by Roger Taylor
Hawklan looked at him. ‘Ah, good of you to join us again, Gavor,’ he said. ‘I presume all your friends were at home, by the look of you. Are you sure you can remember how to fly?’
‘Very droll, dear boy,’ Gavor replied, with great dignity, still struggling with his more recalcitrant feathers. ‘Like you, I have a wide circle of affectionate friends and acquaintances who’ve been most anxious about me in my absence. It would have been churlish in the extreme not to accept their hospitality.’
‘Yes, I didn’t think you’d been refusing anything, judging from the way you landed,’ Hawklan said, and both he and Isloman laughed.
Still dignified, Gavor walked to the edge of the wall and peered over cautiously. ‘Well, I’m going to join our friend Andawyr,’ he said. ‘Do feel free to join us if you can spare a moment from your gossiping.’ And with an alarmed, ‘Whoops!’ he launched himself unsteadily into the cold wind.
* * * *
Andawyr watched as the black dot tumbled precipitately through the air then suddenly swooped up and round in a great majestic arc. As it neared, his face broke into a smile. ‘Gavor?’ he inquired of Tybek who was riding alongside him.
Tybek nodded, but before he could speak, Gavor had landed on Andawyr’s outstretched hand. Agreth started at this unexpected arrival and his horse reared a little, causing Andawyr to seize its mane hastily and Gavor to extend his wings to preserve his balance.
‘Steady, horse,’ Gavor said sternly.
Agreth’s look of surprise turned to mild indignation at this usurpation of his authority.
Gavor turned and looked at him. ‘So sorry, dear boy,’ he said. ‘Quite forgot who was in charge. Do carry on.’
Agreth had heard about Gavor from Sylvriss and the Fyordyn but, expecting an amusing pet, he was quite unprepared for the piercing black-eyed gaze and the forceful presence.
‘Ah,’ Gavor said, raising his wooden leg by way of a salute. ‘I thought it was a Muster nag, quite handsome in a horsy kind of way.’ Then, staring at Agreth, he asked abruptly, ‘Is the Queen safe and well?’
‘Yes,’ Agreth replied hesitantly. ‘She’s with her father down at Dremark.’
‘Good, good, good,’ Gavor said rapidly. ‘I was concerned about her when the weather changed. Fine woman.’
Andawyr’s smile broadened. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said. ‘Your friends here tell me Hawklan’s returned safe and well, too. I was very alarmed for him when Agreth told me what had happened to you at Vakloss.’
Gavor affected casualness. ‘Yes, nasty piece of work that Dan-Tor,’ he said. ‘Gave us a most unpleasant reception, but we got over it.’ Then he extended his neck and peered at Andawyr. ‘That said, you look as if you’ve been through the mill a little, dear boy,’ he went on, his voice concerned. ‘That ghastly little bird from the Gretmearc give you a bad time?’
‘That and one or two other things,’ Andawyr replied. ‘But I got over it too. I’ll tell you later. Tell me what happened to waken Hawklan on your journey from Fyorlund.’
Gavor ruffled his feathers. ‘Oh, it’s far too much to talk about on horseback,’ he said. ‘And I’ve had a frightfully busy time since I got back. Such demands. I’ve not had a moment to myself. Let’s get out of the cold and get some food inside us then we can have a good old natter.’ He lowered his voice. ‘That’s always assuming the Fyordyn’s haven’t organized all the talking by now; you know the way they are.’
Andawyr laughed, then, responding to a touch on his arm from Tybek, he looked up the road ahead. The tall black-clad figure of Hawklan was striding down to meet the group. He was accompanied by a powerfully built individual of similar height.
Gavor extended his wings and floated up into the air. Andawyr twisted round to Agreth. ‘Set me down, please,’ he said quickly.
Agreth dismounted and held out his arms to receive the Cadwanwr, who jumped down like an excited child and began walking briskly up the hill.
As he reached Hawklan, Andawyr seized his extended hand tightly in both of his own, his face a confusion of emotions and questions.
‘You’re really here this time,’ he said. He patted Hawklan’s arm as if he were testing a horse for purchase. ‘Yes, you really are.’ Then he stepped back and looked the bargain up and down. ‘You’ve changed,’ he said. ‘You’re different in some way.’
