by Roger Taylor
It was gone.
He was Vashnar, mouth agape, staring down at his glistening, ordered desk, seeing everything, knowing everything.
Then he was Thyrn again. Scarcely a heartbeat spent.
Trapped in the mosaic. Part of it. Still watching the arrow strike.
Endryk’s target, moving his arms upwards to complete their futile attempt to deflect the arrow, tumbled backwards out of his saddle. A thrust from Rhavvan’s staff was unseating another.
Others had already been downed.
Then the hunters were retreating, as noisily as they had come, Nals barking after them.
‘Gather the horses!’ Endryk was shouting as he kicked the arms from under one of the unhorsed riders who was trying to rise. ‘Stay where you are if you want to live.’ He moved to the screaming horse, stroked its head gently then drew his sword and killed it with a single quick thrust. Thyrn heard himself gasp.
Silence flooded deafeningly over the scene.
Endryk pulled the arrow from the dead horse.
As if released by this, the sounds of the forest began to force their way through the silence. At their ragged edge was the dwindling echo of the crashing flight of the attackers.
‘Damn you all!’ Endryk shouted, turning his sword towards one of the downed riders. ‘Bringing me to this again.’ For a moment it seemed that he was going to kill the man as quickly as he had killed the horse, but instead he pushed his sword into the ground by his terrified face and placed a foot on his chest. Adren moved to the man that Endryk had shot, though her Warden’s caution kept her blade levelled at him. The arrow had struck him in the shoulder and was swaying like an admonishing finger as he breathed. His eyes were wide and shocked.
‘Horses, Thyrn.’ It was Nordath nudging his nephew from behind. ‘Come on. And empty the saddlebags on that dead one.’
There was a sudden scuffling and two of the unhorsed riders were on their feet and running.
‘Let them go,’ Hyrald said, as Rhavvan and Adren made to run after them. ‘They’re no use to us and it won’t be long before the others re-group and come after us again. We’ve been lucky but we’re still out-numbered, don’t forget.’ He moved to the man pinioned by Endryk’s foot.
‘Who are you? And why are you chasing us?’ He bent forward, frowning. ‘And what kind of a uniform is that you’re wearing?’
The man’s mouth was trembling too much for him to speak coherently. ‘Orders. Vashnar’s orders. Death Cry. Don’t kill me, please.’
Hyrald drew his knife, knelt down by the cringing figure and cut off an insignia from his tunic. He glanced at it, puzzled, then pushed it into his pocket before seizing the man’s face and turning it towards him.
‘How many more of you? The truth now, or…’ He indicated the watching figure of Endryk, looming above him, leaning on his sword.
‘Only us,’ the man blurted out. ‘Nine. Lost some on way.’
Who’s in charge of you?’
‘Commander Aghrid.’
Hyrald started and there was an audible response from the other two Wardens.
‘CommanderAghrid?’
The man nodded, his eyes desperately urging the truth of what he was saying. Hyrald’s face filled with questions.
‘No time,’ Endryk said, seeing them and laying a hand on his shoulder.
Reluctantly Hyrald stood up. ‘Take your wounded friend and get out of here while you can. And take a message to whoever sent you, Warden.’ He put a withering emphasis into the last word. We’ve done nothing wrong, but as soon as we can find a river crossing we’re going north, away from Arvenstaat until some kind of sanity returns. You come after us again like this – anyone comes after us – and we’ll defend ourselves.’ His anger suddenly spilled out. ‘And remember this, you drew on us without challenge! A civilian’s taking a chance when he does that, but a Warden’s breaking every unwritten law we live by.’ He bent over the man viciously. ‘So remember that we didn’t kill you when we were more than entitled to. Remember that especially when you watch the sun go down tonight. Remember it every day for the rest of your life. Now go!’
For a moment he looked as though he were going to strike the man, then he stepped back, face set. The man clambered shakily to his feet, his eyes moving fearfully around each of his assailants in turn. He took a step and clutched at his leg with a grimace of pain. It evoked no response from his audience.
‘Your friend,’ Hyrald said coldly, pointing towards the rider that Endryk had shot.
