Caddoran

by Roger Taylor

  As they continued, Hyrald pulled alongside Thyrn. ‘Last night, before we saw that fire, you said you wanted to go back home. We didn’t get a chance to talk about it after that, but is that still what you want?’

  Thyrn glanced at Endryk leading the group as if the man’s back might offer him inspiration. Then he looked north. The river was no longer visible. There was just the same hilly countryside that lay in every other direction.

  ‘It’s no different from here, is it?’ he said.

  Hyrald did not know how to reply. Thyrn put his fingertips to his temples. ‘I can still feel part of Vashnar inside me. It’s dim and distant but it’s there, without a doubt. I don’t know what it is, or why it is, but it’s not changed since the other day, and I don’t think it’s going to.’

  Hyrald’s expression became concerned. He was about to call Nordath, but Thyrn stopped him. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not a threat – to me, or to any of us. It just is. Like my aching legs and sore behind. I suspect Vashnar can sense me too. It’s probably making him very afraid – he’s not used to what the mind can do. At least I know a little. Perhaps that’s why there’s suddenly someone behind us – his fear.’

  Hyrald found himself leaning forward, listening intently. Almost in spite of himself he had grown to like Thyrn as they had made their frantic flight across the country. Though he would perhaps have been hesitant to phrase it thus in front of his colleagues, where a certain worldly cynicism was traditional, it offended him deeply that this awkward but talented and fundamentally harmless young man should be driven from his home and hounded across the country without any semblance of legal process. It offended whatever instincts had originally turned him into a Warden – a protector of the ordinary people. That he and his colleagues had been subjected to the same treatment merely reinforced his sense of offence.

  But the Thyrn he was listening to now was different. He had changed. Even as the thought occurred to him, he realized that Thyrn had been changing since they had set out from Endryk’s cottage. His curiosity was as intense as ever, breaking through in a childlike manner from time to time – the incident with the sling had been a case in point – but he was definitely different. Hyrald recalled the sight of Endryk plucking a few feathers from the bird he had killed and then throwing it to Thyrn, who completed the task with only a minimal objection and as though it was something he had done all his life. He saw too, the brief exchange of looks between the two men. Other small incidents came to him – Thyrn asking conspicuous questions and Endryk drawing in everyone else as he answered, Thyrn doing his guard shift without complaint, and quietly supporting his uncle as they clambered up the last ridge.

  He recognized the symptoms – Endryk had taken Thyrn in charge. He had done the same himself before now for the benefit of cadet Wardens. And Endryk’s motives were probably the same, a mixture of the altruistic and the selfish. There would be a genuine desire to help someone learn easily what had taken him much time and effort to acquire – a ‘thank you’ to his own teachers – part of the endless drive to improve which threads through the generations. Then there would be a childish impulse to demonstrate one’s own knowledge and superiority – to boast. As Thyrn had done, he looked at Endryk at the head of their small procession. There was scarcely a vestige of the occasional resentment he had felt towards him at the outset. Now he was profoundly glad to have had his guidance throughout this venture. Hyrald had no doubt that it was he who was the junior cadet here and that under his own leadership, the party might have fared very badly indeed. This land might be beautiful and in many ways quietening to the spirit, but aside from any unknown dangers such as the tide that had nearly finished them, the isolation was deeply frightening. Being a capable and practical man, it gave him a particularly disturbing measure of his inadequacy, of his total dependence on others for the vital components of his life such as food and water, not to mention shelter and the countless other small services which were available in the city and whose existence he accepted so casually.

  But Endryk was still an enigma. There were so many questions Hyrald wanted to ask him. He judged him to be about six or seven years younger than himself, which, from what he had already spoken of meant that he would have been little more than Thyrn’s age when he came to Arvenstaat. What had sent him here? Had there indeed been some terrible war up there? Was he a fugitive, and if so, from what? It did not seem likely that he was a coward. Where had he learned this way of self-sufficiency? And Rhavvan’s taunt had not been too far from the mark; he did have traits in common with Vashnar – an almost obsessive eye for detail and the consequences of any action. But while in Vashnar this was dark and brooding, in Endryk it illuminated, clarified.

