by Roger Taylor
The crowd was silent under his reproach.
Loman turned to look up at the mountain. ‘Alphraan, we know you can hear and see us,’ he said. ‘And we know your homes—or the entrances to them—are on this hill, and on others nearby. We come in opposition to you, but in peace. We will do you no harm, but we will find your homes and deny them to you, as you have denied our Armoury to us. And we shall possess more and more of your property until you release the Armoury and agree to interfere with us no further.'
'We will prevent you,’ said a voice.
Without turning, Loman held out his hand to quieten an angry murmur that this comment brought from the crowd.
'I beg of you, please don't,’ he said. ‘You know you can't control a host this size. At the best you'll simply cause more deaths and injuries before we find you. You, who purport to be doing this to prevent death and injury. And do you really want these people surging into your domain, raging and demented, their darker natures unfettered by you yourselves?'
'Be warned, human,’ the voice said, after a pause. ‘Do not threaten us.'
'You're wasting your time, Loman,’ said someone behind him.
Loman raised his hand again, requesting a little further patience.
'Voice,’ he said. ‘I don't know how you speak to us in this manner, or how you hear what we say. But I dispute your authority to speak for the Alphraan. I cannot see that any rational people would be so stupid as to allow this tragic farce to continue in the light of our conduct and of our reasoning.’ He turned round suddenly and looked at the assembled Orthlundyn. ‘Do I speak for you, here?’ he shouted. There was a brief pause, then a great roar went up that rang around the mountains.
Loman turned back to the mountain. ‘Voice, would your people speak thus for you?’ he said quietly.
There was no reply.
'I thought not,’ Loman said. ‘Anyone who would intimidate a free people wouldn't scruple to intimidate his own kind.’ An angry hissing filled the air. ‘Do not judge us, human,’ said the voice. ‘Our ways are not your ways.'
Loman turned back to the Orthlundyn. ‘Ponder your ways then, leader of the Alphraan,’ he said dismissively, over his shoulder. Then, to the crowd. ‘Section leaders to me for a planning meeting. The rest of you’—he smiled—‘rest. While you can. We've got some stiff walking ahead of us shortly.'
It took little time to plan out the proposed search of the mountain and, within the hour, the first parties set out. Loman stayed in the valley, watching intently, as the tiny lines of figures moved painfully slowly across the lower slopes of the mountain.
He turned to Jenna. ‘This must be the strangest army in all history,’ he said, almost jovially. ‘Military intention, military tactics, and yet everyone obliged to treat it as some kind of Festival picnic.'
Jenna smiled nervously. She was finding the ambivalence of the venture less easy to accommodate than Loman seemed to be. ‘It's impossible,’ she said reluctantly.
'No,’ said Loman easily. ‘Just slow, and, I hope, very boring. But we'll stay here until every stone and every blade of grass on this mountain has been examined at least twice. It'll...'
'Signal.’ The interruption came from a young man standing nearby, watching the same scene through a seeing stone.
Loman held his breath.
'First sector cleared,’ said the young man.
Loman looked both relieved and disappointed. ‘Send the next group up to cover the same area,’ he said.
Jenna looked up at the sky. The watery sun had disappeared, as the clouds had thickened through the day. She frowned a little. ‘That's a wintry sky,’ she said. ‘And the sky to the north's been looking very heavy for days.'
Loman did not reply, but the mention of the north brought his brother and Hawklan to mind. Almost without realizing what he was doing, he looked up, half expecting to see Gavor soaring black against the dull grey sky. With difficulty, he set the thoughts aside. Time alone could answer the questions that they posed.
Gradually the light faded and Loman called a halt to the search. ‘Camp where you are,’ was his signal. ‘Relax and rest, and look forward to a good day's shadow hunting tomorrow.'
As the darkness deepened, unrelieved even by starlight, the mountain slowly disappeared from view except for a twisted skein of camp lights twinkling like a carelessly thrown necklace. Loman leaned against a rock and stared up at the lights. Distant voices floated down to him through the stillness, enlivened occasionally by splashes of laughter. He smiled.
