Caddoran

by Roger Taylor

  Rhavvan eyed him suspiciously but did not speak. Adren took him by the arm. ‘I think we’ve just been given a cadet’s morale roust,’ she said sheepishly, looking at Endryk for confirmation. It was colder than she had anticipated.

  ‘I said we’ll all have to make a deep change in the way we think,’ he replied. ‘Be clear in what it is you’re trying to achieve – to get your old lives back, or as near as can be. Cling to that. Forget everything else. While you’re dithering because the details of some precious scheme are falling apart, someone might be cutting your throat.’

  They were nearing the top of the hill and the grey sky was beginning to thin, frayed streaks of blue appearing. The mood of the group, however, had darkened. Hyrald addressed it and Endryk directly. ‘Well, whether you want to be leader or not, you are, for the moment. We all of us want to know who you are and why you’re here, but none of us are going to ask, are we?’ He looked at the others significantly. ‘But it’s perfectly obvious that you’ve been a soldier at some time and that you’ve got more experience of this kind of life than the rest of us put together. Equally, as you pointed out, we’re none of us without resources and experience of our own, and if you’ll teach, we’ll learn. You’re right about where we’re all going and why – we’ll remember that. I think now we should start on that grim list of yours right away.’

  They had reached the top of the hill. Without comment they moved quickly over the crest before stopping. The sky was continuing to clear, but the country ahead of them, like that behind, disappeared into a soft greyness before it reached the horizon. Thyrn and Nordath took charge of the horses while the others moved back to the shelter of a cluster of rocks on the crest of the rise from where they could view the land they had been travelling over without making themselves conspicuous against the skyline.

  It was not possible to see the line of the river, though occasional shining hints of it glinted through the mixture of rolling forest and open land spread before them.

  North and south, no difference, Hyrald thought, reminding himself of Thyrn’s earlier remark. His reflections were interrupted by the sight of several grey columns feebly rising from the trees. All three Wardens reacted.

  ‘Ye gods!’ Rhavvan hissed. ‘How many people are out there following us?’

  ‘Don’t worry. No more than before,’ Endryk said reassuringly. ‘Those aren’t camp-fires, it’s just moisture rising from the trees.’ He pointed. ‘See how it’s dissipating – fading away vaguely. Smoke doesn’t do that. It’s denser – hangs together more. I think it’s time for us to rest a while.’

  Thyrn, tongue protruding, was practicing with a makeshift sling.

  ‘Your grim list,’ Hyrald reminded Endryk.

  ‘Will you show me how to use your bow?’ Thyrn asked, turning to Endryk as he released a shot and causing some consternation as the stone went wildly awry.

  ‘Very soon,’ Endryk promised as he seized Thyrn’s hand to demonstrate the correct action. ‘Remember what I told you,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘You’re supposed to be a menace to your enemies, not your friends.’ He manoeuvred Thyrn a little way from the group and indicated a small rock some twenty paces distant. ‘Hit that,’ he said. Thyrn bent forward towards the rock, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. ‘Do it,’ Endryk commanded, before Thyrn could say anything.

  The others sat down and relaxed.

  ‘He’s changed a lot,’ Adren said softly as they watched Thyrn engrossed in his practice.

  ‘And for the better,’ Nordath said. A look of pain passed over his face. ‘He’s a remarkable young man. It’s always distressed me to see the way he was treated by that dismal brother of mine and his wretched wife. But what can you do? It’s family, isn’t it? Not my business.’

  ‘Did they knock him about?’ Adren asked, as though she were making a formal Warden’s inquiry.

  Nordath’s denial was unequivocal. ‘Oh no, not physically. They’re not brutes. Not like that anyway. But emotionally…’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve hardly got any memories of him as a child running, playing, laughing – getting into mischief. Just his solemn lost little face looking round at everyone. He used to play for hours with a ball I bought him – bright red it was. He’d throw it, catch it, easily, naturally. The way we do before we “grow up”.’ He pulled a sour face. ‘But it “disappeared”. As soon as his talent began to appear they kept him close, cherished him like some delicate plant – didn’t allow him contact with other children, or precious little. And all for money… or to strut in front of their friends.’ Adren winced at the bitterness and anger in Nordath’s voice. ‘But look at him now.’