‘Wait,’ Endryk said. He moved to the wounded man. ‘Your lucky day,’ he said, kneeling down beside him. ‘Lucky it wasn’t a battle arrow, lucky it was clean, and lucky I missed what I was aiming at.’ Then, with the same abrupt briskness with which he had killed the horse, he pulled out the arrow. The man arched and his mouth gaped but no sound came. Endryk patted him reassuringly, then helped him to his feet with unexpected gentleness. ‘Is there a healer with you?’ he asked. The man shook his head. ‘Well, do your best to keep the wound clean and don’t use that arm too much.’ He draped the man’s uninjured arm around the shoulder of the limping man.
As they hobbled away, menaced by a returning Nals, Endryk turned to Nordath and Thyrn. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No, not remotely,’ Nordath said, with unexpected force. ‘I’ve just aged ten years, and my heart’s beating enough to break my ribs, but I don’t think I’m hurt and I can still ride.’
‘Me too,’ Thyrn said weakly.
Endryk looked at the others. ‘The rest of you? Anyone hurt?’
Hyrald and Rhavvan shook their heads.
‘Shaky. Very shaky,’ Adren said, holding out her hands to demonstrate the point. ‘But it’ll pass. And you? How are you?’
A flicker of surprise passed over Endryk’s face but he did not reply other than with a cursory nod. ‘Two more horses, I see,’ he said brusquely. ‘And a few more supplies, I presume. That’s good. In fact, it’s excellent.’ He stroked one of the horses. ‘But they’re in a sorry state. They look as if they’ve been ridden out. Still, we can take it steady for a while. Let’s go.’
‘All of them looked as if they’d been ridden out,’ Adren said as they rode away from the sunlit battleground.
‘All?’ Endryk queried.
‘The horses, the men. They all looked exhausted. As if they’d been riding for days.’
‘I can’t say I noticed, to be honest, I was too busy aiming,’ Endryk replied. ‘Though those two were even more travel-stained than you are. You could be right, they could well have travelled a long way very quickly.’ He smiled appreciatively. ‘Still, so much the better. They’re three horses down now and with at least two injured men to tend to – one badly if that wound becomes infected. That plus exhaustion should slow them down radically.’
‘What do you make of this?’ Hyrald said, handing the insignia he had cut off the man’s tunic to Rhavvan.
Rhavvan held it against the insignia on his own tunic. ‘It’s certainly not one of ours. It looks familiar, but I don’t know where from. Come to think of it, there was something odd about their uniforms. Apart from being the worse for wear like ours.’
‘They were black,’ Endryk said. ‘It brings back bad memories for me – black uniformed thugs policing the streets. Yours are very dark blue – or were before you set out.’
Adren took the insignia from Rhavvan and studied it intently. After a moment she began clicking her fingers in an attempt to conjure up an old memory. ‘Two lightning flashes and a single silver star,’ she said. ‘I know it from somewhere. It’s old.’
‘It’s the symbol of the Tervaidin,’ Nordath said quietly. ‘The old Dictators’ bodyguards. Your ancient precursors.’
Hyrald leaned across to examine the insignia again. Adren gave it to him.
‘You’re right,’ he said, frowning. ‘What the devil’s going on? Wardens wearing a Tervaidin symbol. It’s…’ He left the sentence hanging.
‘Were they Wardens?’ Endryk a
sked.
Hyrald looked at the captured horses. ‘The uniforms were the same, as far as I could tell, bar the colour and this badge. And the horses and tack are ours.’
‘I recognized one of the ones who bolted,’ Rhavvan said. ‘One of Vashnar’s own command, I think.’
‘AndCommander Aghrid,’ Adren said, significantly.
‘None of this makes any sense.’ Hyrald scowled. ‘Aghrid can’t possibly be a Commander. He’s a disgrace to the entire Warding. He should’ve been locked up, not just thrown out.’
‘I don’t think the man was lying,’ Endryk said. ‘And he did say Aghrid, quite clearly.’
Hyrald was clutching for reason. ‘Anyway, there’s no Commandership vacant.’
Adren cleared her throat significantly.
‘Except yours.’ Rhavvan spoke her meaning.
