The Fall of Fyorlund

by Roger Taylor

  * * * *

  Later, the party rested some way outside the City so that Hawklan could tend to Arinndier and Dacu. Everyone sat motionless and silent in the starry darkness. Eldric’s decision dominated all their thoughts, but no one spoke of it. Time enough later.

  Hawklan stood leaning against a tree looking back at the City. Streaked with the bright lights of the globes lining its streets, it looked like some great phosphorescent animal that at any time might waken and come seeking them in the night.

  Free now of the immediate dangers of the last few days he felt again the strange unease he had noticed when he first approached Vakloss. It was like a low rumbling note deep within him. What was this place when I was last here? he asked himself. ‘You’ll ruin your shadow vision staring at those lights.’ Isloman’s voice interrupted his reverie.

  Hawklan nodded. ‘I’d not have thought it possible that anyone could use light so destructively,’ he said.

  ‘Consider yourself fortunate to be as shadow blind as you are rock-blind, Hawklan,’ Isloman replied, his voice strangely solemn. ‘Those lights of Dan-Tor’s are the stuff of nightmares. More corrupt by far than anything he brought to Pedhavin. He has some terrible, fascinating knowledge.’

  Hawklan looked at his friend. ‘Fascinating? Take care, Carver,’ he said.

  Isloman nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Dan-Tor’s a man of deep and subtle traps. I wonder how many good men have unwrapped his evil, layer by layer, only to be trapped at its heart by those very wrappings?’

  ‘Does it frighten you?’ Hawklan asked.

  ‘A little,’ said Isloman after a moment’s pause. Then, ‘No. It frightens me a lot. He’s powerful beyond my understanding, old friend. I think he could destroy us with the blink of an eye if he so wished. Still, perhaps I’ve known that ever since we left the village. It doesn’t alter the fact that we have to face him and all he offers. If we don’t, we’ll die with him at our backs.’

  Hawklan laid his hand on Isloman’s shoulder and turned away from the City to rest his eyes in the deep purple distance.

  ‘Mount up, gentlemen.’ Yatsu’s soft order came out of the darkness. ‘We’ve some hard riding ahead.’

  Chapter 42

  On the day appointed for Jaldaric’s execution, the very elements themselves seemed to reflect the new turmoil within the City. An unseasonable wind whipped and buffeted the streets, flapping through the market stalls, blowing petals from the innumerable floral displays that still decorated the colourful houses, and shaking the milling crowds.

  Only in the darkest corners of the City did there linger any of the stench that had emanated from the funeral pyre of Dan-Tor’s workshops.

  Overhead, tattered streams of clouds blew relentlessly from the north as if pursued by some demon, though higher still, the sky was blue and calm and the sun shone warm.

  The crowds, too, were unusual: restless and noisy, roaming the streets, then becoming quiet and patient, hovering expectantly near the Palace. They lacked the busy purposefulness of the normal City traffic.

  Dan-Tor looked out over the City and scowled as he watched the shadows of the clouds scrambling over the rooftops below. Their innocent movement and the strange, quixotic behaviour of the crowds disturbed him.

  Standing behind him in the comparative shade of the centre of the room were Urssain and Dilrap. Urssain watched Dan-Tor carefully. Emotion on the man’s face was a rarity. I must learn to read him, he thought, not for the first time. Urssain’s ambition and his fear of Dan-Tor were like badly matched horses in a chariot. First one would pull ahead and then the other. His ride was always uneasy.

  ‘Tell me again,’ said Dan-Tor without turning round.

  ‘The rumour came in from all over the City,’ Urssain said. ‘Eldric has ordered the three Lords and their rescuers to return to their estates and begin organizing the High Guards against you.’

  ‘Against me?’ Dan-Tor said. ‘Not the King?’

  ‘Against you, Lord . . . Ffyrst,’ Urssain confirmed. ‘And he announced that he’d come to the Palace today to demand a public Accounting of you as his accuser.’

  ‘And nothing else?’

  ‘No, Ffyrst. It was always the same story.’

  ‘Did you succeed in following this rumour back to its source, Commander?’

  Urssain shifted uneasily. ‘No, Ffyrst. It proved to be rather . . .’

