by Roger Taylor
He put his hand to his head. He knew he was too tired from his relentless journey to think clearly. But these were Eldric’s close friends. They would advise him. He walked over to them and saluted. ‘Lords. Ordan Fainson. Commander of the Lord Evison’s High Guard. May I speak?’
Arinndier returned his salute without rising, and motioned him to sit down.
Ordan told his tale quickly and simply and the Lords listened intently and without interruption, though Hawklan could feel their mounting alarm. At the end, Ordan took the bundle from his tunic and gave it to Arinndier without comment.
Hawklan looked at the figure resting on the bloodstained kerchief. It meant nothing to him but, glancing around, he saw it meant a great deal to the Fyordyn.
Hreldar’s face had become harder. The face of a man confirming and confronting his worst fears. Darek’s face was torn between belief and doubt, while Arinndier simply scowled and shifted his injured shoulder. The movement was unnecessary and painful and Hawklan watched him closely, waiting for him to emerge from behind the shield of self-inflicted pain that he found more acceptable than the truth of what he was looking at. When he did so, his face was contorted with anger.
‘Commander, are you insane?’ he shouted. ‘You know what this is?’
Ordan bridled a little but stood his ground. ‘Yes, Lord,’ he replied. ‘I know exactly what it is. It’s my Lord’s message to the Lord Eldric, sent to ask for help in extremity.’
Arinndier muttered to himself.
‘What does it mean?’ ventured Hawklan.
Darek started a little and then turned to him. His face was pale and his manner uneasy. He looked faintly embarrassed as he spoke. ‘It’s the fourth figure from a Festival Shrine. The figure of Ethriss.’ He seemed reluctant to continue. ‘It should never be visible. The appearance of the fourth figure is a portent of the Second Coming of . . . Sumeral.’
‘Madness,’ muttered Arinndier, nursing his injured shoulder again. ‘Evison’s stirring up trouble because the King declared him a rebel.’ But his tone carried no conviction.
‘Nonsense,’ Darek said impatiently. ‘Evison’s been badly treated by the King, but he’s neither rebel nor troublemaker. I’ll ask you to recall our discussion before we went to meet the King.’ He gave a soft mirthless laugh. ‘Our last night of innocence.’
Arinndier blustered. ‘Eldric was unwell. I formalized things to avoid embarrassing him.’
‘No,’ said Darek. ‘He was perfectly well and perfectly rational and he said nothing that wasn’t fit for Gathering. You’ll perhaps recall also that we agreed first face proof for what he submitted.’ He became heated. ‘Everything that’s happened since has been like a waking nightmare. That first face proof has been enhanced with time and you know it.’
Arinndier turned his face away angrily with a contemptuous oath.
‘Enough,’ said Darek coldly. ‘Have you been so long away from the Geadrol, Lord, that you forget its ways so totally? I’ll put your indiscipline down to your wound and your fatigue.’
Arinndier stepped towards him, eyes blazing.
Darek’s jaw tightened angrily and snatching the figure from his friend he held it up close to his face. ‘In Ethriss’s name, Arin, think. You know Evison. He’s got even less imagination than Eldric. Do you think he’d have done this for no reason?’
Under the impact of Darek’s uncharacteristic passion, the resentment and anger abruptly drained out of Arinndier like water from a shattered bowl. He bowed his head. Sympathy replaced Darek’s anger.
Hawklan took Arinndier’s arm, and looked round at the anguished Lords and the Goraidin, standing bewildered at this outburst.
‘Lords,’ he said. ‘Isloman and I are here because we believe this, too. Sumeral is risen again, and Dan-Tor is His agent. He’ll unleash His corruption on the whole world if we don’t oppose him. Even now, this very division among you here is a small victory for Him.’ Before he could be questioned, he splashed practicalities in their faces. ‘But our immediate problems are simpler,’ he said. ‘You have a known foe. You must obey Lord Eldric’s orders and continue to his estate as quickly as possible and prepare to face Dan-Tor.’ He took the figure gently from Darek and looked at it closely. It was beautifully and intricately carved. Its slightly raised right arm seemed to point to yet another new direction for him.
