by Roger Taylor
Loman looked at her in surprise. It was a peculiarly defeated comment. ‘Given time,’ he said. ‘Smithing's not common in Orthlund. There's only a few of us capable of that kind of work, though I suppose we could bring on some of the apprentices more quickly in an emergency. But will we be able to get into the mountains for the raw materials?'
But Gulda was already waving the answer into oblivion, moving any from her brief lapse. ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘It was a foolish idea. Besides we may not have the time.’ Her voice fell. ‘Not if Hawklan's met Dan-Tor.'
She stood still and silent after this remark, and Loman turned his gaze back to the gloomy columns. With their concerns about the Alphraan, it was almost the first time that Hawklan's name had been mentioned since Loman had been hurled from the labyrinth.
The silence hung about them like a reproach.
'What do you think has happened to him?’ Loman said hesitantly after some time.
Gulda shook her head a little. ‘I've no idea,’ she said quietly. ‘I wish I had. My heart says he's not dead, and my reason tells me that Okl ... Dan-Tor ... has not had his way entirely, or his armies would have been at our gates by now. But what's happened, where is Hawklan ... or Gavor?’ She shrugged and fell silent again.
For a while the only sound in the hall was the sinister whispering of the labyrinth.
'But it makes no difference,’ she said abruptly, banging her stick on the floor. The sound spread outwards like ripples in a still pond, to return almost immediately, transmuted by the labyrinth into a deep pulsating echo that filled the hall like a cavernous laugh. ‘What we're doing is all we can do, whether Hawklan comes back to us or not.'
She turned round and walked a few paces away from the invisible new boundary that the labyrinth seemed to have set. ‘If he comes back, he'll have urgent problems at his heels for sure, and he'll be none too pleased if we've been dragging ours. And if he doesn't come back...’ She paused. ‘Then at least we'll be ready to face whatever's brought him low.'
Before Loman could comment, she was stumping towards the archway that led from the hall. ‘We've got a serious problem, Loman,’ she said, as he came alongside her. ‘The labyrinth's a fearful device, Anderras Darion's ultimate defence. If the circumstances so determined, it could spread its influence throughout the entire Castle.'
'What do you mean?’ Loman asked uncertainly.
Gulda frowned. ‘Exactly what I said. The labyrinth can reach out to protect all parts of the Castle if need arises.'
Loman's eyes widened in horror at this revelation. ‘The entire Castle?’ he exclaimed. ‘And those ... creatures can sneak in here and control it? I'll have a guard placed...'
Gulda overrode his concerns. ‘They can't control it,’ she said. ‘No one can control it, except perhaps Ethriss himself. But they've tinkered with it very effectively in some way, and we have to face the fact that only they can undo their work.'
'Meaning?’ asked Loman.
'Meaning that we'll have to find some way to talk to them again,’ Gulda replied. ‘Persuade them to allow us back into the Armoury.'
'Our talking and their listening are two different things,’ Loman said sourly. ‘They seem more interested in stamping their own ideas on us than entering into a debate about the rights and wrongs of events.'
Gulda nodded, but her voice was sympathetic. ‘They're an alien race, Loman. We know little or nothing of them, and even less about their history. A slim volume can hardly contain the accumulated lore of millennia can it? Who knows what roads have brought them to where they are now?'
Loman grunted. ‘Well,’ he conceded marginally. ‘I'd rather talk than fight any day, but...’ He stopped and looked back down the corridor. ‘They've imposed their will on us back there, Memsa,’ he continued thoughtfully, almost disbelievingly. ‘We didn't do that to them, or even attempt to.’ He stuttered slightly. ‘We ... we wouldn't even think of doing such a thing.'
'You've never imposed your will on anyone, Loman?’ Gulda said knowingly.
'Not an adult,’ he began, then crueller memories rose to mock him. He curled his lip in distaste. ‘I've killed people though, if that's what you mean,’ he said. ‘But that wasn't the same. That was in extremity. To protect myself or others.'
'Perhaps that's what they think they're doing now,’ Gulda replied. ‘Preventing harm to us and perhaps themselves by denying us our weapons.'
Loman could not keep the scorn from his face. ‘No one's that stupid, however alien their culture,’ he replied witheringly.
