by Roger Taylor
‘Why is Commander Aghrid not here in person, Trooper?’
The man cleared his throat. ‘He’s camped in the woods just outside the village, sir, with the others. There’ve been difficulties.’
The word sounded like a knell and Vashnar’s stomach, already tense from this unexpected development, felt suddenly leaden. The growing euphoria of the past days vanished instantly and, for a moment, his entire, carefully planned future wavered vertiginously. Then he was once again in the middle of the violent skirmish into which his last contact with Thyrn had plunged him.
A voice reverberated inside his head to bring him back to the village green.
‘Difficulties?’ he heard himself echoing.
It was taking him a considerable effort to control the turmoil swirling inside him, and some part of it must have reached his face for the Trooper almost flinched when he answered.
‘The Commander will explain, sir. I don’t know everything that’s happened.’ He made to distance himself from his Commander’s failure. ‘My horse was lost on the outward journey.’
Vashnar frowned, distracted. ‘Lost?’
‘Died, sir. Collapsed under me. Couldn’t keep the pace. Nearly broke my neck at the same time.’ A hand moved hesitantly to his ribs. ‘As it was, I…’
‘How far is this camp?’ Vashnar cut across the pending reminiscence curtly.
‘Only a few minutes, sir.’
Vashnar took a deep breath and nodded slowly. ‘Wait here.’
It was some measure of Vashnar that despite the inner demons which were now frantically tearing at him, he walked over to the waiting Watch Guards currently being held in Vellain’s thrall and spoke with them for several minutes before dismissing them with his thanks. To a man they were all standing straighter when he left them.
‘What’s happened?’ Vellain hissed urgently as they entered the coach again. A slight gesture and a look directed her both to silence and the watching crowd of curious villagers and noisy children that had grown larger during their short stay. The coach set off and she repeated her question even as she was smiling and waving to the spectators. A flurry of hens and a raucous duck scattered noisily out of the way of the clattering hooves.
Vashnar’s face was stony. ‘I don’t know, but it’s not good. Aghrid’s camped somewhere outside the village.’
‘What?’ Vellain exclaimed.
‘That’s all I know,’ Vashnar replied impatiently. ‘We’ll find out soon enough presumably.’ His manner ended all questioning.
Sitting rigid and preoccupied, they might as well have been riding on a farmer’s cart for all the comfort the coach’s luxurious appointments brought them over the next few minutes. When it stopped, Vashnar jumped down before the door could be opened for him. The Tervaidin Trooper’s nervousness had not lessened.
‘We’ll have to ride from here, sir. It’s not far, but there’s no path for the coach.’
Vashnar hesitated for a moment then motioned for both his own horse and Vellain’s.
The short journey to Aghrid’s camp had an unreal, detached quality for him. Sunlight was dancing joyously through the leafy canopy and the air was filled with bird song, the rustling of leaves and all the soft perfumes of the woodland. It contrasted disorientatingly with the dark and scarcely controlled concerns now racking him. An angry winter wind throwing stinging hailstones in his face would have disturbed him less.
They reached a small clearing. There was a general air of brisk industry about the place, with tents being taken down, fires being extinguished and horses being saddled and loaded. But there was also an uneasy edge to it. Both Vashnar and Vellain sensed it immediately and exchanged a look. All activity came to an abrupt halt as the three riders entered the clearing, and the uneasiness became almost palpable. Vashnar dismounted and moved forward. Aghrid emerged from a group of men standing by the horses. He strode across the clearing and saluted Vashnar. He gave an uncertain start as Vellain moved into view, then managed a clipped, formal bow.
Though only of average height Aghrid was heavily built and obviously powerful. He had a square, coarse-featured face marred by a broken nose and a scar over one eye. His manner exuded callousness and cunning in equal proportions. Anyone who had known him in his days as a brutally corrupt Warden would have recognized this but they would have noticed something else as well – a gleam in his eyes – the gleam of a fanatic. At some time, Aghrid had seen a great light. The gleam was to be found in the eyes of many of the Tervaidin. Vashnar took it as respect for himself and dedication to his cause but Vellain saw it for what it was, a disturbing mixture of personal ambition and dedication to Vashnar’s cause only in so far as it allowed the shedding of all sense of personal responsibility for their actions.
Vashnar dismissed the Trooper who had brought them here, and signalled the others to continue with their work.
‘You do not have good news for me, Commander,’ he said very quietly.
Aghrid’s eyes flickered towards the retreating back of the escort.
‘He didn’t have to say anything, Commander,’ Vashnar reassured him coldly. ‘His manner told me enough. As does your skulking in the woods here.’
Aghrid cleared his throat.
‘Tell it quickly, accurately and without excuse, Commander,’ Vashnar said, with scarcely veiled anger. ‘I’ll determine blame, if any.’
‘The fugitives escaped us, sir.’ Aghrid stood very still. ‘We obtained good information from local people about their route as we pursued them – thefts of stock and food – damage to fields – occasionally actual sightings. They were moving north all the time.’
Vashnar hurried him on with a curt gesture.
‘Then we followed them off the map, to the sea – as I put in my report. It surprised us all. I was expecting just to continue north. But there it was, the sea, directly across our path. Fortunately we were able to pick up signs of where they’d gone and we followed them west along the coast.’
Vashnar set the distraction aside. ‘And when you met them – fought with them – in the forest?’
Aghrid started visibly and his eyes flicked again towards the Trooper he had sent to escort Vashnar.
‘Look at me, Commander,’ Vashnar snapped. ‘And don’t concern yourself about what I know or how I know it. Your man said nothing other than what you told him to say. Just confine yourself to the truth.’
