narrower alley. ‘We’re nearly there now.’
The alley was strangely quiet, all the distant sounds of the City being blocked out by the tall buildings between which it was squeezed. When the last horse had clattered through the echoing arch, the hoofbeats became flat and attenuated, and such talking as went on dropped into whispers.
Yatsu began to feel relieved. The day had had consequences far beyond his calculation and who knew what more would follow? Would he indeed be able to face an accounting? But at least the Lords were free. He breathed out and patted his horse’s neck gently.
As he looked up, two figures appeared as if from nowhere out of the shade within shade that lined the narrow alley. He started. Why hadn’t he seen them? Where had they been hiding? He cursed himself for letting his attention drift so near to their goal. Some old memory flitted uneasily in his mind.
One of the figures lifted his hand and, in a voice well used to command,
said, ‘Enough, Mathidrin, enough.’
Chapter 36
Hawklan stared up at the rider facing him. The man was nervous, but he had a calm about him which he had not seen before in any of the Mathidrin. It was a relaxed confidence that reminded him of Tel-Mindor. Still, these men were Mathidrin and enough was enough.
‘We’ve seen some of the things you’ve done this day, Mathidrin, and been pursued through these streets like animals for our pains,’ he said. ‘We’re strangers here from another country, simply seeking food and shelter from this storm you’ve stirred up. If you could help us, we’d be grateful. If you pass by us peacefully, we’ll offer you no hindrance. But,’ he slapped his sword hilt purposely, ‘if you seek to harm us as your fellows have, then you’ll die.’ He felt Isloman’s sidelong glance. ‘I’ve used the flat of my blade too much today on people who should have felt its edge.’
Yatsu listened to this speech anxiously, but kept his face as bland as he could manage. Instinctively he tried to assess the danger from these two men. A faint memory stirred as he looked at the hefty one, standing there like a rock outcrop and gently swinging that strange club. Obviously strong and powerful and, Yatsu felt, perhaps faster than his size might indicate. Not a man to be tackled lightly, least of all in a narrow alleyway. But the other one, the speaker, was different. He offered no gratuitous menace in either his tone or his manner, but Yatsu felt fear rising in him such as he had never known and for an instant he felt as though he were not really there, but looking through someone else’s eyes. Shock, he noted uneasily. Trained to listen to his instincts where reason was inadequate, they were unequivocal in their message. To assail this man would be to die.
Isloman swung his club in a lazy circle and smacked it into the palm of his hand. ‘My friend’s too good-natured,’ he said. ‘After what I’ve seen today, I’m ready to kill you no matter what you do, and then discuss it with your Lord Dan-Tor in like manner.’
Hawklan laid a restraining hand on his arm.
Oddly, the overt threat and Hawklan’s reaction made Yatsu feel easier. It had substance. It was something to work on. He smiled. ‘Orthlundyn aren’t you? By your speech. You’ve picked a bad time for visiting our country.’ There was much he would have liked to ask of these men, but time was against them. ‘We mean you no harm. In fact, I’d not have seen you if you hadn’t moved. We’re not what we seem, Orthlundyn, but we are in a hurry, and we have two sick men in need of urgent help. Will you allow us to pass?’
Hawklan was uncertain. The rider’s manner, as well as his posture, was decidedly unlike any of the Mathidrin they had encountered so far. ‘Sick, you say?’ he queried.
This time it was Isloman’s hand that did the restraining.
‘Take care,’ he said. ‘There’s something odd about this lot.’
Eldric, unable to bring his horse by the side of Yatsu in the narrow alley, dismounted and came forward. Hawklan watched him without expression.
‘Stranger,’ said Eldric, ‘I give you my word as a Lord of Fyorlund that we mean you no harm. But our business is urgent, and we do have two wounded men who need immediate attention. Please let us pass.’
Hawklan glanced at Isloman. The Carver was blunt. ‘What’s a Lord doing riding with these . . . cockroaches?’ he demanded.
Arinndier groaned softly. Eldric looked back at his friend and then at Yatsu. Yatsu’s hands flickered casually – we’ll charge through if necessary, but it’ll be dangerous, they said.
‘Very,’ said Isloman stepping forward menacingly, making a hand signal of his own, ‘and you’ll be the first to go if you do.’
Yatsu started as if he had been stung. An Orthlundyn understanding their hand language?
Eldric shook his head. ‘I think you, too, are not what you seem. I’ll risk the truth with you. I’m the Lord Eldric and with me are the Lords Arinndier, Darek and Hreldar. These riders are not Mathidrin, but High Guards in disguise. They’ve rescued us from Dan-Tor’s custody but the Lord Arinndier and one of their number have been hurt. That’s information enough for you to collect a sizeable reward from the Lord Dan-Tor if you wish.’
There was a long, tense silence, during which Isloman looked at Eldric intently. Then he nodded slowly and with great deliberation placed his club back in its belt strap.
‘Not quite the truth, Lord,’ he said. ‘These men aren’t just High Guards, they’re Goraidin or I’m a wood carver. But that’s for later. It’s enough we needn’t be enemies at the moment. We need help ourselves. Have you a place of safety anywhere in this nightmare?’