‘Isloman and I will return with Commander Ordan to find out what happened to Lord Evison to prompt him to send this . . . ancient . . . message. We’ll meet you at Lord Eldric’s stronghold as soon as we’re able.’
Chapter 44
At the Palace gate, Eldric paused to compose himself. The wind tugged at his red cloak and, looking down at his shadow, he congratulated himself on the armour he had chosen from the many that Astrom and his friends had offered him. It would impress the crowd with its classical imagery and it would enable him to defend himself very effectively if Dan-Tor chose to offer violence.
Slowly, he unhooked a large horn from the horse’s saddle and with half an eye on a passing cloud, he blew a great blast on it just as the sunlight flooded into the square. The effect was electric. When the echoes died away, the whole crowd stood expectant, motionless and silent, awaiting Dan-Tor’s response. The challenge had been issued.
Dan-Tor himself, however, was no mean manipulator of crowds, and he delayed his appearance until the effect of Eldric’s entrance had begun to ebb away and a wisp of restlessness was beginning to rustle through the waiting people.
Slowly the great double gates of the Palace opened and, equally slowly, Dan-Tor walked through the widening gap, out into the bright sunshine. He wore a simple undecorated brown robe of office and carried no visible weapons. The high cowl of his robe threw his face partly into shade and Eldric was unable to see his eyes. Some way behind him came Dilrap and Urssain. The former twitching a little less than usual, the latter also apparently unarmed but exuding the menace that his uniform had come to mean in the City.
Eldric glanced at Dilrap. The Queen says he’s to be trusted, Yatsu had told him, but Eldric knew he could expect no aid from him this day. To survive, Dilrap would have to help bring him down.
‘Stay,’ said Eldric in a commanding tone. ‘That’s near enough. The people are gathered here to listen to your Accounting, Lord Dan-Tor. We must needs keep our distance, for their sakes.’
Dan-Tor bowed slightly and raised his hands in acquiescence. ‘Lord Eldric,’ he said pleasantly and clearly, so that his voice projected well across the square. ‘It’s in deference to your past service to the King that I come to meet you in this . . .’ he waved his hand searchingly, ‘in this strange fashion. You’re a fugitive from custody. Your co-conspirators ravaged the City to release you. I should order the Mathidrin to arrest you immediately, but I can see that would only cause more bloodshed, you’ve so deceived the people.’
‘Enough!’ said Eldric. ‘You draw conclusions prematurely. Don’t insult either me or the people by such contempt for the Law. This is no strange meeting as you know full well. It’s the meeting of accuser and accused, as demanded by the Law. The time and the place are unusual, but they are also irrelevant. The form is not. We will hear and test each other’s evidence freely and openly. If you choose not to do this you risk the immediate verdict of this jury here.’
There were some cries of encouragement from the crowd but, keeping his gaze on Dan-Tor, Eldric held up his hand to silence them. He wished he could see the man’s eyes more clearly. His face seemed affable and relaxed, but his eyes? He reached up and adjusted his helm slightly to throw his own eyes more into the shade.
Dan-Tor shrugged regretfully. ‘Unlike you, Lord Eldric, I’ll do nothing which might endanger these people. I’ve only the best interests of both the people and Fyorlund at heart in these times of treachery and danger, when trusted Lords . . .’
‘Again, enough!’ thundered Eldric, resting his hand on his axe. ‘You try the patience of the people, Lord Dan-Tor. If you abuse the form again I’l
l slay you where you stand, unarmed or no.’
An awesome silence fell on the crowd such was the weight of his anger and, for an instant, Eldric saw Dan-Tor’s eyes flash red in the gloom beneath his cowl. For a brief instant the sight filled Eldric with an appalling and unreasoning fear and it was only with great effort that he did not turn and flee. Yes, he thought, whoever you are, let’s see if this day can bring your true nature before the people. ‘Now hear me in silence, as I in turn will listen to your Accounting.’
Then came his charges: suspension of the Geadrol; formation of a King’s High Guard; disbandment of the Lords’ High Guards; armed expeditions into Orthlund and attacks upon its people; arbitrary arrest and imprisonment of the Lords; threatened execution of Jaldaric after secret trial; appointment of himself as Ffyrst. Then came the final charge: the training, arming and use of Mandrocs against Fyordyn.