  It needed no great perception to see that Thyrn was enjoying himself. Nordath turned to Endryk. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing.’ Endryk looked like a man suddenly obliged to justify a guilty secret. Nordath laid a reassuring hand on his arm. ‘I just wanted to say thank you while I had the chance. I’d never thought to see him like this – especially after the state he was in when he ran away from Vashnar. I thought… I don’t know what I thought…’ His voice had become husky and he stopped.

  Endryk returned his comforting grasp. He was about to speak when Thyrn hit the rock for the second time in succession and turned to the others, arms raised in triumph. It earned him a generous round of applause, then Endryk called out, ‘When you’re hitting it more than you’re missing it, use your left hand.’ Thyrn clenched his fist by way of accepting the challenge.

  Endryk turned to the others. ‘All of you must learn to do that. And to make and use a bow. And to use a staff and sword properly. And a knife.’

  Rhavvan bridled. ‘What? What in the name of sanity would we want to learn all that for? Thinking about defeating Vashnar’s one thing, but we’re not going to do it with an army, are we? Besides, my staffwork’s fine.’

  ‘And so’s my swordwork, thank you,’ Adren added acidly.

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen you, don’t forget,’ Endryk replied. ‘I’ll come to that in a moment. But you’ll need to be able to use both bow and sling for hunting if you don’t want to starve. And, sadly, there’s every possibility that sooner or later you’ll have to fight your own kind again. Only next time they’ll know how dangerous you are and they won’t be so reckless. The only way you’ll survive that is by being both better and worse than they are.’ Rhavvan and Adren looked set to speak but he did not allow them. ‘Rhavvan, your staff fighting’s very interesting – looks to me as if it’s been derived from the ancient fighting school of hard knocks. I look forward to practicing with you. I think we’ll both learn a lot. Hyrald…’ He was sympathetic. ‘I’m afraid your swordwork’s no more than adequate. We’ll have to work on it.’ This was not telling Hyrald anything he did not already know, and he merely looked at Endryk uncertainly as he pressed on. ‘Adren, your swordwork’s quite good, it’ll make an excellent basis for developing a proper technique, and…’

  ‘Quite good!’ she spluttered before he could continue. Adren took a considerable pride in her skill with a sword and she did not respond well to this slight on her ability. ‘Proper technique!’ Her anger suddenly welled up. ‘I’ll give you proper technique, you son of a bitch.’ She stood up and drew her sword. ‘On your feet and see if you like the flat of my technique across your backside.’ Hyrald and Rhavvan edged back, knowing from experience that there were times when Adren was not to be disputed with. She bent forward and held a beckoning hand in front of Endryk’s bemused face.

  ‘Up,’ she said.

  He turned to Rhavvan and Hyrald in appeal but received only regretful shrugs. Then he smiled and stood up. The smile did nothing to assuage Adren’s mood.

  ‘Maybe I phrased my remarks a little unhappily,’ he said, conciliatory. ‘I didn’t mean…’

  Adren’s finger jabbed out towards his sword. ‘I know exactly what you meant. Draw that. Put your blade where your mouth is or sit down.’

  ‘Be careful, little sister,’ Hyrald said warningly.

>   ‘Don’t worry, big brother,’ Adren retorted caustically. ‘No one’s going to get hurt, other than in their pride. Someone here’s got to stand up for the Wardens.’

  Seeing himself abandoned, Endryk drew his sword awkwardly. He did not present any form of guard, however; instead he let his arm hang loose by his side, his sword point resting on the ground, as if uncertain as to what he should do. Adren circled around him with slow easy strides, both her sword and her gaze levelled at him unwaveringly.