  ‘Arvenstaat’s got no army, or even a military tradition,’ he had said. The notion of an army was something that most Arvens had difficulty with, in so far as any of them concerned themselves about it. For most of its known history Arvenstaat had experienced only internal strife. No foreign army had ever marched across its borders or even menaced it. As a result, the very idea was inconceivable. True, the Morlider had been troublesome on occasions with their raids on coastal villages, but these had rarely been worse than the riots that tended to mar the peace of Arvenstaat’s larger towns and cities from time to time as the Moot insisted on the implementation of some fatuous and irrelevant legislation. They had always been dealt with eventually by the good souls of the villages rousing themselves and combining to present a substantial and angry presence whenever Morlider ships were seen approaching. Further, however bad the Morlider incursions had been, it was always known that they would not last for long. The floating islands on which they lived were subject to the mysterious currents of the outer sea which sooner or later always drew them away.

  Hyrald tried to imagine what a battle between armies would be like. The nearest he could imagine would be Wardens opposing Wardens, but even this he found difficult. A veteran of more than a few riots he was familiar with the procedure for dealing with an angry crowd – holding a shield line, cracking the heads of the ringleaders and leaving the rest plenty of escape routes. But here, in this random and unstructured landscape? It needed little imagination to see how a shield line could be outflanked or how the trees and undergrowth could shelter ambushes. And against a determined enemy, one that could hold a line as well as you, what then?

  Hyrald wiped his hand across his brow. It was damp.

  Had Endryk been trained to fight in such conflicts? Had he been in one? Was it that that had driven him from his own land?

  So engrossed had he become that for a moment he was sorely tempted to ride up to Endryk and ask him outright. But, aware again of Thyrn by his side, he forced his attention back to his concerns. What had he said about Vashnar? ‘Perhaps that’s why there’s suddenly someone behind us – his fear.’ A strange remark. He took up the threads of their conversation.

  ‘I can’t pretend to understand what’s happening between you and Vashnar, Thyrn,’ he said. ‘But it’s important that you be clear about what you want to do.’

  Endryk signalled that they should dismount and walk.

  ‘I think we need to stop and talk,’ Hyrald said. ‘Decide what we’re going to do when we reach the crossing.’

  ‘Talk as we walk, Hyrald,’ Endryk said. ‘This place is too closed in. I’d like to get to higher ground. See if we can spot whoever’s behind us before we relax too much.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,’ Thyrn said abruptly, but motioning Endryk to continue. ‘Not for me anyway. I’ve not changed my mind since last night. I’ve done nothing wrong. Not even broken my Caddoran Oath – you can all vouch for that. I can see it’s not safe just to go blundering back into the city, but there’s nothing to say we’re going to be safe if we head north.’ He shuffled his feet awkwardly. ‘I know that’s all I’ve been talking about since we got away from Arvenshelm, but I was frightened. I just wanted to get away – anywhere. I’m still frightened, but these las
t few days I’ve had a chance to think. Wherever we go we’ll have to find food and shelter all the time, day in, day out. No disrespect to any of you but if we hadn’t met Endryk, what state would we be in now? And where will we be in a few months’ time when it’s winter? And what if one of us is hurt, or takes ill?’ He looked at Rhavvan. ‘We’ve all got good lives back in Arvenshelm, you said, and you were right, and I’m going to go back to get mine – find out what’s going on, somehow. Death Cry or not, Vashnar or not, frightened or not.’

  He cleared his throat self-consciously. The others stared at his flushed face, far from certain how to deal with this unprecedented outburst. Despite Endryk’s injunction, they had all stopped. Anxious to avoid cross-examination, Thyrn moved on again, making Endryk step aside as he marched his horse purposefully forward.

  Any immediate discussion was precluded however, by the fact that they found themselves facing a steep slope covered with tall and close-packed trees. Before they ventured into the silent twilight Endryk drew his sword and cut a long branch for Nordath to use as a staff. ‘You’ll find this a great help,’ he said, as he trimmed it, using the sword as deftly as others might use a knife.