‘A great many ways, I’m afraid,’ Hawklan replied. ‘We all are. And you and I have got a great many things to talk about.’ The two men stood for a moment just looking at one another, then Hawklan glanced at Isloman standing next to him, and at Tybek and the others waiting at a discreet distance.
‘This is Isloman, Andawyr,’ he said. ‘He stood with me against Oklar and saved my life. Introduce us to your Muster escort, if you would.’ Gavor dropped gently on to his shoulder. Agreth watched as Andawyr led the two men towards him.
From the descriptions Sylvriss had given him he recognized both immediately. These then were the two who had faced Oklar. Isloman was visibly powerful, but what was there in this other one that had had such an effect on Sylvriss and the Goraidin? No sooner had the thought occurred to him than he felt uneasy – afraid even – and his horse too inched back uncertainly, for although Hawklan was smiling and his manner offered nothing but welcome, there was a force in his presence that was almost tangible. Agreth had felt a similar power in Urthryn on occasions, but this was more powerful by far.
‘This is Agreth,’ Andawyr said. ‘He’s one of Ffyrst Urthryn’s closest advisers. We met by chance in the mountains and he’s made my journey over the mountains a great deal easier in every way.’ He looked at Hawklan significantly. ‘He also has a great deal of news for us. Agreth, this is Hawklan, the man you’ve been seeking, and his friend Isloman.’
Agreth bowed and Hawklan held out his hand. ‘Welcome to Anderras Darion,’ he said. ‘When you’ve rested and eaten we’ll hear all your news and you ours, but if it’s breaking no confidences we’re both of us anxious to know . . .’ He hesitated.
‘Queen Sylvriss is well,’ Agreth volunteered in anticipation of the question.
Hawklan smiled. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘And the baby?’
Agreth shrugged. ‘I’m more used to horses when it comes to pregnancy, but to the best of my knowledge, the foal – the baby,’ he corrected hastily, ‘is also well.’
‘Good,’ Hawklan said again. ‘I’m greatly in debt to that young person.’
Agreth looked puzzled by the remark, but Hawklan excused himself and turned his attention to Tybek and the others. Both Tybek and Jenna watched Hawklan intently. In common with most Orthlundyn, they knew of him as the healer from Pedhavin, and of his mysterious arrival some twenty years earlier to occupy the long-sealed Anderras Darion. However, apart from a brief introduction amid the whirling noisy confusion of the Alphraan’s sudden change of heart and the clamorous welcomes of Loman and the others, neither had really met the man that Loman referred to as their leader.
Both were sufficiently master of their new skills however, to realize that here they would judge and be judged.
‘Any problems on the way back?’ Hawklan asked simply, looking from one to the other. ‘The cold get to any of you? Exhaustion, frostnip?’
‘No,’ Tybek replied. ‘The sudden snowfall gave us a fright, but we had everything we needed. It was interesting – and very useful for the trainees. They did well. We kept the pursuit going until we ran into . . .’ He nodded towards Andawyr and Agreth.
‘I’m afraid we gave them a bit of a fright,’ Jenna said softly, leaning forward a little. ‘Waking them up in the middle of the night, swords drawn. But we just didn’t know what to expect when we saw the tent. Who in the world travels the mountains at this time of year?’ She lowered her voice further. ‘We said we were on an exercise but we didn’t tell them anything about the Alphraan.’ She went on, ‘I think they took our caution in good part once we’d identified ourselves.’
Hawklan nodded and, looking back at Andawyr, smiled
. ‘I’m sure they did,’ he said. ‘I should imagine the Riddinwr’s had greater frights than you in the past, and I know Andawyr has. Get yourselves fed and rested and we’ll talk afterwards.’
As the party trooped up the last portion of the road to the Great Gate, Agreth watched Hawklan moving among the trainees who had been with the two Helyadin. He talked and listened and there was a great deal of laughter. In the few minutes it took them to reach the Gate, Agreth knew that Hawklan had won the loyalty of the entire group, himself included. It no longer surprised him that Sylvriss had been so affected by the man even though Hawklan had been unconscious.
Just before they came to the Gate, Gulda emerged, her long nose sniffing the cold air like a stalking hound. Immediately she went to Agreth’s horse.
‘Ah, a Muster horse,’ she said, smiling and patting the animal affectionately before she addressed its rider. ‘And a Muster rider too. You’re welcome to Anderras Darion . . .’ She paused and glanced at Hawklan for the arrival’s name.