Gulda shrugged. ‘When you've travelled as much as I have you'll learn there are no limits to stupidity, particularly amongst human beings,’ she said unequivocally. ‘I've met peoples who believed that weapons made violence, and forbade their very existence.'
Loman frowned in disbelief. Gulda turned away from him and shrugged. ‘While circumstances didn't show them otherwise, they were without insight into themselves, Loman,’ she said. ‘Quite beyond debate. I have seen it. Perhaps the Alphraan are the same.'
Loman's scowl deepened, then, abruptly, a great anger welled up inside him and burst out uncontrollably. ‘Good grief, Gulda,’ he shouted. ‘I'm not interested in other people's follies, and I'm not interested in conjecturing about what the Alphraan might or might not be thinking.’ He smacked his great fist into the palm of his hand. ‘Whatever stupid ideas they've got, they've used their own weapons very effectively to deprive us of ours. To leave us perhaps defenceless. Nothing can justify that.’ His anger mounted. ‘Damn it, they've judged us! I won't be judged without any semblance of a hearing—least of all by strangers!’ His voice rang loud through the corridor. ‘We went to talk to them—to warn them. And they do this! It's tantamount to an act of war. We should go into the mountains in force and punch their arrogant noses.'
Gulda stopped and, straightening up a little, looked at him intensely. He met her gaze without flinching, his fists clenched and his jaw set. Suddenly she chuckled and, stepping forward, gave him an almighty smack on the arm. It was a comradely blow, but Loman staggered under its impact.
Gulda's chuckle turned to a laugh, a strangely young and musical laugh. ‘He picked a good one in you, young Loman,’ she said heartily. ‘I'd never have said there was anything in you when you were little. You were such a scamp. Still, I suppose it was difficult, having the soul of a smith in a land of carvers.’ She chuckled again.
Before Loman could respond to this unexpected and rather painful testimonial, she was off again.
The sudden change in Gulda's mood took some of the outward passion from Loman's anger, but like metal fresh from the forge, it was still dangerously hot even though it was not glowing, and it betokened a profound inner change.
Rubbing his arm ruefully, he followed after her. For a while they walked on in silence.
'I agree with you, Loman,’ Gulda said eventually. ‘Whatever their reasoning, what they've done is wrong, and wanting to punch their arrogant noses is a very understandable response. But you know well enough it won't be that easy. We must try talking first. We really don't have any choice, we know too little about them for conflict.’ She looked at him sternly. ‘And we'll be in a better frame of mind if we give them the benefit of the doubt for now. If we assume they're well intentioned.'
Loman managed to lay the excess of his anger to one side. ‘I suppose you're right,’ he said. ‘But you don't sound too convinced about the probable outcome yourself.'
Gulda breathed out noisily. ‘I'm not,’ she said simply. ‘I think their intentions are benign, but whether they're benign or malevolent, I don't think they'll listen, whatever we say. I think sooner or later we're going to have to punch their noses and, bluntly, I'm not looking forward to it.'
* * * *
As promised, Gulda gathered together Ireck and the other leading members of Anderras Darion's increasingly military complement, to discuss the matter with them fully.
'I don't think we can begin to understand their thinking,’
she concluded. ‘Suffice it to say that, for whatever reason, they obviously can't see our need.'
'Or won't,’ someone said.
Gulda acknowledged the comment. ‘Or won't,’ she conceded.
'What shall we do, then?’ Ireck said. ‘How can we talk to people we can't see, and who won't listen?'
A hesitant hand came up from the rear of the seated group. It was Yrain. Loman signalled to her to speak.
'Memsa, you said before that you thought they were divided amongst themselves,’ she began. ‘That impression—your impression—is really all the information we have about their thinking. Perhaps we should work on that.'
Gulda looked up at her. Yrain faltered, but Gulda gave her an encouraging nod. ‘Spit it out, girl,’ she said, with a slight smile. Yrain flushed then leaned forward purposefully.