  Once or twice, as they laboured up through the gloom, Thyrn stopped and cocked his head on one side.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Endryk asked, concerned. ‘Can you hear something?’

  Thyrn shook his head vigorously, though more as if to clear it than in denial. ‘Just the leaves rustling, I think, but every now and then it seems to come together as if it made sense, even though I can’t understand it – like a chorus of voices in the distance, or a crowd speaking in a foreign language.’

  He looked at Endryk uncertainly as though expecting a laughing rebuke, but Endryk was staring at the trunks surrounding them. They tapered upwards giddyingly. ‘It’s like being in a huge building,’ he said. ‘They say that when the Old Forest spanned the entire land, the trees spoke to one another in some mysterious way and that there were some amongst men who could understand them. And these are old trees.’

  ‘You’re teasing me,’ Thyrn protested.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Endryk said with a hesitant smile. ‘But listening to your instincts is always a good idea; they’re older than a lot of the things we use to get by with.’

  Eventually, breathing heavily and blinking in the sunlight, they emerged from the leafy gloom on to a gentler slope. Without waiting for a command they all dropped on to the short, springy grass. Rhavvan and Thyrn sprawled out. The ridge ahead of them was clearly visible now. Endryk pointed to a dip in it. ‘That’s where we’re going. If anyone’s watching from down below, there’s no way we can avoid being exposed as we approach it. We’ll just have to move as quickly and as quietly as we can.’

  ‘Quietly? Whoever they are, they won’t be that close to us yet,’ Rhavvan protested.

  ‘I told you, we’re intruders here,’ Endryk replied. ‘Voices are an alien sound and they can carry a long way, particularly if the conditions are right. A long way. Which reminds me, we should muffle the horses’ tackle as well.’ He frowned. ‘I’m getting careless.’

  ‘What!’ Rhavvan exclaimed, levering himself up on to his elbows.

  ‘Are you sure that’s necessary?’ Hyrald asked in more measured tones before Rhavvan could voice his aggravation further. ‘It seems a bit…’

  ‘Yes,’ Endryk replied categorically. ‘We’ll be ringing like a Spring Day procession.’ He pointed back down through the trees. ‘If those people are looking for us – for you – it’s vital they’ve no indication where we are, or even that we’re here. I’d dearly like to know where they are as well, but I think we’ll have to settle for flight for the moment and hope that they’ll expose themselves sooner or later. That col’s very visible from the other side and it’s the only way through for a long way. If they come over it carelessly we’ll see them, providing we stay alert. If they don’t they’ll lose a day at least.’

  ‘What if they’re friends who’ve come to tell us the Death Cry’s been rescinded?’ Nordath asked.

  Endryk laughed ruefully. ‘I commend your optimism and your civilized thinking, Nordath. I can’t comment – you know your own best. But even if they are friends we’ll still need to know that for sure before we make contact with them. Let’s rest for a little while so that we can clear the col without stopping again.’

  This suggestion met with no opposition and the five relaxed back on the grass. Endryk, sitting higher up the slope, looked at them thoughtfully. Then he took the sling from his belt and, pursing his lips, nudged Thyrn with his foot. As Thyrn glanced up, frowning, Endryk spun the sling gently and looked at him expectantly.

  Within a few minutes, the others were also sitting up and watching, for Thyrn was being given instruction in the use of the sling. They were not sitting for long however, as Thyrn’s release proved to be problematical, making no particular direction safe from his errant missiles. Brought to their feet for safety’s sake, and encouraged by Thyrn’s initial ineptitude, the others soon joined in the lesson. Even Nordath was not immune to the competitive lure of the weapon. As it transpired, there being few boulders and attendant pebbles in their immediate vicinity, and with Nals looking disdainfully at Rhavvan’s suggestion that he retrieve those that were thrown any distance, they ran out of ammunition before they ran out of enthusiasm. It was, however, a much more relaxed group that set off up towards the col than had emerged from the trees.