‘Agreth,’ Hawklan said. ‘Adviser to Ffyrst Urthryn.’
Gulda nodded an acknowledgement. ‘You’re welcome to Anderras Darion, Agreth of the Decmilloith of Riddin, friend of Urthryn and son of the Riddinvolk,’ she said. Agreth was pleasantly surprised. Gulda’s welcome was the formal Riddin greeting to a friendly stranger and, generally, these Orthlundyn generally seemed to be so careless in their forms of address. How they knew who was who in their ordinary lives he couldn’t imagine.
He smiled and bowed, but before he could speak, Gulda had turned her attention to Andawyr.
She looked at the little man narrowly. ‘A Cadwanwr, I see, from your garb and your manner,’ she said. ‘And from your appearance.’ She flicked the end of her nose, apparently casually. ‘You must be Andawyr, the saviour of our healer here and self-styled Leader of the Cadwanol.’
Andawyr returned her gaze unflinchingly. ‘My brothers call me their leader, Memsa Gulda,’ he replied, equally casually squeezing his own nose. ‘And I do my best to guide them when my advice is sought, but most of the time I follow, really.’
Gulda walked over to him and looked at him even more intensely than before.
‘How is your vision, Cadwanwr?’ she asked.
To Hawklan, it seemed that in some way, two great forces were confronting one another, although Andawyr looked relaxed and comfortable in the cold, grey, wintry light.
For an instant, however, the Cadwanwr’s eyes flashed as if they had seen something strange and bewildering and he frowned.
‘Uncertain,’ he replied after a moment.
Gulda nodded again. ‘You too are welcome to Anderras Darion, Andawyr, Leader of the Cadwanol. Many threads are starting to pull together. Perhaps time and debate may show us a pattern, eh?’ And with a grunt she turned and stumped back into the courtyard.
As the others made to follow her, a sleek brown form scuttled between the legs of the waiting group, and made straight for Andawyr. Reaching him, it began jumping up, chattering excitedly.
Andawyr bent down and it scrambled sinuously up into his arms.
‘Where did you get to?’ he asked it.
Gavor suddenly recognized it, and with a most unravenlike squawk, hopped nimbly up on to Hawklan’s head.
‘It’s that rat thing of Dar-volci’s,’ he said, rather hoarsely. ‘You remember – from the Gretmearc . . .’ He bent forward. ‘With the teeth,’ he whispered urgently.
The animal, however, seemed to hear the remark and turned to eye Gavor purposefully. Andawyr smiled and laid an affectionate hand on its head.
‘Hawklan, Gavor, this is . . .’
‘Still carrying that crow thing about, eh, Hawklan?’ The animal said. Its deep voice was unmistakable.
‘. . . Dar-volci,’ Andawyr finished. ‘An old and dear friend from the Caves. A felci, Gavor,’ he added, giving the raven a knowing look.
Gavor cleared his throat. ‘Ah,’ he began uncertainly. ‘A slip of the tongue, dear . . . boy. A slip of the tongue. You startled me. I can see now that you’re not . . .’ He cleared his throat again and changed tack. ‘I’ve been looking forward to a chance to thank you for your good offices at the Gretmearc.’
‘And I,’ Hawklan added, sparing Gavor any further embarrassment.
Dar-volci seemed mollified. ‘That was my pleasure entirely,’ he said, wriggling round in Andawyr’s arms and baring his enormous teeth in a terrifying smile that made Gavor tap his wooden leg nervously on Hawklan’s head.
Then the felci was whispering frantically in Andawyr’s ear and pointing towards the mountains.
Andawyr made a few brief interjections in an attempt to slow down the rate of this telling, but to no avail. Finally, Dar-volci nuzzled into Andawyr’s bushy beard, sneezed, and then slithered from his arms to run off down the road at an enormous speed, leaving the Cadwanwr mouthing a vague, ‘But . . .’ while everyone else looked on in amazement.
A bubble of excited inquiry welled up out of the group, but Andawyr ignored it and turned to Hawklan.
‘Dar-volci says that there are Alphraan in the mountains and that you’ve spoken to them and persuaded them to help us,’ he said.
‘Indeed,’ Hawklan replied. ‘But circumstances and deeds persuaded them as much as anything that was said. Have they alarmed your friend?’
