by Roger Taylor
Antyr shouted after them but to no avail.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, turning to Andawyr. ‘I don’t know what…’
‘It’s all right,’ Andawyr replied reassuringly, though he was staring anxiously after the fleeing animals. ‘At least, I think it’s all right. They’re safe aren’t they?’
‘Oh yes, they’re safe,’ Antyr replied. ‘But anyone who interferes with them isn’t.’ He reached out to touch Tarrian’s mind, but found only uncontrollable animal curiosity ploughing through innumerable new sensations of sight and scent and hearing. ‘They’ll be all right,’ he added unconvincingly.
‘What in the name of Ethriss is going on, Andawyr?’ came an angry voice. It belonged to the figure that had risen to meet them as they entered the corridor. Tall and heavily built he loomed over Andawyr, but a hesitant beard fringing his chin accentuated rather than disguised his comparative youth and this, coupled with his nervous manner, served to make him the more subservient figure.
‘Ar-Billan, we have guests,’ Andawyr said, taking his arm and giving it a discreet but firm shake. The big man was still waving his hands vaguely in the direction the wolves had taken. He gave an incongruous little cry as the two animals abruptly reappeared and hurtled past the watching group in the opposite direction, very much to the amusement of Yatsu and Jaldaric and the annoyance of Antyr.
‘I’m afraid they’re just excited,’ he said apologetically to Andawyr. He made another attempt to reach Tarrian but again without success.
Andawyr, however, seemed more concerned about his bewildered colleague. ‘Guests, Ar-Billan,’ he was saying, insistently. ‘Guests. Commander Yatsu and Captain Jaldaric of Queen Sylvriss’s Goraidin, and their companion Antyr. They’ve travelled a long way and I’m sure they’d all value a bath and a meal before they tell us what they’ve been doing.’ As Andawyr spoke, Ar-Billan’s eyes widened and his mouth began to drop open.
‘Yatsu and Jaldaric,’ he mouthed. ‘I’ve heard about you, of course, but I never thought I’d meet you. It’s a great honour.’ He shuffled awkwardly, then gave the two men a nervous bow, followed by one to Antyr as a flustered afterthought.
‘Bath, food!’ Andawyr urged, prompting him to movement with a nudge of his elbow and a significant look. ‘We’ll deal with the… dogs – don’t worry.’
He gave a small sigh as the big man lumbered off. ‘Nice lad,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘And very bright, though he does stand in his own light at times.’
Tarrian and Grayle returned, to Antyr’s conspicuous relief. They were panting noisily and both of them jumped up to plant their forepaws on Antyr’s chest. They were big animals and he staggered under the impact, making them drop to the floor. ‘What’s got into you two?’ he said, laughing. ‘You’re behaving like pups.’
‘This place is amazing.’ Grayle’s voice burst into both Antyr’s and Andawyr’s minds, overwhelming his brother’s for once. ‘Full of the Song and all manner of learning.’
The images that flooded into Andawyr’s mind had meaning far beyond the words he was hearing. ‘And you’re filling me with more and more questions, each time you… speak,’ he said out loud.
‘They’re speaking to you?’ Yatsu asked in some surprise. He flicked a thumb towards Antyr. ‘You can hear them like he does?’
‘It would seem so,’ Andawyr replied. ‘But don’t ask me why or how.’ He made a dismissive gesture, placed his hands against his temples and announced forcefully, ‘One thing at a time. I went out today to have a quiet think about some difficult questions. Now I’ve got two hundred more, and growing. Let’s get you all fed and watered, then we can talk.’ He looked at Yatsu and Jaldaric. ‘It really is good to see you again. I’m sure you’ve some rare tales to tell. Where are you going first, Vakloss or Anderras Darion?’
‘I’m not sure. I thought we’d stay here and rest a little while,’ Yatsu replied pointedly. ‘I think you need to talk to Antyr first and then advise us. It may be best if he stays here. He’s at least as many questions for you as you have for him. And he has a gift – a skill – that you need to know about. Something far more than just being able to talk to these two.’
Andawyr turned to Antyr and smiled reassuringly. ‘Yatsu and Jaldaric wouldn’t bring you here on any slight matter,’ he said. ‘If we can help you, we will.’