  Dan-Tor turned slightly and fixed him with a sidelong gaze.

  ‘It was impossible, Ffyrst,’ Urssain said defensively. ‘We interrogated a few people, but the trail invariably led back to some public gathering place of one kind or another. It was obviously started in several places at once.’

  ‘And what do you deduce from this, Commander?’ Dan-Tor turned round, his face bright with an open smile. Urssain’s stomach went leaden. He had learned enough of Dan-Tor to know that this smile meant his Master was at his most devious. The inviting smile was like soft grass covering an iron-toothed trap. He had learned also that this was no time to try intellectual games with him. Let the fear dominate. Simple honesty was the best protection.

  ‘Very little, Ffyrst,’ he said. ‘Except that he still has many loyal friends in the City. This rumour could be to cover his escape from the City, or it could be to mislead us into thinking he’s left the City when he’s planning another assault on the Palace to rescue his son, or . . .’

  Dan-Tor raised his hand. ‘Commander,’ he said. ‘Palace life is making you too devious. I’ll tell you what all this is.’ He waved his hand towards the window. ‘It’s not a rumour. It’s a simple announcement. Lord Eldric’s torn between his country and his family, so he’s left the country to his friends and is hoping to save his son by this futile gesture. It’s a solution to his dilemma that I had thought probable, though I hadn’t anticipated his flair for theatre. I presume he’s hoping to avoid clandestine arrest by making himself so visible to so many people.’

  The smile again.

  ‘His hopes may be fulfilled, Ffyrst,’ Urssain said, cowering inwardly. Dan-Tor’s head tilted like a curious schoolgirl’s.

  Urssain’s mouth dried. ‘The crowd’s in a strange mood,’ he continued. ‘Expectant, uncertain. In my opinion it would be dangerous to provoke them needlessly.’

  Silence.

  ‘They’re talking about the Law, and the Accounting. Everyone’s become a juror. All the fear we’ve instilled into them over the months seems to have evaporated. At least for now.’ He hesitated. ‘The threat to Jaldaric pushed many of the waverers their way. If we do something imprudent such as seizing Eldric before he speaks we could bring the whole City down on us.’

  The white smile vanished and Dan-Tor turned again to the window. Urssain released the muscles he had been holding tense and breathed out carefully. He kept his eyes fixed on the lank, motionless silhouette, vertical against the horizontal clouds streaming past in the sky beyond.

  ‘Are you saying, Commander, that you’d be unable to control this civilian rabble?’ said the silhouette eventually.

  ‘If those crowds turn against us, united? Yes. Quite unable. Besides there may be disaffected High Guards amongst them waiting to take advantage of any violence that breaks out.’

  ‘Dilrap?’

  Dilrap hitched up his robe on to his shoulders and twitched back a sleeve. ‘I fear that Commander Urssain’s right, Ffyrst,’ he said. ‘The Fyordyn are a legalistic people. They’ll dismiss rumour and conjecture once appeal has been made to the Law or the Geadrol. It’s an old habit. Those people down there will expect to hear cases argued, especially the way Lord Eldric’s gone about it. It’s like a piece of folklore come true. A shrewd act. There’ll be trouble beyond doubt if he’s obstructed in any way.’

  He walked over to the window and joined Dan-Tor in his surveillance of the City. ‘If Eldric appears and demands an Accounting, then we’ve a serious problem. He’s perfectly entitled to do so under the Law and, if he names you personally, then Ffyrst or no, you must reply
.’

  ‘Must?’ There was an evil edge to Dan-Tor’s voice.

  Dilrap flinched, but stood his ground. ‘Must, Ffyrst, with all those people there. We can dispense with legal niceties here and there, but not the overall form of the Law. It’s too well-known and respected for all the recent changes. If you don’t answer, you’ll be judged guilty of malicious accusation . . .’

  ‘And?’ Dan-Tor picked up the hesitation.

  Dilrap spoke more softly. ‘I fear the resentment that’s accumulated since the suspension of the Geadrol will manifest itself in considerable violence.’

  ‘Damn the Law,’ said Dan-Tor contemptuously.