Andawyr shook his head. ‘Quite the contrary,’ he said. ‘But he’ll probably be gone for some time.’ He turned to Gulda, who had returned to investigate the reason for the delay. ‘Many threads . . . Memsa,’ he said.
Hawklan’s remark that there might be a great deal of talking later proved to be apt, as did Gavor’s that the Fyordyn might have taken charge of it. Though it had to be admitted that the buttressing presence of Gulda generally prevented their having to exercise their authority in the many discussions that took place during the following days as each of the new arrivals told or retold their tales and answered questions about them.
For all her stern presence however, Gulda seemed easier in her manner than she had at any time since her arrival at the Castle. Some days later, sitting with Hawklan and Andawyr in one of the halls, she said, ‘Courage and good fortune have given us a little time in which to think and learn, and to be glad that all our friends are returned unhurt . . . if not unchanged, though one cannot but grieve for the Fyordyn in their pain. We can be glad too that our enemy stands clearly exposed now for all to see. We must all rest and accept the healing benison of Ethriss’s great castle. It will restore us now, and sustain us in the future.’
Hawklan was less sure. ‘Oklar is safe and armed in Narsindalvak, Creost seemingly threatens Riddin,’ he said. ‘We can’t afford the luxury of dawdling.’
Gulda laid a hand on his arm. ‘Oklar is bound by his Master. The Fyordyn have been greatly hurt, but they’ll set their house in order and won’t let the Watch falter again. The Riddinvolk will watch the sea for the Morlider’s islands. If I’m any judge, the Morlider will find swords, spears and arrows a-plenty waiting for them before they even touch the shore.’
Hawklan remembered the terrible power that had seethed around him as he stood small and impotent clinging to Ethriss’s sword in the face of Oklar’s fury.
‘And Creost?’ he said.
Gulda looked at Andawyr. ‘The Riddinvolk have Oslang and the Cadwanol by their side,’ she said. ‘Much of Creost’s strength will be spent in uniting the Morlider and in guiding their islands. Should he falter in the first, the Morlider will quarrel within a week and should he falter in the second, then the older, deeper writ of Enartion will run, and return the islands to their true courses.’
Andawyr nodded in agreement. ‘Memsa is right, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘The enemy stands exposed and for various reasons is, like ourselves, far from full strength. The Fyordyn and the Riddinvolk will act as our eyes and limbs, to watch and hold Him at bay if need arises. We here must be the head and heart. We must talk and think and plan. Learn and learn. Try to see to the heart of His intentions and reasons, t
o see the strategy that must lie behind all these happenings.’
Hawklan shook his head. ‘That needs little learning,’ he said. ‘His intention is the destruction of us and all the works of the Guardians, and the reasons for that will be beyond us always. As to His strategy and tactics . . .’ He smiled ironically.
‘They’ll shift and change as need arises, as will ours, though His will be hallmarked by their treachery, His indifference to the fate of His allies, and by His endless patience, while ours . . .’
He fell silent as his thoughts stumbled over his own words.
Endless patience.
He felt his eyes drawn upwards to the round window high above with its scene of a warrior parting from his wife and child. How old was that scene even when the artist caught it and trapped it there for future unknown generations?
Endless patience.
As he looked, he recalled vividly the memory of the sunny spring day when Tirilen’s clattering footsteps had called him forth from his twenty years of peace. Part of him ached to return to that earlier time, but he set its longings aside gently.
He was a warrior and a healer and he must carry his peace with him in his every action or it was not a true peace. He had been brought into this world mysteriously and been given the stewardship of this great Castle presumably to face this foe and, whichever way he turned, he would be drawn back to that path inexorably.
Yatsu’s words floated in the wake of this acceptance, uttered in the moonlit calm of Eldric’s mountain stronghold. ‘You carry more weight on the playing board than I do, you’re nearer the player.’
Nearer the player?
Gulda touched his arm again to bring him back to the present. ‘While ours?’ she prompted.
Hawklan rested his head on his hand. His forehead furrowed. ‘We must be aware of His treachery and cunning but I think it would be a mistake to try and emulate it,’ he said slowly, speaking the thoughts as they occurred to him. ‘He is our master there, beyond a doubt, and to oppose Him thus would be to fight only with the weapons He offers us. I think that simplicity and directness will serve us better by far.’ Gulda and Andawyr exchanged glances.