* * * *
A little later, bathed and fed, they were sitting in a bright and spacious room. In common with most of the rooms in the Cadwanen it was simple in style and plainly decorated. Along one side, a large window opened on to a sunlit mountain vista.
‘We’re very high,’ Antyr remarked as Andawyr offered him one of the several chairs that were scattered about the room and then dropped heavily into one himself. Like the room, the woodwork of the chairs was plain and undecorated, but the upholstery was ornately embroidered. Antyr found his unexpectedly comfortable, and almost immediately felt several months of harsh travelling beginning to ease from him. Tarrian and Grayle flopped down noisily at his feet and apparently went to sleep.
‘Actually, we’re quite deep here,’ Andawyr said.
‘Deep?’ Antyr’s arm encompassed the view questioningly.
Andawyr cast a glance at Yatsu and Jaldaric.
‘I don’t think they have them where Antyr comes from,’ Yatsu said casually. ‘Though to be honest we were occupied with other matters than architecture for most of the time we were there.’
Andawyr looked mildly surprised. ‘They’re mirror stones, Antyr. They bring the outside world into the depths for us. We might live underground, but we’re not moles, we need the daylight.’
Antyr looked at him suspiciously, then eyed Yatsu and Jaldaric as if suspecting some elaborate jest.
Andawyr laughed. ‘I can see you’ve been too long in bad company,’ he said. ‘I can’t do it from down here, but, trust me, that view can be changed. We tend to call them windows, but they’re not. Not as you’d think of them, anyway. What you can see is coming from high above us.’
Antyr held out his hand. ‘I can feel the warmth of the sun.’
Andawyr went over to the window and touched a small panel to one side of it. The soft mountain noises of distant streams, high-peaked winds and low-valleyed breezes drifted into the room. Andawyr touched the panel again and they were gone.
‘We can carry many things to where we want them,’ he said. Antyr’s eyes were full of wonder. ‘Nothing magical,’ Andawyr went on, returning to his chair. ‘Just clear thinking, a little ingenuity, and some determination. I’ll show you how they work before you go, if you’re interested.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Now, tell me what you’ve all been up to.’
Chapter 3
After Sumeral’s second defeat, a great Congress was held.
Fyordyn, Orthlundyn, Riddinvolk, the Cadwanol, all debated what had happened and the reasons for it, to determine what should be done to ensure that such a horror might be avoided in the future. The Congress’s doors were barred to no one.
There were many bitter cries for vengeance, for much hurt had been done. Wiser counsels eventually prevailed, however, for the victory had been complete; Sumeral and His Uhriel had been destroyed and His army utterly routed. And, too, it was acknowledged that He had returned because there had been neglect. The wisdom enshrined in the various traditions of the different peoples had been long buried under the mere forms of those traditions and their true purpose thus lost.
It was decided, though far from unanimously, that the Mandrocs, the wild and barbarous natives of Narsindal who had formed the bulk of His army and who had suffered grievously in the final battle, were as much the victims of Sumeral as the allies themselves and that nothing was to be gained save further, enduring hatred by seeking to punish them. Thus while Narsindalvak, the tower fortress originally dedicated to the Watch, the observing of Narsindal, was reinvested by the Fyordyn High Guard, it became also a centre of learning about that blighted land and all who lived in it.
The Fyor
dyn were left with the burden of dealing with those of their own who had sided with Sumeral. There had been many such, drawn to Him through the long and insidious treachery of the Uhriel, Oklar, who, bearing the name Dan-Tor, had come to them initially as physician and seeming saviour to their ailing king, Rgoric. And there were many degrees of guilt to be determined, ranging from refusal to acknowledge what was happening when the truth became apparent, to acquiescence under varying degrees of duress, to enthusiastic and active support. Fortunately, Dan-Tor’s quiet depredation of their land had not totally destroyed either the Fyordyn’s innate tolerance or their deep sense of justice and though, on his passing, there was much confusion and bitterness, their judicial institutions repaired themselves remarkably quickly.
It was the Fyordyn way to demand an open Accounting of any who were accused of offending, and they were always painstaking affairs, intended not only to find the truth but also a punishment that would both seek to repair any injury and guide the offender away from any future offence. For many the Accounting proved to be a benign and healing forum.
