by Roger Taylor
Later, he returned as the group was preparing to camp. Andawyr gave him a reproving look as he wriggled into the shelter and curled up in front of the radiant stones.
However, the felci spoke before Andawyr could begin any reproach.
‘I think we have an ally in our search for the Vrwystin,’ he said, closing his eyes.
Andawyr’s face became serious. ‘No more of your antics, Dar,’ he said. ‘My sense of humour’s not at its best, and none of the rest are happy underground.’
Dar-volci opened his eyes and looked up at Andawyr. Then he unwound himself languorously and wriggled round the glowing stones until he was at the Cadwanwr’s feet. Andawyr reached down and stroked him.
‘Dar-volci is not joking,’ said a voice.
Involuntarily, everyone in the shelter looked around.
‘Alphraan,’ Hawklan said, part question, part statement.
‘Hawklan,’ came the reply.
‘How long have you been with us?’ Hawklan asked.
‘Since you came from the silent place.’
Hawklan’s forehead furrowed. ‘The silent place?’ he echoed.
‘The place of the Cadwanol,’ said the voice, its words filigreed around with subtle meanings full of wonder and awe. ‘We cannot enter there. All is echo. It is a mighty fortress.’
Hawklan nodded. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.
‘We wish to come with you,’ replied the voice. ‘We wish to help and guide you.’ Then an unexpected harshness came into the voice, nerve rending, like a myriad tiny glittering edges. Everyone in the shelter winced. ‘We wish to seek out the Vrwystin a Goleg . . .’
Hawklan raised his hands as if to protect himself from an assault, so full of hatred was the sound whose glowing centre was the words ‘Vrwystin a Goleg’. He was not alone. Everyone in the shelter was reacting in distress.
‘Take care, Alphraan,’ Hawklan cried out. ‘You forget the power of your speech.’
Immediately the shelter was filled with sounds bearing the images of regret and remorse.
Hawklan smiled and shook his head. ‘Alphraan, quiet yourselves, and remember the . . . crude simplicity . . . of our speech and our hearing.’
‘We are sorry,’ said the voice with an obvious effort. ‘But the Vrwystin is an ancient and dreadful foe whose waking is an abomination. You will need our help both to find and to slay it.’
Hawklan looked at Andawyr, who nodded.
‘Come with us then, sound weavers,’ Hawklan answered. ‘We welcome your help.’
Tiny dancing sounds of excitement and happiness rang round the shelter. As they faded, Hawklan said, ‘But do your . . . ways . . . come so far north? Soon we’ll be into regions uncharted and unknown to both men and felci.’
The sounds returned, full of laughter, and with faint hints of some far distant age, long gone. ‘It’s true that not all the ways are easy, Hawklan,’ the voice said. ‘But they are everywhere, everywhere.’
Hawklan opened his mouth to ask another question, but Andawyr laid a hand on his arm. ‘Leave it,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Even if they could explain, I doubt we’d understand. Just accept their help and be grateful.’
‘Gratitude is not necessary, Cadwanwr,’ the voice said. ‘Nothing we can do would repay what Hawklan and the Orthlundyn have done for us . . .’ The voice trailed off into sounds which told of their Heartplace and of the renewal and rejoining that was there. And light and the Great Song . . .
Hawklan looked at Andawyr and raised his eyebrows in amused resignation. ‘Good night, Alphraan,’ he said. ‘We must rest now.’
‘Good rest, all of you,’ the voice said.
Hawklan slept well through what his body told him was the night, though once he woke, disturbed by something. He glanced around the shelter, lit by the subdued light of the radiant stones. Nothing was untoward, but Dar-volci was gone. He closed his eyes again; he felt no sense of menace, and the felci came and went as he pleased. As he felt sleep closing over him again, he heard the sound of ringing laughter far in the distance; laughter and song? and the fluting whistling of felcis?
* * * *
The journey continued uneventfully for several days through the endlessly varying and complex cave system. They found themselves fording swollen streams; scrabbling over tumbled heaps of rock such as might be found strewn across a mountain face; walking through echoing caves that were like great columned halls where massive stalactites and stalagmites had met and fused; wandering, more unhappily, through spaces which, for the taller, were less than head height but whose walls were beyond the reach of their brightest torchlight.