'Listen, Alphraan,’ he said softly. ‘Listen to the sounds of the people you persecute.'
There was no reply.
The following day was again overcast but visibility was still good and there was no wind to disturb the searchers other than a light breeze.
No trouble was reported as the morning progressed and Loman eventually became weary of just watching and waiting.
'I think I'll go up and see how morale is,’ he announced eventually.
'Yes. I don't want to sit here all day either,’ Jenna said acidly. ‘I'll come with you.'
Loman cleared his throat self-consciously.
They were able to ride part of the way but had to leave their horses as the terrain grew steeper. The mountainside was alive with people, searching, making notes, laying out markers, moving equipment in anticipation of another night's stay on the mountain. Briefly, Loman felt a qualm when he realized that this considerable effort was being undertaken at his behest and on his whim.
No, he thought sternly. Definitely not a whim. It was a reasoned judgement based on the clear actions of the Alphraan and confirmed by the changes in their responses subsequently. In any case, even if he were wrong, future searches would definitely be necessary and much would be learnt from this exercise. The qualm was crushed.
It did occur to him that the Alphraan could be deliberately misleading him, but he doubted it. They're on the run, part of him said, with almost hand-rubbing glee. He crushed that too; if they were panicking, then they'd be particularly dangerous as the necklace began to tighten.
When he and Jenna finally reached the highest of the search lines, the terrain that could be walked over was predominantly rock. They had decided at the outset that the scree slopes and rock faces of the mountain were to be left for the time being. Climbers were far too vulnerable.
Loman looked out across the valley. The base camp could be seen, toy-like, far below. Neighbouring peaks sat solid and patient like wise old women pretending to sleep while in reality watching the antics of the giddy young folk around them. It was a calming sight, a sight to correct the perspective, and Loman stood looking at it contentedly for several minutes.
Eventually he turned and looked at the tumbled landscape immediately around him. He much preferred scrambling over rocks such as these to plodding up relentlessly steep grass slopes. However, it could not be denied that the huge jumbled masses of boulders offered far more nooks and crannies in which to conceal cave entrances.
One of the section leaders waved a greeting and, coming forward, echoed his thoughts. ‘It's going to be much slower now, Loman,’ he said. ‘It'd be a help if we knew how big a hole these people need for access.'
Loman looked at the man. ‘We will, soon,’ he said. ‘Take your time. Don't let anybody rush. Any doubts—check again.’ He smiled. ‘We're going to have to look Gulda in the eye and tell her we searched this mountain thoroughly,’ he added significantly.
Jenna looked up towards the rocky skyline that obscured the summit of the mountain. ‘This is going to take at least two more days,’ she said.
Loman followed her gaze. ‘Probably more,’ he corrected.
The woman's eyes flickered around the neighbouring peaks involuntarily.
'You're thinking it's impossible again, aren't you?’ Loman asked.
Jenna shook her head and mouthed a definite ‘No’ while allowing her eyes and face to say ‘Yes.'
Loman laughed.
Suddenl
y a cry rang out, one of fear and pain. The section leader spun round looking along the ragged line of searchers for the source of the cry.
'There!’ cried Loman, pointing. Over to their left, the line had broken and people were converging on a man who was staggering dangerously across the rocks. Loman and Jenna joined the movement, but as he strode out, Loman felt a twinge of anger at this interruption to the search.
Then the man fell, heavily, and his cry became one of anger. Loman stopped suddenly and reached out to stop Jenna and the section leader. For a moment he watched the small, concerned crowd growing around the fallen man and felt the swirl of anger in him struggling to grow similarly.
'It's a trap,’ he said, forcing a calmness into his voice which was radically at odds with the turmoil he felt inside. ‘Go back and stop anyone rushing into this,’ he said to the section leader. ‘Get as many people as you can. Tell them what's happening and remind them to walk here as calmly and quietly as they can manage. Tell them to look at the scenery ... talk about their carving—anything. Just so that they're quiet in their minds when they get here.'