Hyrald glowered at him. ‘Our men wouldn’t accept Aghrid, you know that,’ he said indignantly. ‘Besides, I doubt he’d have the nerve even to go near the House. He was lucky someone didn’t take a staff to him one quiet night.’
‘He was lucky someone didn’t take a sword to him,’ Rhavvan added.
‘This man is known to you?’ Endryk asked diffidently.
Hyrald pulled a sour face, as though the words themselves were distasteful. ‘He was a Deputy Commander – same rank as Adren and Rhavvan…’
‘Acting Deputy Commander,’ they both interpolated defensively. ‘And to a minor district.’
Hyrald gave a conceding wave. ‘Acting Deputy Commander,’ he emphasized. ‘But he was corrupt and violent.’
‘In my limited stay in Arvenshelm I gained the distinct impression that corruption and violence amongst Wardens was endemic,’ Endryk said bluntly.
Hyrald turned to him angrily. ‘No!’ he protested, but Endryk outfaced him.
‘No shopkeepers and tradesmen “doing favours”? No “summary fines” in lieu of more physical retribution?’ he said. Hyrald turned away unhappily.
‘We’re not perfect. And there are certain… traditions whereby citizens show their gratitude for what we do. That’s always happened. But it’s kept at a sensible level – there’s never any threat. It’s not officially condoned, and there’re certainly no “summary fines” – not by any of my men, anyway.’ He was wilting under Endryk’s continuing gaze. ‘Occasional “summary justice”, I’ll grant you. A cracked head perhaps, instead of burdening the courts.’
‘But Aghrid was different?’
Hyrald searched the comment for some hint of sarcasm, but there was none. ‘Yes, he was,’ he replied, thankful to be on safer ground. ‘Very different. He did intimidate and harass. How he ever got into the Warding in the first place defies me, let alone how he became an Acting Deputy Commander. He was completely out of control, getting greedier and more violent by the week until he half killed some poor shopkeeper who stood up to him. He was dismissed from the Warding eventually.’
‘And the shopkeeper and his other victims?’
Hyrald clenched his fists at the memory. ‘Duly recompensed,’ he said, unsettled again. He turned to his colleagues for support. ‘He can’t be a Commander. It’s not possible.’
‘It’s what the man said,’ Adren replied unhelpfully. She was patently distressed herself. ‘Aghrid and Tervaidin. None of this makes any sense.’
‘The Tervaidin were an elite bodyguard who eventually took over the running of the state, weren’t they?’ Endryk asked, addressing the question predominantly to Nordath.
‘Never overtly,’ Nordath replied, his voice unsteady. ‘They were astute enough to keep the Dictator conspicuously in the eye of the people so that he would carry the blame for anything bad that happened. In the first place they were, anyway. Later, they just became corrupt and greedy – like Aghrid.’
‘Corrupt and greedy. How about tyrannical and brutal?’ Endryk said.
‘That as well, certainly,’ Nordath said. ‘It’s strange. They’re generally thought of now as heroic – brave protectors of the land and people. Even though there’s no doubt about what they were really like.’
They came to a clearing. Endryk reined his horse to a halt and held up a hand for silence. There was no sound of pursuit. Just the rustling of leaves and the sound of the river. It was not as loud now. The sun was low and the sky was purpling. The pristine whiteness of the slowly drifting flotilla of clouds was being transformed into a fevered redness tinged with leaden grey shadows.
‘I’ve no idea where we are,’ Endryk said. ‘But I think we should move on westwards for as long as possible. Nice and steady. Use lanterns if we have to, they won’t give our positions away while we’re in the trees. And we’ll have to post a double guard tonight.’
No one said anything, but the Wardens were grim-faced while Nordath and Thyrn looked distracted. Endryk addressed their concerns.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, clicking his horse forward. ‘I’d forgotten. That must have frightened both of you very badly.’ They looked up at him, but he did not wait for an answer. ‘It frightened us all. Fighting isn’t something you ever get used to – not fighting like that especially, where your life is threatened. There’s an intensity to it – a focus – that leaves scars for ever. Changes you. Even Wardens, who deal with a lot of violence, don’t often get threatened like that. My only advice is that if you want to be sick, or faint, or whatever – do it, get rid of it. But…’ He looked at each of them in turn. ‘Remember this, and cling to it. No matter how bad you feel, you survived. Not only that, in this instance you weren’t even hurt. And know this, those people who came against you will be feeling far worse.’