On one occasion they were held silent and spellbound by a chamber that was filled with billowing outcrops of white rock poised like a great frozen ocean.
‘Douse the torches,’ Isloman said suddenly. With some reluctance this was done after a little further urging, and for a few moments the group stood motionless in the total blackness. Then, as eyes adjusted, the huge wave formations began to appear again, now not only white, but shot through with many colours, and shining as if from intensely bright light buried deep below. They were hauntingly beautiful. ‘One day . . .’ Isloman was heard to mutter softly again before he struck one of the torches.
Several times they heard great torrents of water nearby but though they came across many streams, they found no rivers. They did however, come upon a massive waterfall, tumbling from some unseeable height above into some unfathomable depth below.
All the larger chambers that they passed through provided them with several exits, and in the narrower tunnels they encountered innumerable side tunnels and elaborate junctions and branches. Dacu supervised the marking of these and the recording of them in the journals.
His concern amused Andawyr who twitted him gently about it.
‘There’s no point coming back this way,’ he said. ‘Believe me, no one is going to answer a knocking at that door.’
‘They’ll open it for you, and you’ll be with us,’ Dacu replied, giving him a ferocious scowl and striking a bold mark defiantly on a nearby rock. Andawyr laughed.
Eventually however, his sure choice of route began to falter until finally he stopped and shook his head.
‘From here it’s only my rock sense that’s going to guide us,’ he said. ‘And Dar-volci’s.’
‘And ours,’ said the Alphraan.
‘And yours,’ Andawyr confirmed. He grinned at Dacu. ‘Make sure the marking and the journals are kept well, Goraidin. We’ll need this route well recorded when we get back,’ he said.
Dacu gave him a look of theatrical disdain.
That night, however, the atmosphere in the shelter was subdued, though, ironically, the sense of the awesome weight of the great mountains looming above them was less inside the close confines of the shelter than outside.
‘We could wander about down here forever,’ Tybek said eventually. His tone was unemotional, but he voiced the fear lurking in all of them.
Andawyr looked at him. ‘We walk towards danger whatever path we take,’ he said gently. ‘You know that. It’s been so since we decided on this errand.’ He leaned forward. ‘But understand this, all of you. Whatever fate is waiting for us, it will not be a lonely dying of starvation down here. Aside from the Alphraan and Dar here, I’m a Cadwanwr; born to dwell under mountains as easily as above them. I came out of Narsindal, walking exhausted through the endless unlit darkness, through ways I could not possibly know, and afraid to use the Old Power which should have sustained me. And I came through whole. So will you all. We’ve good lights, and supplies to take us well into Narsindal, and if need arises we’ve many other resources between us.’
‘There’s fish,’ Dar-volci interposed, helpfully.
‘And some most unusual plants,’ Gavor added.
Andawyr looked at them both. ‘True,’ he said unenthusiastically. ‘But I think short rations might be preferable.’
‘Nonsense,’ boomed Dar-volci, chattering his teeth e
cstatically. ‘They’re delicious. I’ll bring you one tomorrow – as a special treat. I can . . .’
‘No fish!’ Andawyr said definitively.
Dar-volci chuckled malevolently.
Andawyr’s forceful declaration seemed to sweep aside the concerns that had been mounting, but nevertheless, progress over the next few days became slower and more fraught, with Andawyr walking some way in front of the group and pausing longer wherever alternative routes offered themselves. Dar-volci occasionally ran ahead and the group would have to pause until he returned with a simple nod or shake of the head for the Cadwanwr.
‘Why don’t these Alphraan help more?’ Yrain whispered to Hawklan at one point.
‘It is not the time,’ came the reply before Hawklan could speak.
Yrain jumped, and looked about awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I. . .’
‘Do not doubt the deep wisdom of the Cadwanwr and the way-maker,’ said the voice. ‘We are wise in this lore, but even we learn with his every step.’
Then the route began to move steadily downwards, sometimes quite steeply. The temperature, which had been for the most part cool so far, began to grow very cold, and an unpleasant staleness began to pervade the air. Once or twice Hawklan caught the anxious look in Andawyr’s eyes.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked discreetly as they were making camp later.