  Dilrap made a gesture of agreement. ‘But the Law’s deep in every Fyordyn, Ffyrst. Every child knows the adage “Who destroys the Law destroys his sword and shield”. For all the . . . simplification . . . that your new office allows, it would be unwise to do anything that can’t be given at least a veneer of justification within the Law. And with respect, Ffyrst,’ he lowered his voice, ‘Commander Urssain’s correct. The threat to Jaldaric was ill-judged.’

  Dan-Tor looked down at Dilrap. The man was still an irritation, but he’d been undeniably useful over the months. Now he seemed to be developing a reassuring self-interest; ambition even. He was harder to fathom than Urssain but he could still be useful. An interesting and unexpected development. The Secretary twitched under the gaze but kept his eyes fixed on the shifting crowds below.

  ‘So your advice is?’ Dan-Tor asked.

  Dilrap turned to Urssain. ‘Can you find him and seize him quietly?’ he asked.

  Urssain shook his head. ‘Not without time and a great deal of good luck,’ he said.

  Dilrap turned back to Dan-Tor. ‘There’s your answer, Ffyrst. You don’t need my advice. If Eldric appears, you must meet him in debate and defeat him. It would be useful, however, if you announced that Jaldaric’s sentence is being reviewed. That will make the crowd a little less partisan.’

  ‘You say must, again, Secretary,’ said Dan-Tor quietly but angrily, a red fire flashing momentarily in his eyes.

  Dilrap staggered back as if he has been struck. Steadying himself against the chair he had backed into, he gasped for breath, then frantically and needlessly adjusting his robe he stepped to the window again. ‘It’s not I who say must, Ffyrst,’ he said, unashamedly fearful. ‘It’s they who say it.’ And he prodded a desperate finger down towards the throngs choking the streets below. ‘If Eldric appears and you assail him by force, then they – those people – in that mood will bring us all down. With or without the help of High Guards.’

  Bring us down, Dan-Tor noted, looking at the quaking figure in front of him, still desperately trying to advise him in spite of his mortal terror. Slowly he turned his gaze back to the window. ‘What of the Orthlundyn, Urssain. The man Hawklan?’

  ‘The same rumour says he left with the others, tending their sick,’ replied Urssain.

  Ah, Hawklan, Dan-Tor thought, I’d not expected to catch you today, but I continue to learn about you. You’re an arrogant player to give me such a piece as Eldric, albeit I have to cut my way through this farce. You attack too recklessly, far too recklessly.

  However, came a cautionary thought, I must not be lured into the same folly.

  He nodded slowly. ‘Your advice is sound, gentlemen. We mustn’t lose what we’ve so carefully gained for want of a little more patience, must we? When Eldric appears, I’ll confront him. It’ll be interesting to see how he defends the riots his men started, and his links with the Orthlundyn. Stay near, Dilrap. Your agile knowledge of the Law could prove useful.’

  Dilrap bowed.

  ‘In the meantime, Urssain. If your men happen upon Eldric and can take him discreetly – very discreetly – do so. It’ll save complications. But if they encounter him on his way here, publicly, they’re to escort him with every courtesy. If we have to play this farce, and it seems we have, then that will doubtless make a favourable impression on the . . .’ He waved a dismissive hand towards the crowds. ‘. . . on the jury.’

  * * * *

  The sun was high in the sky and the streaming clouds white and triumphant as they surged overhead in the strengthening wind, when a perceptible change was noted in the crowds thronging the City streets.

  It became apparent first to curious observers high in the Palace towers, and the bustle in the streets was reflected by a bustle in the Palace corridors as the news hissed rapidly from room to room. Soon all the windows and balconies were filled with excited faces and the battlements themselves began to fill with servants and officials jostling for position between the rigid Mathidrin Guard.

  Seeing the activity in the Palace, the crowds by the gate received the message sooner than did those who were much nearer to the approaching Eldric and the atmosphere became almost unbearably tense. Not for nothing was Eldric one of the most loved and respected Lords of the Geadrol. He had a natural gift of leadership, and years of experience had honed and hardened it into a formidable weapon which he could use with very little effort. But what planted him deep in the hearts of the people was his honest open nature. He had asked only two things of Astrom and his neighbours. Shelter, until he could ride through the City to the Palace, and their help in spreading the truth.