However, there were those whose participation had been both wilful and brutal and most of these had fled when Sumeral’s army was broken. It was mooted by some of the Fyordyn that, notwithstanding the guilt of these people, they should be allowed to go their ways; that relentlessly hunting them across foreign lands had an aura of vindictiveness over a defeated enemy which could only demean and degrade the hunters. But, again, wiser counsels prevailed. Lord Eldric, Jaldaric’s father, spoke in the Geadrol. ‘The desire for vengeance is indeed a dark and corrosive emotion which ultimately consumes those who nurture it. But so is neglect and, as a people, we have a duty not only to ourselves but to our children and their children’s children. And as a strong and fortunate people, we have a duty to those who are less strong and less fortunate. It is one that cannot be avoided if we are to live at ease with ourselves. We must say to those who choose to yield to the darker forces in their nature that the consequences of such conduct are inexorable. They, and any who would follow in their steps, must know that neither time, distance, nor the strength of princes shall protect them from accounting for their deeds.’
Thus it was that the likes of Yatsu and Jaldaric began their journeying. It was their charge not to deliver justice but to discover the fate of those who had fled so that the Geadrol might determine what should be done. To this charge was also added the obligation to learn about other peoples. For just as it was realized that neglect of history had helped to bring about the war, so it was realized that neglect of lands beyond their own might also have been an error. While Sumeral and His Army had been contained and defeated in Narsindal, Dan-Tor had been many years in Fyorlund and it was not known how far Sumeral’s influence had spread out into the world. Many others as well as the Fyordyn undertook this last commission, not least the Orthlundyn and the Cadwanol.
* * * *
Andawyr spoke again before either Yatsu or Jaldaric could begin their tale.
‘Did you find the ones you were looking for?’ he asked impatiently.
Yatsu did not answer immediately. Then, obviously moved, he said, ‘Yes,’ very quietly. ‘In Antyr’s land. They were much changed. True servants to an honourable lord. Many had died for him. Many died while we were fighting by their side. We shall give an Accounting for them when we return to Vakloss. Nothing is to be served by seeking anything further of them.’
‘An unexpected development for you,’ Andawyr said, responding to Yatsu’s subdued tone.
‘Indeed,’ Yatsu replied. ‘But a welcome one. The travelling wasn’t easy and it would have been even harder if we’d been pursuing a trail of pain and destruction brought by our own people to strange lands.’
Andawyr looked at him shrewdly. ‘But there’s something else, isn’t there? You don’t have the look of a man bringing wholly good news.’
Yatsu’s brow furrowed uneasily and he pushed himself back into his chair. ‘We’ve no definite bad news as such,’ he said. ‘But things happened over there I think you need to know about. It’s just that I’m a little uncertain where to start.’
Andawyr raised his eyebrows theatrically. ‘So much for the vaunted Goraidin skill in gathering and reporting information,’ he jibed. ‘Come on, Yatsu, since when have you been lost for words? Do what I do when I’ve an intractable problem… when you don’t know where to start, start.’
Ar-Billan entered the room, rescuing Yatsu. He was accompanied by a stern-looking individual, tall and very straight with a high domed forehead and a long narrow face. Tarrian opened one eye to watch him as he approached, but did not otherwise move.
Yatsu and Jaldaric, however, stood up and greeted the man warmly. His stern expression was dispelled by a bright and welcoming smile as he returned their greetings.
‘Excellent,’ Andawyr said when they had finished. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Oslang. I thought you wouldn’t be back for a few days yet.’ He introduced the newcomer to Antyr as the Under Leader of the Cadwanol, then motioned him to sit down with them.
Tarrian closed his eye and gave a soft rumbling sigh as he rolled onto one side. ‘He’s all right,’ came his judgement to Antyr. Grayle’s unspoken agreement followed.
Oslang took a chair that Ar-Billan was offering with a nod of thanks. ‘Fine… dogs… you have, Antyr.’
‘On the other hand…’ Tarrian muttered.
‘They are wolves,’ Antyr confirmed to the uncertain Oslang. ‘And they’re not mine, they simply travel with me. They’re my friends.’ A brief shake of his head arrested Oslang’s hand which was descending tentatively with a view to stroking the apparently sleeping Tarrian. He withdrew it nervously. ‘It’s rather complicated,’ Antyr added unhelpfully, a remark that prompted knowing looks from both Yatsu and Jaldaric.