  ‘People – soldiers – use these things?’ Hyrald asked, handing the sling back to Endryk.

  Endryk was silent for a moment. Hefting the sling, and with his eyes fixed on the rocky horizon ahead, it was obvious that he was contending with many memories. Hyrald was about to withdraw his question when Endryk abandoned his brief reverie and pushed the sling casually into his belt. ‘They can be used the same way as an arrow storm,’ he said. ‘To break up infantry, let the cavalry in – very frightening, very dangerous. And for dealing with sentries silently – providing you’re good with one, that is. And, of course, they’re good for hunting small game.’ His voice was flat and empty and Hyrald found he could not ask any of the questions that the reply prompted.

  Instead, it was he who was cross-examined. ‘You all carry swords, staves, knives. Are you trained to use them?’

  ‘We’re trained more to avoid using them if we can,’ he replied. The answer came out almost unbidden. It was the standard one for public consumption, rather than the true one. There was a difference between the formal written ideals of how the Wardens should contain violence, and the reality of it, just as there was with most Moot-inspired ideas.

  ‘But you are trained in how to use them?’

  Hyrald found the question disconcerting but he answered it nevertheless. ‘The short staff mainly. Rhavvan’s unusual, he uses a long staff – he’s very good with it, even close in. It’s not often we have to resort to swords, and then the theory is to use the flat of the blade if possible.’ He raised a significant eyebrow as he imparted this.

  ‘And the knives?’

  ‘Knives are knives. They’re working tools, not weapons. Not for us, anyway. Not remotely suitable for our kind of work. And if anyone wants to use one on us…’ He patted the staff hanging from his belt. ‘… give me distance and a big stick any time.’

  Endryk nodded, then indicated the bow fastened to his saddle. Hyrald shook his head. ‘Like your sling – not suitable for what we do. We’re supposed to protect people, not kill and maim them – even the bad ones, as far as we can.’ His brow furrowed and he spoke the question that had been building. ‘Why are you concerned about how we’re trained?’

  Endryk cast a glance backwards, then shrugged. ‘Just old habits coming back,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realize they were ingrained so deeply.’

  ‘You think we might end up having to fight these people, don’t you?’ Hyrald pressed.

  Endryk answered reluctantly. ‘I think it’s a risk,’ he said. ‘It’d certainly be
a mistake to ignore the possibility.’ A cloud moved in front of the sun. In its shadow, Hyrald could feel the coolness of the slight breeze that was blowing. He suppressed a shiver.

  ‘Adren, Rhavvan and I have got experience in dealing with riots, but generally we try to talk our way out of trouble. We’re not soldiers. As for Thyrn and Nordath – I doubt either of them’s even been in a fight worth calling one.’

  ‘It’s a long time since I’ve done any fighting and I’ve no desire to do any more, I can assure you,’ Endryk said. ‘But…’ The cloud moved from in front of the sun as Endryk paused and he smiled as though reflecting the returned warmth. He waved a hand both to urge the party forward and to dismiss his concerns. ‘Forget it. I’m being too anxious. As you say, we’re hardly a fighting unit, are we? Nor liable to become one with a few hours’ rudimentary training. We’ll just be careful how we go, and keep a good lookout behind us – see if we can find out who’s following us before we make too many plans.’

  Hyrald did not feel as reassured as he would have liked. He could see that Endryk was deliberately not voicing all his concerns. Further, it was in neither his nature nor his training to run away from trouble. As a Warden, he was too used to taking charge of events and dealing with them. And he knew that, sooner or later, if they were being pursued, their pursuers would have to be faced and dealt with, whoever they were. Yet too, Endryk was correct; they were not in a position to do anything other than run or surrender.

  After they had passed over the col, Endryk clambered part way up one side of it to obtain a better view of the land they had travelled over.

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ he said unhappily, when he came down. ‘We’ll press on.’

  And press on they did, Endryk setting the stiffest pace so far as they descended. Only when they had reached a more wooded area did he slow down.