'I think we need to show them that their trick hasn't altered either our intentions or our possible effectiveness,’ she said. ‘I think we should send out as many groups as we can on survival treks. Send them out conspicuously unarmed. Show them all the usual stuff for surviving in the mountains, but...’ She raised her hand, forefinger extended in emphasis. ‘Incorporate part of the weaponless fighting training into the treks and add in some ambush techniques, trap laying, etc.'
'What purpose will that serve?’ Gulda asked.
Yrain's eyes narrowed slightly. She struck off the points on her fingers. ‘They'll be watching us presumably. It'll show them that we intend to continue training. It'll show them that we can use sticks, rocks, bare hands ... anything, just as effectively as swords and bows. And if they're divided amongst themselves, as you think, then perhaps that might shift the balance in their debates.'
Gulda nodded, ‘But not necessarily to our advantage, Yrain,’ she said. ‘It might only serve to confirm to them that they have wild and savage neighbours who are best kept well away from anything with a sharp edge. And what if they chose to extend their control by preventing these ... survival treks?'
Yrain lowered her eyes briefly, but when she looked up her face was resolute. ‘Frankly, I couldn't care less about what they think of us,’ she said. ‘If they can't understand what we'd be trying to show them, then they must be particularly stupid, so who needs their good opinion?'
There was some nodding of heads amongst the small audience at this forthright observation.
'Besides, Memsa,’ she continued. ‘We're supposed to be learning how to defend ourselves. We're supposed to be making up for the years of neglect that eventually allowed creatures from Narsindal to march into our country unseen and unopposed, and commit murder. We can't let these people treat us thus—deny us access to what's been entrusted to us for such work.’ She glanced awkwardly at Loman. ‘So far, for all some of the training has been harsh, it's been so much theory. Now, we have to act, and act as an army—deal with a real practical problem. If we take some knocks, we take some knocks, and that's it. We'll be the wiser for it. But we can't sit and do nothing. It would be a betrayal of Hawklan ... of ourselves ... everything.’ She looked around, her face agitated. ‘And for all we know, these Alphraan might be in league with Narsindal in some way. This action they've taken could be part of some deeper scheme.'
Several members of the group shifted uncomfortably at this suggestion. Gulda leaned forward and rested her head on her long hands, folded over the top of her stick. Then, in an echo of Loman's earlier sentiments, Yrain finished. ‘The arrogant little devils have no conceivable right to do what they're doing.'
Several voices spoke up in agreement.
'And if they try to prevent us?’ Gulda repeated, when the talking died down. ‘Start attacking our training parties?'
Yrain frowned. ‘They haven't done us any real harm so far,’ she said.
'Except murder,’ someone said.
'No,’ Yrain said, wincing slightly as she twisted round in her seat to look at the speaker. ‘When we first met ... encountered them ... with the children, they admitted two of the deaths and said they regretted them. We were helpless so they'd no need to make any such admission, and they sounded sincere enough to me.’ She turned back to Gulda as if for confirmation. ‘They said the deaths were the result of our own actions. I know it's no justification if they were interfering in some way to disturb concentration, but all the ... accidents ... happened to our people when they were doing difficult, dangerous, climbs.’ She paused, hesitant to move too quickly past the shades of their dead friends. Then, almost apologetically, ‘But there's no need for anything like that in what I'm suggesting. Really we'll just be lumping everyone's basic survival training together and bringing some of the ordinary training up into the mountains. If we keep away from too dangerous places, my feeling is that they won't be able to harm us even if they wanted to.'
Gulda lifted her head to speak, but Yrain, anxious to commit her every resource before execution, continued. ‘And if they do attack us in some way, then we'll learn more about them, and what they do. And if we put a large number of groups in all at once, we'll perhaps get some measure of their strength.'
The room fell silent as Yrain finished. All eyes turned to Gulda. She looked around. ‘What do you think?’ she said.
The debate was brief. Yrain's sentiments chimed with most of those present. Despite a strong desire to ‘punch arrogant noses', the dominant feeling was that far too little was known about this unexpected foe, and some form of peaceful probing was essential.
'I agree,’ Gulda concluded. ‘We'll get on with it straight away.’ She raised a warning finger. ‘But maximum safety though. Lots of good communication, observers, pre-arranged meeting places, etc, etc. I need hardly remind you that they succeeded in making a group of our better students miss an entire mountain. We must all be very alert. Whatever else they might be, they're capable of some subtlety.'