‘Join us, please, Ar-Billan,’ Andawyr said to the considerable surprise of the young Cadwanwr who was quietly retreating from the room. He glanced from side to side hesitantly, as if the remark might have been addressed to someone else, before responding to Andawyr’s beckoning hand and positioning himself on the periphery of the group.
‘Continue, Yatsu,’ Andawyr said briskly.
Yatsu’s telling proved to be equally brisk. His journeying with Jaldaric in search of those that the Geadrol had named had taken them south through Riddin and thence, perilously, across the sea, in the company of one of the few traders who were prepared to risk encountering the Morlider in their fast, marauding ships. A further journey northwards overland had eventually brought them to Antyr’s land.
‘A strange place. Full of many wonderful things and splendid people, but…’ He hesitated, searching for a word. Then he gave Antyr an apologetic look. ‘No offence to you, Antyr, but they’re wilder, less civilized than we are in many ways. More quarrelsome… more easily inclined to violence, more apt to deal out summary justice than true Law.’
‘Like the Fyordyn were, not all that many generations ago?’ Andawyr intervened acidly in defence of their unprotesting guest.
The remark stopped Yatsu and he was thoughtfully silent for a moment before conceding, quite genuinely, ‘Yes, you’re right. Interesting. That hadn’t occurred to me.’
Andawyr gave him a suspicious look but Yatsu continued unabashed.
There was no single government in the land, just self-governing cities and towns that continually vied for power and advantage over one another. Treaties were made and broken with despairing regularity, alliances shifted similarly, treachery abounded, and assassinations and minor wars were not uncommon. Yet, throughout, the various peoples managed to live and, on the whole, improve their lives despite the antics of their leaders. Gradually, war was beginning to be seen as a poor substitute for reasoned debate.
Although the shifting web of loyalties and obligations that plagued the land was tangled beyond measure, there were two cities whose influence tended to dominate affairs: Bethlar, with its disciplined and spartan people, locked into their stark traditions and
their gloomy, harsh religion; and Serenstad, a vigorous trading city, bustling and hectic under the relatively relaxed rule of Duke Ibris. At the time of Yatsu’s and Jaldaric’s arrival events had been set in train that were threatening to bring these two into direct and violent conflict. A war the like of which had not been known for a long time seemed imminent and promised grim consequences for an equally long time to follow, whoever was deemed the victor. Yet, even as this developed, an even darker threat was looming over the two unknowing antagonists and their allies.
It came from the many tribes who roamed the vast and barren plains beyond the mountains to the north. They had been united under a powerful and ruthless leader, Ivaroth, and, fired with his ambition, were preparing to sweep down through the mountains and seize what their legends told them was their old land when the two main protagonists had fought themselves to exhaustion. As they surely would.
‘It gets difficult here,’ Yatsu told his now enthralled audience. ‘There was more to Ivaroth than at first appeared. He had a companion; a man, apparently blind, yet who could see, and who had… powers that you need to know about. We only learned of him after everything was over, from Antyr who… met him and… dealt with him. I think perhaps he should tell you the rest.’
As all eyes turned towards him, Antyr shuffled awkwardly in his chair. Throughout the long journey from his homeland with Yatsu and Jaldaric he had pondered what had happened to him in the weeks before the terrible battle that had destroyed Ivaroth and the blind man and sent the tribesmen, broken and bewildered, back to their old nomadic life.
Though he had prevailed in a vital and mysterious part of that battle, and though he was many times his former self, the man who had spent years slowing sinking into bitterness and drunkenness, he knew only that he felt himself inadequate to deal with the skills that he now possessed. He had left his homeland because he knew that no help would be available to him there, though he had followed little more than instinct – and, he suspected, the silent urging of Tarrian and Grayle – when he had accepted Yatsu’s and Jaldaric’s offer to take him to the man Hawklan, a healer, who ‘might be able to help.’ True, at no time since had he been seriously inclined to regret this decision, and during the journey he had learned many things: about his companions, about Hawklan and the Cadwanol and the Second Coming of Sumeral and, not least, yet more about himself. But now he was here, he was at a loss to know where to start his tale, rather like Yatsu just before him. Two other things were not helping him. One was Yatsu’s own clear, orderly and uncluttered telling, the other was an element of malicious chuckling coming from Tarrian at his pending discomfiture. He did his best to ignore this as he cleared his throat and turned stiffly towards Andawyr.