'But the man might be hurt,’ the section leader protested, trying to move forward.
Loman took his elbow and gently turned him round, away from the scene. ‘He probably is,’ he said. ‘But there'll be worse if we don't stop this before it starts. Can't you feel the anger in yourself already?'
The man looked at him uneasily for a moment, breathing unsteadily. Then he moved to intercept others who were running almost compulsively towards the stricken man.
Loman forced down his irritation again and looked into the valley. Down there they had all been together; a large crowd and, for the most part, happy. There they had successfully withstood the Alphraan's assaults. But here, they were spread out. Without the great stabilizing reservoir of people around them, individuals could be attacked and used as a focus to draw more and more people into an ever greater conflict.
Loman actually felt it happening as he heard increasingly angry voices coming from the group around the fallen man.
'Call out to them, Jenna,’ he said softly. ‘Tell them they're under attack and to stay as calm as they can until we get more people there.'
Jenna did as she was bidden. At the sound of her voice, several members of the group around the stricken man turned angrily, confirming Loman's analysis.
Jenna's voice started to rise in pitch until Loman took her arm gently. ‘They don't mean it, remember?’ he said. ‘It's the Alphraan. Tell them the same. Tell them the obvious. We can attend to whoever's been hurt when everything's calmed down.'
Loman glanced around. People were gathering behind him. He felt afraid. How many could the Alphraan affect at once? They'd wrought havoc in camp six. How effective would the Orthlundyn's own awareness of the nature of the attack be as a defence against it? If this crowd slipped out of control ... up here! He forced the thoughts aside. It was up to him to see that this did not happen.
'We're being attacked,’ he said to them quietly. ‘Just remember that we dealt very successfully with many such assaults when we were in the valley yesterday and, by staying calm, we'll deal with this one too. We must be getting very near to their ... homes ... now, so this will probably be the first of many attempts to drive us away.’ He looked at the crowd intently. ‘Set aside any feelings of anger you have, no matter how justified they seem. Remember that we're dealing with a frightened people now, and that calmness and gentleness are our only weapons.'
Angry voices came again from the group around the fallen man. Loman felt his own anger begin to rise in response to the sound, then, unexpectedly, it slipped from him.
He started to move forward. ‘Are you going to persist in this, Alphraan?’ he asked. ‘Are you not going to cease until more terrible deeds have been done? Until more people have been killed?'
'We will not allow you your weapons, human.’ The Alphraan's voice was fraught and vicious. ‘We will not allow you to scar the world with your evil and treacherous ways again.'
Loman looked surprised. He had not expected an answer to his question. ‘We?’ he said ironically, still continuing forward. ‘I still don't believe you speak for your people, voice, but let that pass. I won't debate the rights and wrongs of our actions with you further. You've heard enough to appreciate them fully, even though you seem to prefer not to listen. And you've heard and seen enough to know that, as promised, no matter what the cost, we will protect ourselves and we will move ever into your domain until you release the Armoury and agree to leave us alone.’ A wisp of anger floated into his voice, but it was his own and he used it. ‘We are preparing to fight against the monstrous will of Sumeral Himself. Did you think that we would yield so easily to your petty tyranny?'
A sound formed in the air that might have been the beginning of a reply, but Loman dismissed it with a wave of his arm.
With the Orthlundyn walking silently behind him, Loman reached the fallen man. The group around the man had fallen silent at his approach, and Loman looked at each in turn. ‘Well done,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Their will is failing, just as ours is growing in strength. All will be well soon.'
Then he bent down and examined the injured man. He's got a nasty gash on his head, but I think he's just unconscious,’ he said after a moment. ‘Take him down to base camp, gently.'
As the man was carried away, Loman turned to the silent, watching people around him. ‘Somewhere around here is one of the entrances to the Alphraan's ... our neighbours’ domain,’ he said. ‘Look for it, carvers.'