‘We’re very deep, and getting deeper,’ Andawyr replied quietly. Then, hesitantly, ‘We’ve moved well beyond the reach of Oklar and even the writ of Theowart . . .’ His voice had fallen to an awed whisper and he caught Hawklan’s sleeve nervously. ‘I’m beginning to doubt . . .’
Hawklan raised a hand gently, to stop him. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’ve always doubted. Now you’re beginning to fret. Your people have been deep before. Wasn’t it Ethriss himself who told you to go beyond? You’ll guide us through safely.’ Before Andawyr could reply, Hawklan signalled Dacu.
‘Go a little way away, beyond our chatter here; sit in the darkness and be still,’ he said, looking at Andawyr intently. ‘Dacu, you go with him. Remember the Great Silence that roused me. Alphraan, share this as you need.’
A soft voiceless whisper of thanks floated around him briefly.
Dar-volci jumped up into Andawyr’s arms unbidden.
As the two men walked off into the darkness, Hawklan motioned the others in the shelter.
‘I sense some kind of trial ahead for us,’ he said. ‘What it will be I don’t know, but you’re Helyadin and you’ll cope with it whatever it is. Stay aware and, above all, don’t cling to your fear. We must keep to a minimum the burden we impose on Andawyr.’
It was a long time before Andawyr and Dacu returned, and most of the others were asleep when the two men quietly entered the tent. Andawyr did not speak, but he smiled at Hawklan before he lay down and apparently went to sleep immediately. Dar-volci curled up beside him.
Dacu looked at Hawklan. His manner was relaxed and his eyes were alive with some silent animation. ‘This is a strange . . . alien . . . place,’ he said, enigmatically, to Hawklan, then he too lay down and fell asleep.
During the night, Hawklan woke twice. On both occasions he thought he heard the dying notes of a faint, howling cry, far in the distance. It chilled him.
* * * *
The message had been brought to Eldric’s mountain stronghold by two exhausted but triumphant Orthlundyn. While they rested after their difficult journey, posts of High Guard riders carried it rapidly across Fyorlund to Vakloss.
Now, Eldric pushed it away angrily, and looked up at Gulda. ‘You knew about this?’ he said.
‘About what?’ she replied.
‘About Hawklan not leading the army. Wandering off somewhere on this wild . . . expedition. No one knowing where he is, how he’s faring, anything.’ Eldric struggled to keep his feelings under control.
‘Yes,’ Gulda replied simply.
Her calm did little to help Eldric’s restraint and his colour rose noticeably. Before he could erupt, however, Gulda continued, as calmly as before. ‘It needs no great knowledge of strategy to see that his mission is necessary,’ she said. ‘Nor any great insight into affairs or people to know that he alone can undertake it.’
Eldric tapped the table in mounting frustration, trapped utterly by Gulda’s brief yet all-encompassing, remarks.
‘But . . .’ he spluttered eventually.
Gulda raised her eyebrows, like a school teacher at an intelligent but too presumptuous pupil. Eldric breathed out noisily and, sagging into his chair, reached out and picked up the message again.
‘I should have thought you’d be a little more pleased at the news, Lord,’ Gulda said.
Eldric nodded. ‘I am, I am,’ he said genuinely. ‘I can’t pretend to understand what the escape of Creost and Dar Hastuin implies, but the Morlider defeated and Riddin secured; that’s good news indeed. As is the approach of the rest of your army, though I’m concerned that Urthryn’s taking the Muster into Narsindal.’
Gulda looked pensive. ‘He’d little choice, presumably,’ she said after a moment. ‘The route that Loman’s taking was the nearest but if what the Goraidin told Urthryn made him decide it wasn’t suitable for a large cavalry force, then . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Besides, he couldn’t leave the Pass undefended. It’d be a threat both to his country and his supply lines. He’d want to sweep and secure it properly before he left.’
Eldric turned to Arinndier and the others, silently watching this exchange.