As the meeting broke up, Gulda signalled to Yrain. The girl, supporting herself on a stick, limped across to her, her thin face suddenly anxious.
'Tirilen said it would be all right to come,’ she began, before Gulda could speak. ‘The stick takes the weight off my foot ... and Athyr helped me,’ she added hastily.
'Sit down,’ Gulda said.
Without taking her eyes off her nemesis, Yrain nervously lowered herself onto a nearby chair. Gulda sat down opposite her and rested her head on the end of her stick again. Loman eyed her carefully, prepared to act as champion for the girl if need arose.
'Well done, Ysain,’ Gulda said. ‘That was nicely reasoned and a step in the right direction.’ There was sufficient reservation in Gulda's voice, however, to prevent Yrain's relief overwhelming her concern, and she kept her eyes fixed on Gulda's face.
Gulda continued. ‘This is going to involve some drastic changes to our training schedules,’ she said. ‘And I want you to work with Loman here on the details. We must treat this affair as being most urgent. I want the new schedules ready by this time tomorrow, designed for immediate implementation.'
Loman raised his eyebrows. ‘That'll be difficult,’ he said. Gulda shrugged. ‘Just do it,’ she said simply. ‘You've defined the problem clearly enough yourselves. We're in the dark, and we're virtually defenceless. Yrain's idea is sound and we've got no real alternatives.’ Her face became grim. ‘We don't discuss it, but you know as well as I do that at any moment, a rider could come down from the north and tell us that the absence of so many weapons has changed from being an inconvenience to being a disaster. Just bear that in mind if you get the urge to go to sleep tonight.'
Loman nodded. ‘What will you be doing?’ he risked.
Gulda looked at him narrowly. ‘I'm going to prepare some touches of my own,’ she said. ‘To see if I can find a wedge for Yrain's hammer to drive into the split in our neighbours’ opinions.'
* * *
Chapter 21
Clutching the black sword protectively to his chest, Isloman stared up blankly. Then he screwed up his eyes as if to penetrate some particularly obscure shadow. A torch moved, and Hawklan's
face came clearly into focus. He was flanked on the left by Dacu, tense and concerned, and on the right by Tirke, shocked and obviously struggling to keep control.
Briefly it occurred to Isloman that they were all dead and in some mysterious afterworld, but before he could fully register the scene, a familiar voice sounded gleefully by his ear. ‘Get up, dear boy, get up. You're not hurt. He's back. He just woke up and chased them all away.'
'Hawklan?’ Isloman whispered, his voice sounding odd in his own ears after the noise of the Alphraan and the deep silence he had woken to. ‘You're awake. How do you feel?’ The remark seemed incongruous, but nothing else seemed to be able to get past the welter of emotions suddenly filling him.
'Fine. And you?’ came an equally incongruous response. Without replying, Isloman took an offered hand and struggled shakily to his feet.
For a moment he simply stared at Hawklan in the torchlight, then, with an action that had become almost a reflex over the past weeks, he reached out and placed his hand on Hawklan's brow.
'Where've you been?’ he asked, still struggling to quieten his mind at this seemingly miraculous development.
Hawklan smiled slightly at the gesture and then shrugged. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘All the time. But other places as well ... I think ... involved and not involved.’ He shook his head. ‘I can't really explain. It was like a strange fragmented dream. Not unpleasant ... but not good.'
Isloman nodded, in the absence of anything more significant to do. Each word that Hawklan spoke, and each movement he made, seemed to push the recent dark and fretful weeks further and further from Isloman's mind. As he looked into Hawklan's green eyes, however, he thought he saw a glimmer of great sadness, but it was gone so quickly that he could not be sure it was not some trick of the torchlight.
Then Hawklan's smile cut through all his uncertainties. ‘Still,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I'm here now, without a doubt, and very glad to be so. We'll talk more later. Right now, we've other matters to attend to.'
Gently, he took his sword from Isloman's hand and fastened it deftly to his belt. Looking down at his hands he flexed his fingers, then his wrists and arms. ‘How strange,’ he said. ‘After all that stillness. No stiffness. No stiffness anywhere.'