This time it was Eldric who was taken aback by Isloman’s unexpected knowledge, but he recovered quickly. ‘Follow us,’ he said decisively and turned to return to his horse.
‘There’s no need to mount, Lord,’ said Yatsu. ‘We’re only paces away. Come.’
Despite Eldric’s acceptance, all the Goraidin were watching Hawklan and Isloman carefully as the two men stepped back and faded into the shade to allow them to pass.
* * * *
‘You’re a considerable healer, Hawklan,’ said Arinndier weakly. Hawklan did not reply, but laid a hand gently over Arinndier’s eyes. Standing up, he turned to Eldric who was standing by the window looking out into the globe-lit murk and scowling. ‘He’ll sleep for a little while now,’ he said. ‘He was very lucky.’
Eldric did not hear him. Thoughts were tumbling through his mind, defying his every effort to stem their flow and introduce some order. The Goraidin fulfilling their ancient role, dressed as the enemy and venturing into the heart of their territory; the Queen appearing from nowhere, like the Muster itself, eyes ablaze and wielding a dagger; Arinndier wounded; the City as he had never known it, a nightmare of choking fumes, mayhem and chaos. Then these two strangers – Orthlundyn, of all things – an odd pair to say the least. Hawklan exuding an awesome presence, first like a dark presager of death in that gloomy alley and then a giver of life. And Isloman, who knew the hand language and who knew of the Goraidin. He closed his eyes irritably. A hand touched his shoulder, gently and temporarily stilling the turmoil. Turning, he found himself looking into Hawklan’s face.
‘Lord Eldric,’ Hawklan said quietly, ‘from what I can gather, a great deal has happened, very quickly. You and your friends must rest.’
Eldric waved his hand dismissively. ‘No . . . Hawklan. You don’t understand. We must get to our estates as soon as possible. Find out what’s happened to our families, our High Guards, our lands . . . everything.’
Hawklan raised a finger for silence. ‘Yatsu tells me his plans for moving you from the City have proved to be impractical at the moment. The disruption in the streets is far worse than they envisaged. He feels it’s too dangerous for you to go out.’ Eldric made to interrupt, but Hawklan was implacable. ‘I’m a stranger here, Lord Eldric, and I know nothing of your City or your people, but I do know the streets are dangerous, and I think it’d be unwise to ignore the advice of one of your Goraidin, don’t you?’
Eldric fidgeted with his beard for a moment, and Hawklan’s tone became a little more conciliatory. ‘Yatsu says this house is safe, and Isloman and I will make two useful extra defenders if the need arises.’
But Eldric’s turmoil merely flowed into this softening by his opponent. ‘No, no,’ he burst out. ‘This is no time for rest. We can fight our way out of the City if necessary.’
Hawklan stood up very straight. ‘You’ll rest,’ he said, in a tone that Eldric had not heard for many, many years. ‘And your friends will rest. You’re no use to yourself, to your families, to the country, anything, while you’re in this state. When you’ve rested we’ll talk. Answer all the questions we have of one another, and then decide what to do. That’s the way of your Geadrol, isn’t it?’
Eldric clenched his fist and his jaw. Hawklan raised an eyebrow. ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘you were just prepared to ignore the advice of your Goraidin. Now you’d offer me violence? Is that the act of a wise leader or an exhausted man?’ He paused, l
ocking Eldric’s gaze with his own. ‘But perhaps there’s a flaw in my logic. I’m not used to your ways.’
It was enough. Eldric surrendered totally though with a commendable degree of dignity, and soon Hawklan had placed the three Lords into a deep and restful sleep. He smiled as he watched the strain ease from their faces, then he went over to the window, as if to continue the vigil that Eldric had abandoned.
* * * *
After leaving Hawklan at the house to attend to the wounded men, Yatsu and the others had taken the horses to a nearby stable and bedded them down. Yatsu had then made a brief excursion alone into the nearby streets to try to form some impression of the mayhem that had followed the diversionary riot he and his fellows had planned. As he returned to the house, he felt he was being observed, and once or twice thought he heard someone coughing nearby. Above him? You’re getting old and tired, he thought.
Closing the door, he leaned back against it, took off the black Mathidrin helmet and puffed out his cheeks in some relief. Almost immediately, his nose sensed a savoury trail and he followed it down a short red-flagged passage towards a lighted doorway. It opened on to a small room lit by the thoughtful glow of an old torch. His men were sitting round a narrow table eating hungrily and talking noisily, while the man and the wife of the house busied around them, constantly filling their bowls and plates. The smallness of the room made it seem very full.
‘This’ll get you started,’ the woman was saying. ‘Big lads like you should eat plenty. Keep your strength up.’
Yatsu smiled. ‘Anything for a little lad then, mother?’ he said.
She bustled him to a seat at the end of the table and thrust a large bowl in front of him. ‘Less of the mother,’ she said with a playful slap. ‘You’re no sapling yourself, young Yatsu. Just put yourself outside that.’