  Hyrald watched with mixed feelings. Wardens did not often have to resort to using their swords, and on most of the occasions they did so, it was the terror that the action invoked and the liberal use of the flat of the blade that did what was necessary. Nevertheless, proficiency with a sword was a matter of some pride amongst them and Adren was generally acknowledged to be one of their finest exponents. There were very few Wardens who could face her and come away unscathed. She was legitimately proud of her skill. On the other hand, Endryk was their guide, helper and ally. There was no saying what his response might be if Adren fulfilled her promise and humiliated him. And too, he was a completely unknown quantity. Almost daily since their first meeting he had demonstrated skills that Hyrald had never realized existed. Further, this was not the time for such antics.

  He had just decided to intervene when Adren stepped sideways and forward and spun around. It was a manoeuvre intended to carry her suddenly outside her opponent’s line of sight and which would conclude with the flat of her blade landing squarely on his rear. Having been the victim of it himself more than once, Hyrald knew that her abrupt disappearance was disconcerting enough without the indignity and implicit menace of the blow.

  Endryk, however, somehow mirrored the move so that Adren’s blade flew wide, unbalancing her slightly and leaving the two of them facing one another again. Though swift, Endryk’s move had been done so unhurriedly that it drove Hyrald’s immediate preoccupations from his mind as he tried to recall exactly what had happened. Endryk had still not raised his sword.

  Adren recovered quickly, and taking her swinging sword in both hands she suddenly spun the blade vertical as though to strike Endryk flat in the face. This time he did move with conspicuous speed, stepping back and sideways and swinging his own sword around to beat hers down. Again Adren responded quickly, retreating and raising her sword into its initial guard position. The challenge had gone from her face. Her expression was now a mixture of shrewd assessment and curiosity.

  Endryk gave a slight bow. ‘That was very good,’ he said genuinely. ‘I apologize for underestimating you. My mistake. I won’t do it again.’ He held out a hand to halt the proceedings briefly. ‘But – if I may – you’re using your sword as a punishment baton. You’re going to have to think about using it to kill people with.’ Adren stiffened. As did Hyrald. Oddly, Endryk’s soft voice was more frightening than any screamed instruction. Adren had killed two people during her service with the Wardens. In both cases she had acted in self-defence and no reproach had been offered her either legally or morally. Indeed, she had acted with great courage. But the incidents were never far from her mind.

  ‘I can do that, if I have to,’ she said, her face suddenly drawn and her mouth taut.

  Endryk looked at her for a long moment. ‘Yes. I can see that. I’m sorry again. I didn’t realize. I think we’ve both just made a mistake, don’t you? We’ll do this some other time.’ He sheathed his sword.

  Adren’s face softened. ‘No, it was my fault – I started it. The apology’s mine.’ Then some of her challenge returned and she cocked her head on one side. ‘Still, no one’s ever moved around me like that before. I’d be interested to know how you did it.’

  Endryk seemed inclined to refuse, then he changed his mind. He addressed the entire group. Thyrn had abandoned his practice and was standing nearby, watching wide-eyed. Endryk tapped his stomach then his forehead. Hyrald suddenly had a vision of a line of teachers reaching back through time and doing the same.

  ‘Survival lies in the mind and body being together. I can show you where to put your hands and feet, and why. And you can – you must – practice what I show you. But the will – the clear intention – has to come from inside. You must know about that from the outset, even if you don’t understand. Let me show you something to think about.’

  He turned back to Adren. ‘Lunge,’ he said, offering himself squarely to her. Adren frowned then hesitantly pushed her sword forward so that it stopped a little way in front of him.

  Endryk looked down at it. ‘I don’t need to defend myself against an attack that’s not there,’ he said. ‘This time lunge as if you mean it.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘And you shouldn’t teach yourself not to attack. It’ll get you killed one day.’

  ‘But…’

  Endryk looked into her eyes. ‘We have to trust one another as you’ve never trusted before if you’re to win your lives back. Trust me now. Lunge again. Properly this time.’

  Adren still hesitated. She looked quickly at Hyrald but found no help there.

  ‘Do it!’ Endryk commanded. ‘Trust!’