The mounting murmur of approval from the crowd that had accompanied each charge stopped suddenly with a noise like the hiss of a descending sword blade.
Dan-Tor felt the impact of the crowd’s reaction. A serious problem, Dilrap had said. The words came back to Dan-Tor with a dark irony. Ah, Hawklan, he thought, I misjudged you again. It was a cast well worth the sacrifice of your Eldric. For an instant he felt the edifice of his years of scheming totter and shake. Such an announcement as Eldric had made could bring the stunned crowd on to him like wolves on to a downed prey. That would leave him only the Old Power. And where are you, Hawklan . . . Ethriss? Did you truly leave the City? Or are you waiting nearby for the touch of my folly to awaken you? Trapped. Dan-Tor swayed slightly as aeons of darkness opened before him.
‘Your answer, Lord.’ Eldric’s voice reached through to him. Patience, came a thought from deep within.
Dan-Tor brought his mind sharply to the present and, under the shade of his cowl, he scanned the waiting crowd. Another irony began to unfold itself. Eldric was to be his unwitting saviour. The man’s majestic presence as a protector of the Law was tempering the crowd’s baser nature. They had not fallen on him immediately. The form would be observed. They would stand and listen. Dan-Tor felt the darkness move imperceptibly from him. Patience. Time would be everything.
Slowly, he began to reply to the charges. First in broad and general terms, and then working repeatedly over each in turn, in ever-increasing detail. The crisis passed.
In the crowd were two Goraidin, Yengar and Olvric, sent by Yatsu, unbeknown to Eldric, to report on the Accounting. After a while they exchanged glances. Dan-Tor’s tactics were becoming clear. Having survived the first and most serious part of the confrontation, he would weary the crowd and wear Eldric down with interminable argument, until exhaustion determined the outcome.
It was an effective tactic. As the day progressed the crowd gradually thinned and Eldric himself began to feel very weary. His concentration wandered. He wished Darek could have been by his side to bolster him against the bombardment of petty items that Dan-Tor assailed him with. He longed for the comfortable debating chambers of the Geadrol. Then Dan-Tor would be off on another tack. Stretching out explanations and precedents until they became lost in a cloud of detail.
It came to Eldric slowly that he had misjudged his opponent. The man was appallingly formidable. Eldric had chosen this Accounting almost on impulse, hoping that his oratory and the blatant justice of his case would see him through. But Dan-Tor picked away relentlessly; confusing, obfuscating, corroding his arguments.
Eldric looked down at the lengthening afternoon shadows and realized abruptly that he was going to lose. The Fyordyn had listened patiently, as he knew they would. And they were judging, as he knew they must. But this form of debate was ancient and, at heart, crude. From it had grown the Geadrol and the Law with their elaborate and sophisticated ways, but it was a meagre parent to such fine children, and now he saw the obvious. In this simple arena the people could only judge the matter on the skill of the advocates, not on its merits painstakingly and objectively examined.
He felt that he had betrayed the people again, and it was only a monumental effort of will that kept the self-reproach from his face.
Dan-Tor, however, sensed him failing. ‘Lord Eldric,’ he said. ‘I’ve shown you every courtesy, but I’m wearying of this endless picking over trivia. I am Ffyrst, and I’ve given you the reasons for this as determined by the Law and by the necessity of circumstances. I’ve answered each of your baseless accusations fully, in front of all the people here, when I should have had you arrested.’ He paused to feel the mood of the crowd.
Slowly it had changed. Now doubts, bewilderment and fatigue mixed liberally with the partisanship that had initially been almost totally Eldric’s. And there was increasing support for himself among the more foolish elements, aided by some calculated noisiness and irresponsibility emanating, he judged, from men that Urssain had placed in the crowd earlier.
In the tone of an affectionate parent whose patience had been tried too far by an erring child, he said, ‘You mock the Law you pretend to defend, Lord Eldric. Had you any real regard for it, you’d not have taken such pains to escape lawful detention before a trial could be arranged and, given that the aberration mightn’t have been totally of your own making, you would now lay down your weapons and return to the King’s custody in peace and await his will.’