‘I think it forces the issue,’ Hreldar said. ‘Dan-Tor will see them coming days before they reach Narsindalvak. And he’s not going to assume they intend to ride straight past.’
There was a general agreement with this. ‘He’ll see them as an attempt to cut off his retreat,’ Hreldar went on. ‘I don’t see that he’s any alternative but to attack them.’
No one demurred. There was no indication what portion of his force, if any, Urthryn intended to leave at the head of the Pass, and there was little doubt that the Muster could not be deployed at its best in the rocky terrain through which they had to travel. A force of Mathidrin and the renegade High Guards the size of that occupying Narsindalvak could do them great damage.
‘He must realize this,’ Darek said.
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Eldric replied. ‘Urthryn’s an experienced leader. And he’s got Yengar and Olvric to advise him, but he was thinking on his feet after a bitter journey by all accounts, and with several contradictory needs to be met. We can’t take the risk of his force being harried excessively, perhaps even defeated. I think we’ll have to move against the northern estates and Narsindalvak, if only to occupy Dan-Tor’s forces.’
‘Commander Yatsu, what’s your view?’ Gulda said as Eldric paused after this conclusion.
‘I agree,’ the Goraidin said. ‘There’s little else we can do, but I’ve a feeling that Dan-Tor may choose neither alternative. I think he may simply abandon Narsindalvak.’
Eldric looked at him questioningly.
Yatsu returned his gaze. ‘The real army, His army, are Mandrocs. And they’re in Narsindal; waiting for who knows what signal, but waiting certainly for their officer corps.’
‘The Mathidrin,’ Darek said.
Yatsu nodded. ‘I think they’ve been using Narsindalvak as little more than a winter barracks in which they could recover from their defeat,’ he said.
‘So much the better then,’ Arinndier said heartily. ‘If they’re there and venture out to face either us or the Muster, then we can engage them. If they’re not, then we can join up with the Muster and go after them.’
The room fell suddenly silent as the implications of Arinndier’s almost off-hand remarks became clear.
Darek brought his fingertips together and tapped them on his chin.
‘Thus casually we slip into war, gentlemen,’ he said quietly, looking around at his friends. His eye came finally to Gulda. ‘Memsa, what say you?’
Gulda also scanned the w
atching Lords. Then she closed her eyes and sat very still for some moments.
‘It is the time,’ she said eventually. ‘Winter will pass this year into a bloody and dreadful spring, but our brief respite is ended. We know nothing of His intentions, but delay will work against us, beyond doubt. We must ride to meet Sumeral before He rides to meet us.’
‘But who will face Him when we meet?’ Eldric asked, hearking back to his earlier concern.
Gulda looked at him. ‘It matters not,’ she said. ‘The army must face the army, and the Cadwanol must face the Uhriel.’
There was a long silence, and the quiet buzz of the activity of the Palace gradually seeped into the room.
‘So be it,’ Eldric said eventually. ‘The Geadrol gave me this authority against my wishes; now, against my dreams and hopes, I must exercise it. Arin, call a meeting of the senior Lords and their commanders to finalize our battle plans. Darek, Hreldar, help him. Yatsu . . .’
The Goraidin stood up.
‘Destroy those mines.’
Yatsu saluted.
As the Goraidin prepared to follow the two Lords, Eldric spoke again. ‘Commander, if opportunity allows you to understand more of this . . . substance . . . that Dan-Tor used against us, then seize it.’
The Goraidin’s normally calm features wrinkled momentarily in distress. He remembered all too vividly the terrible heat on his back as he and his companions had fled away from the warehouse that they had fired with the help of Idrace and Fel-Astian’s special knowledge. He remembered too the sudden appearance of his frenzied shadow leaping fearfully ahead of him as all before him blanched in the blistering light of this brief new sun they had created.
Eldric turned away from the involuntary reproach. ‘Those who would use such a weapon must understand fully what that use implies,’ he said.
Yatsu bowed slightly, and left without speaking.
As the door closed, Eldric stood up and walked over to the window. Gulda watched him; a dark shadow in the fading afternoon light.
He looked out over the city with its snow-covered roofs rising untidily above the dark black and grey streets lined with sodden, well trodden, and slowly melting snow.