  When Yatsu and the others had said their uneasy farewells, he had spoken to the gathered crowd. ‘Go to as many of your friends as you safely can, and tell them everything you’ve heard this evening. Tell them it’s my wish that they in turn tell as many as they can of what’s happened.’

  Astrom looked alarmed. ‘Everything, Lord? What you’ve ordered the other Lords to do? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Astrom,’ Eldric replied. ‘I can account for the truth to the people and accept their verdict. Let Dan-Tor weave his web of lies. It’ll bind him soon enough, and I’ve no desire to be caught out in some petty deceit that will taint my whole story.’ He took Astrom’s arm. ‘Besides, this . . . gossiping . . . may be dangerous for you. If you’re questioned by these Mathidrin, you’ll have nothing to hide from them. Tell them the truth. Hide nothing. And tell them it’s my specific order that you should do so.’

  It had been a wise judgement, he thought now, as he walked his horse slowly through the quiet crowds. It was the most useful thing that Astrom and his enthusiastic friends could have done, and it was the best protection he could have given them. The truth had added a quality to the consequent rumours that had cut through the murky innuendoes being spread routinely by Dan-Tor’s aides.

  He had to admit to no small pride when he saw the crowds waiting for him, but he knew it for the treacherous bloom it was. He had spoken long and earnestly to Astrom’s wife when her husband was out spreading his tale, and she had confirmed and amplified all that the Goraidin had told him of the events that had occurred since his arrest. It had been a sad and sobering experience.

  Be careful, he reminded himself. You know you’re innocent, but these people have been ravaged in many ways since you last walked among them. They’ll need to have the obvious proved to them. And looking into the faces around him, he felt the responsibility of his position more keenly than for many years. Yes, he thought, I’ve failed. We’ve all failed; we Lords of the Geadrol. We lowered a guard which was not for our protection, but yours. We didn’t maintain our vigilance, and it’s you who suffer the most as a result. Perhaps we can start rooting out the evil that our negligence had allowed to seed here.

  Quite suddenly he realized his pulse was racing. It puzzled him at first. His ride through the crowd was leisurely, and the crowd’s mood was full of friendly welcome. There was nothing to excite or alarm him. Then an old memory returned to him and he identified the sensation. Battle fever, you old fool, he thought. Many a time he’d ridden through his High Guards before doing battle against the Morlider willing them to take that fear and weld it into anger. An old lesson re-learned. He smiled to himself and several people in the crowd cheered.

  But there was a darker quality
to his thoughts that eluded him for some while. He recognized it only as he passed by The Warrior, a statue of an armed man leaning exhausted on his battered shield, a hacked and blunted sword in his hand. It was a haunting sight, almost certainly the work of some ancient Orthlundyn carver. Its original purpose was unknown, but it had been rededicated to the memory of those men who died in the Morlider War. As Eldric drew near, he turned to face it and bowed, as was the tradition. When he looked up he found he was staring directly into the statue’s eyes. A trick of the light, he thought as he turned away from what he had seen, but the sight had chilled him. The ancient stone eyes were alive with torment and doubt, with unresolved conflict. Then he recognized the unfamiliar shape in his own thoughts. The dark figure shepherding his pride and battle fever was vengeance, the spirit that tapped deep into the ancient darkness of the mind and bound both madness and sanity with chains of self-justification.

  Laying in ambush for me were you? he thought. I recognize you, you old fiend. I’ve seen too many good men go down to your blandishments. Well, you may watch and take what relish you can, but you’ll not guide me further.

  Then, as if echoing his inner declaration, the sun blazed out from behind the cloud that had hidden it for several minutes, and bright warm light flooded over the crowd. On an impulse, Eldric reined in his horse and gazed around at the crowd.

  ‘My friends,’ he shouted. ‘I thank you for your welcome. Many things have happened of late that shouldn’t have happened. I’m going to the Palace to seek an Accounting of the Lord Dan-Tor. Your presence would honour us both. I beg of you, attend on us. I’m in need of your verdict and your judgement.’

  * * * *

  ‘They’re cheering,’ said Urssain, turning to look at the seated figure of Dan-Tor. ‘He’s stopped to make a speech. We could have an angry crowd on our hands when he arrives.’