Before anyone could move, a terrible screech rent the air. ‘Never, human!’ screamed a voice—many voices—cracked with rage.
Loman staggered back under the impact of the appalling sound, his hands to his ears. Only instinct enabled him to keep his balance on the uneven boulders. He cried out in pain.
Around him he could see the crowd was similarly affected, people staggering and stumbling on the unforgiving rocks. They were his responsibility, but all he wanted to do was flee this place—to run and run until he was free of this dreadful pain. Yet his feet would not respond and, oddly, there was a quality in the sound which encouraged him to stand and oppose.
But there was also desperation. This was a last effort.
Here, smith, you are re-forged or marred forever, he thought.
Then the quality of the sound changed. It lapped around him, mocking, taunting, tearing at him. It unearthed old and fearful memories which rose up and threatened to send him fleeing blindly across the mountainside until he crashed to his death over some unseen cliff.
But it woke another memory. A memory of trials faced and survived.
Loman stood up straight and took his ineffectual hands from his ears. ‘No, Alphraan,’ he said, though he could not hear his own words. ‘You may destroy me, but I will not die whimpering. I will not die dishonouring all those who have made me what I am.’ He opened his arms as if to receive the assault. ‘I have walked the labyrinth, and its ancient power had judged me no enemy. I am not afraid of your petty malice.'
Then, as if moving against a powerful wind, but without bowing, he began to move slowly forward. The sounds filling him became unbearable, and he felt consciousness slipping from him.
'If I fail, others will follow,’ he said. ‘They will follow always, until you have released what you have unlawfully bound.'
He took another step forward, somehow still managing to keep his balance on the uneven rocks.
'Tirilen...’ he thought as he felt his last ties breaking under the terrible onslaught.
But the sound changed again. Abruptly it became loud and shrill, though, Loman realized, it had moved from him. The blackness receded and he was standing again amongst his friends surrounded by a deafening, but harmless clamour.
He looked around. The crowd had been scattered somewhat, but all were now motionless, listening spellbound to the noise rising and falling about them. For even though no coherent language could be heard i
t was patently a furious argument.
Loman grimaced as he felt anger, frustration and resentment all around him, mingling with regret, fear and denunciation. It seemed to go on interminably, then, as if cut by a sword stroke, it stopped suddenly and for a moment there was silence. Loman stared around in disbelief, thinking briefly that the sound had destroyed his hearing. But before he could speak the noise swelled up again.
This time however, it was profoundly different. This time it was full of disbelief; a disbelief that turned gradually to wonder and joy. Despite his recent ordeal, Loman felt a lump in his throat as he found himself the inadvertent witness to a great rejoining: the coming together again of a family that had been so long apart that each half had thought the other to be perhaps no more than a mere myth.
The poignancy was almost unbearable, and, feeling intrusive, Loman turned to walk away. As he did so, however, other sounds began to impinge on him. A frantic whistling from all sides.
Loman felt again the weight of the mantle of responsibility settling on his shoulders. He looked down into the valley.
Sound signals! What are they playing at? he thought.
Then the content of their messages impinged.
'Hawklan is coming,’ they said. ‘Hawklan and Isloman, from the north, with two riders.'
Loman looked north, fumbling in his pouch for his seeing stone. As he did so a familiar voice spoke behind him.
'Well, well, dear boy,’ it said. ‘You do look trim. Been exercising?'
* * *
Chapter 29
Sylvriss rode forward and led her mount delicately out to the edge of a rocky outcrop. Her cloak was wrapped tight about her but her hood was thrown back and her face was flushed, as much with exhilaration at the progress they had made over the last few days as with the chilly air.
She looked out over the northern plains of Riddin. Home, at last, after all these years and so much turmoil. Admittedly, Dremark was far to the south, and the north of Riddin was sparsely populated, but soon she would be down there with her escort, and it would be only a matter of time before they encountered a patrol from one of the Muster lines.