‘I’m still shaking.’ The words tumbled out of Thyrn as if he had indeed been holding them back like vomit.
Endryk held out his hand, imitating Adren’s earlier gesture. It was trembling slightly. ‘It’s the way your body looks after itself. Before and after. Don’t be afraid to be afraid. It’s not pleasant, but it’s in your best interests. Don’t hide things from yourself. I’ll tell you this, too. You did well, both of you – very well. We’d have been in a sorry state if the horses had scattered.’ He cast a glance at Hyrald and the others. ‘In fact, we all did well. Though I’ll have to get some archery practice in. Hitting that man in the shoulder like that.’
‘You were aiming to kill him?’ Adren asked hesitantly.
Endryk smiled ruefully. ‘No. I told him he was lucky I missed just to catch his attention. I was aiming for the horse.’ His smile turned into a laugh. Despite its grim origin his laughter lightened their mood as they rode from the clearing into the premature gloaming of the trees.
It was not long before it became too dark for them to ride safely and they were obliged to dismount. The dancing light of a solitary lantern held by Endryk led them on, filling their world with dusty flashing shadows, bright flickering moths and a snowy rain of flitting insects which left Rhavvan growling.
They walked for a long time and were very tired when they finally camped – too tired for any of them to be able to stand guard.
‘They’ll be in a worse state than we are,’ Rhavvan protested to Endryk as his concern about this became apparent. ‘We won’t need a guard.’
‘I’ll remind you of that when you wake up tomorrow with your throat cut,’ Endryk said uncompromisingly.
In the end he had them lay trip lines around the camp. ‘Do be careful when you get up in the morning,’ he said, laughing again.
None of them slept well that night, Thyrn least of all, as troublesome dreams full of terrible blood-soaked injuries plagued him. Only towards morning did some semblance of the control that he normally had over his dreams begin to return, but he was ill-at-ease when he finally woke to a dull, overcast day. There was some solace in the damp freshness that filled the air but none of them save Endryk and Nals seemed to find it.
As they ate, Hyrald was anxious to make and discuss plans for the rest of their journey, though his immediate concern was the intention of their pursuers. By common co
nsent and at Endryk’s prompting, they postponed any debate about the Tervaidin symbol and the mysterious re-appointment and promotion of Aghrid.
‘With luck, they’ll believe what I said about going north,’ Hyrald said.
Thyrn cleared his throat noisily. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, louder than he had intended. ‘I told Vashnar that we were coming back.’
Chapter 14
Vashnar clasped his hand over his mouth and nose. Panic filled him.
He had not felt the tell-tale welling of pressure which announced a nose-bleed but it was the first thing that came to mind after he realized he had once again been drawn into Thyrn’s mind. Though he was alone in his office, there was something so peculiarly repellent to him in such a spontaneous haemorrhaging that he could do no other than glance quickly round, as though a circle of jeering witnesses might have appeared just as spontaneously.
Vashnar accepted that there were many things over which he had no control and he had learned to ignore, tolerate, or use these to his advantage as circumstances dictated. But his body and his mind were things over which his control should be absolute and the sudden nose-bleed, unheralded, unprovoked, somehow struck towards the very foundations of the unseen inner supports that sustained him. It should not have happened. To be subjected to such a thing was both unacceptable and disturbing. And it brought with it a shame almost akin to that he might have felt had he wet his bed – a childish shame unreachable by reason, be it Vellain’s easy common-sense dismissals or his own obsessively rehearsed arguments to be used if need should arise. No trite reply could answer the question that loomed before him. What would have happened if someone had been present? The bleeding had all the sinister qualities of one of those trivial events that set in train events which lead unpredictably but inexorably to catastrophe.
It was thus some time before he managed to quieten himself sufficiently to turn to the truly unsettling aspect of what had just happened. Even then, this primal preoccupation gnawed at him and had him tentatively touching his nostrils and examining his fingers for signs of blood while at the same time he had to fight back a clamouring and mindless panic that was constantly threatening to overwhelm him.