After so many hours of debate and argument, Eldric was in no mood to countenance such a device. ‘You ignore the form again, Lord Dan-Tor, as you did at the beginning. You’ve answered none of my charges. Not one. At best you’ve thrown up a cloud of trivialities to obscure the real nature of your crimes. Your sole object has been to confuse and mislead. If my own inadequate advocacy hasn’t served me well, it’s at least shown the people here that while I strive towards the truth for them, you wish them to remain in confused ignorance.’
There was a mixture of cheering and jeering from the crowd and Eldric winced inwardly as he felt the rightness of his case fading into the darkness cast by Dan-Tor.
‘If you believe that, Lord Eldric, then let the people judge us both now,’ shouted Dan-Tor, sweeping his long left arm across the crowd. This provoked more noise.
‘No!’ roared Eldric above the clamour. ‘No. How can the people judge when so much has yet to be presented? You weave fifty lies for every one you affect to refute.’ He stood up in his saddle, his blazing eyes peering relentlessly into the gloom of Dan-Tor’s cowl.
Dan-Tor started. It was a look he had not seen since he battled by the side of his Master, wielding world-shattering power against the Demons of the Great Alliance and all their forces.
The line still runs then, he thought. Through all this time. ‘I’m not to be assailed, Lord Eldric.’ His voice rumbled ominously.
The crowd fell suddenly silent, but Eldric did not yield. ‘I don’t assail you, Lord Dan-Tor,’ he said. ‘It’s the weight of your crimes that assails you. The weight which will crush you when the people learn of them fully.’ A tension began to build in the square. ‘And they shall know, Lord Dan-Tor. I’ll shine a light into every cranny of your dark Narsindal-misted soul. I’ll untangle your every lie in front of these people, if I’ve to stay here on this horse until the Second Coming.’
Urssain shifted his feet wearily and fidgeted with his hands. Abruptly, there was uproar in the crowd. Seeing the hand signal, Urssain’s men in the crowd began shouting noisily.
‘It appears the people wish to make their judgement now, Lord Eldric,’ Dan-Tor said.
Eldric’s expression changed to an angry scowl as he turned to look at the crowd. ‘Your Mathidrin agitators wish to make a judgement you mean,’ he said.
Dan-Tor shrugged innocently. ‘My agitators, Lord? More accusations. Doesn’t the form dictate that all accusations be stated at the commencement of the Accounting?’ His white teeth shone a malevolent sneer at Eldric.
Despite himself, Eldric laid his hand on his axe, but released it immediately as a triumphant red glare flashed from Dan-Tor’s eyes.
&
nbsp; The crowd, however, had not heard Dan-Tor’s provocation and saw only Eldric’s angry movement. Urged on by Urssain’s men the localized shouting and scuffling spread through them like a wind-blown fire in grass. The frustration and confusions of the day polarized the crowd and, as Dan-Tor had intended, brought them rapidly to the edge of riot.
As Eldric turned again to the crowd, Dan-Tor walked over to him quickly. ‘We must stop this,’ he said urgently. ‘There’ll be bloodshed again. The people are still unsettled after the riots. There’s no saying where it might end.’
Eldric spun round, startled to find his enemy so close. He glowered down at him. ‘This is your doing, Dan-Tor. Your men have been stirring this crowd all day. Do you think I’m so blind? And Urssain might as well have used a flag for all the subtlety of his hand signals.’
‘I know nothing of this, Lord, I swear,’ Dan-Tor replied, his tone sincere and concerned. ‘If Urssain’s arranged this I’ll see he’s punished, have no fear. But we must stop it now.’
Eldric’s expression did not change.
Dan-Tor scowled as if looking for a solution as the noise of the crowd rose. ‘Lord Eldric,’ he said anxiously. ‘Accept voluntary custody at the house of . . .’ He cast about. ‘. . . Lord Oremson. You surely trust him? And we’ll continue this . . .’ His voice became angry, as if he were being reluctantly obliged to yield something against his better judgement, ‘this . . . matter . . . tomorrow. And for as many days as needs be.’