  Adren’s hand twitched nervously around the hilt of her sword. Then, eyes both fearful and determined, she lunged again, this time advancing and extending fully. As before, Endryk’s response did not seem to be hurried, but before Adren’s forward movement had stopped, he was by her side, one hand gripping her leading sword hand and the other holding a knife across her throat. She gasped and her eyes widened in shock.

  ‘Good,’ Endryk said, releasing her and sheathing his knife. ‘Very good. I see we’ve all got a lot to learn from one another. Thank you.’ His arm looped around Adren’s shoulders and embraced her briefly.

  Rhavvan was on his feet asking the question that Adren was about to ask. ‘How did you do that? That was amazing. You must show me…’

  ‘All in due course,’ Endryk said. ‘I think we should be on our way. We don’t know what’s behind us yet and there’s a lot of open country ahead. We should make what speed we can. Get where we’re going as soon as possible.’ He was pointing.

  The others followed his hand. The sky was clearing rapidly and with it the mistiness that had been clouding the countryside.

  On the horizon was the ragged outline of the Karpas Mountains.

  Chapter 16

  As the coach moved steadily away from the centre of Arvenshelm, Vashnar leaned back into its plush upholstery. Slowly his eyes closed.

  The coach was a well-sprung and luxuriously appointed vehicle built at the behest of Vashnar’s more hedonistic predecessor. On his appointment, Vashnar’s immediate response, as it had been to much of his predecessor’s handiwork, was to dispense with it on the grounds that its conspicuous lavishness was not appropriate to the stern office of Senior Warden Commander.

  Both Bowlott and Vellain, however, had persuaded him otherwise, Vellain citing her own comfort when she accompanied him on official occasions, Bowlott citing both the cost of using an ordinary coach while that stood idle – ‘It’s not as if we could sell it.’ – and reminding him that, ‘The tone has been set. The people and your own men – the Moot – all expect it.’ Vellain had also insinuated more subtle touches such as the fact that it would leave him less tired and thus the better able to fulfil his duties efficiently at the end of a long journey.

  It helped too that Vashnar genuinely appreciated the skilled craftsmanship and ingenuity of design that underlay the coach’s smooth and easy working. Of late, it had come to him that similar vehicles, shorn of frippery, could be used to transport large numbers of Wardens very quickly to scenes of public disorder; indeed, it was perhaps possible they could be built to serve as weapons in themselves. Though his thoughts on that were ill-formed he had nevertheless spent some time talking to the owners of the company that had made the coach, and they were gradually becoming clearer – and more attractive.

  Vellain watched her husband carefully as the gentle swaying gradually relaxed him. Th
e next few days were going to be important. Since learning of the details of Thyrn’s first attack upon her husband – for, like Vashnar, an attack was how she perceived it – she had been anxious to lure him away from the daily demands of the Warding. She needed to have him where she and she alone could discreetly observe and counsel him.

  And she needed him to be at ease, in so far as such a term could ever be applied to Vashnar.

  She was, however, far too aware of her husband’s character to attempt simply to drag him away from his preoccupations by wifely persistence, and, after the initial shock, she was almost relieved when Thyrn’s second attack occurred in that it gave her the opportunity to suggest this northwards journey. That she had been right to do so was confirmed to her by the ease with which Vashnar had accepted the idea and the considerable alacrity with which he had set it in train.

  As she watched him, teetering gently between waking and sleeping, she briefly pondered the doubts that the past weeks had brought her. Then she wilfully set aside such of them as still lingered and asserted anew her faith in him. He and everything about him was hers, and greatness was to be his – he deserved no less. This was beyond dispute – a rock of certainty in her life – and she would ensure his destiny came to pass, no matter what the cost. Thyrn, or anyone else who opposed him, would be destroyed, by one means or another. Even Vashnar’s own weaknesses would be destroyed if they impeded this progress.

  As these old familiar thoughts wove through her mind, her expression became so grim and determined that had Vashnar woken at that moment, he might well not have recognized her for his wife. Catching sight of herself in one of the carriage’s mirrors, she hastily forced a smile. As if on cue, Vashnar opened his eyes and sat up, wide awake.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ he asked.