Aghrid’s eyes widened almost in terror and for a moment he could not speak. Then, mingling with a renewed awe for this man he had chosen to follow, years of lying to officers and justices came to his rescue. Nevertheless, his mouth was dry when he returned to his rehearsed tale. ‘It was difficult terrain, sir…’
‘There were twenty or more of you, supposed to be amongst the best we can muster. They were only five of them – three Wardens, an old man and an ineffective youth!’
Still unsettled by his Commanders seeming knowledge of what had happened, Aghrid became defensive. ‘These men are the best we have, sir. Chosen for their abilities and loyalty to you. But we were only nine then. The pace we kept up cost us men and horses on the way – we had to leave them or lose the fugitives. And the terrain up there’s awful – hills, forests, rivers – it’s not something any of us know anything about. We were exhausted, running out of supplies when we finally caught up with them.’
‘And they weren’t?’
Aghrid’s jaw tightened. ‘They had help, sir. A lot of help. A man who knew the area, and how to live in it. And he could fight, too. He used a bow – wounded one man and brought down a horse with two arrows. It was the trees and the undergrowth, sir. There wasn’t the space to use the horses properly.’ He took a deep breath and let it out noisily. ‘Maybe I made a mistake, I don’t know. I couldn’t risk letting them get even further ahead. We were all stretched to our limit. It might have been wiser not to attack. But…’ He hesitated. It would be a risk to allocate any of the blame to his Commander but he saw no other alternative than at least to hint at it.
‘I knew how important their capture was.’ That would have to do. ‘I accept full responsibility for the failure. The men did as I told them and did it well.’
From time to time since it had happened, Vashnar had deliberately touched on the confused jumble of thoughts and terrors that he had lived through when Thyrn had last reached out to him – become him. It was not something he did lightly for it was no ordinary recollection; it was like edging towards the centre of a great whirlpool. An inadvertent step – a careless letting go – and somehow he felt he could be lost for ever, tumbling into the dark limbo that was neither him nor Thyrn.
As he listened to Aghrid’s obviously practised account, he was allowed no such caution. Brief vivid flashes returned to him unbidden to confirm what he was hearing – the noise, the confusion, the confined space and, not least, hissing out of the soft rustling of the trees about him, the sudden rushing wind he had heard – full of danger and malevolence. It made him flinch inwardly. To disguise the involuntary movement he straightened up and turned away from Aghrid as if thinking.
Yet, in so far as he had been able to learn anything from Thyrn’s momentary possession of him, there was nothing about a stranger – a helper. Or was there? There had been a quality about Thyrn’s consciousness which said that he knew he was different. He had learned things, though what, Vashnar’s uneasy touch could not fathom. And too, there was resolution, strength – a greater sense of self-worth in the young man which had the feeling of being newly gained. Where, or from whom, would these changes come? Not just Hyrald and the others, surely?
He fought down the memories as they threatened to overwhelm and choke him. But at least they had given a ring of truth to Aghrid’s tale. Hyrald and the others should have been cold, hungry, fearful – like any pursued prey. They had been driven from Arvenshelm by a mob whose ferocity in response to the Death Cry had alarmed even him; it must have been profoundly terrifying for them. And they were none of them used to living in the country, still less fending for themselves there. Beyond a doubt, something had happened to enable them not only to turn and meet their enemies, but to prevail. This stranger would serve as well as any other possible reason for the time being. Vashnar did not relish the conclusion but, compulsively orderly though he was, he was also experienced enough to recognize the inexorable nemesis of all plans – the random, completely unforeseeable event.
‘This helper – who was he?’
‘When we turned back, we interrogated the people in the nearest village. Eventually they decided it was probably a man called Endryk – a recluse of some kind who lived out on the shore somewhere. Apparently he’d said he was leaving. He’d given his house away, or something – I didn’t understand properly, they’re a queer lot up there. But no one knew anything much about him, except that he spoke “funny”. They thought maybe he was from the north.’ His lip curled. ‘I think they were telling the truth, they’re a half-witted lot – too stupid to lie. But whoever he was and wherever he’s from, he’s dangerous and he’s with them now – helping them.’ His tale told, Aghrid came to what he hoped would be good news. ‘It may be of no concern now, sir. We managed to follow them a little further before we decided to turn back. There were tracks leading into the river – they’ve probably crossed it and gone north as they were originally intending to.’
‘No,’ Vashnar said unequivocally. ‘They’re coming back.’
‘But…?’
‘They’re coming back, Commander. Be assured.’
Vashnar was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain an outward calm. The memories which had returned to him as he listened to Aghrid’s tale had shaken him both physically and mentally and Thyrn’s panic was now resonating relentlessly through him, threatening to make itself into his own. He kept reiterating to himself that Thyrn and the others were no longer a real threat, they could do little harm now – events had moved on. This analysis was beyond doubt correct but it did little to calm his deeper and growing emotional response. It did, however, serve to bring his mind back to his more immediate problems.
Though part of him wanted to scream at Aghrid and his men for what he perceived to be their blistering incompetence, he knew that nothing was to be gained and much would be lost by such intemperance. Not least because there was some injustice in it. Aghrid had, after all, pursued his orders with the vigour that had been demanded. That he and his men had made contact with the fugitives at all was no small achievement given the time that had elapsed before they had been sent in pursuit. These men were not his chosen – his Tervaidin – for any slight reason. They were, as Aghrid had protested, the best of all those under his command – capable and, above all, loyal.
And, as if in confirmation of their worth, their passage through the country had yielded unexpected dividends. Now he must repair any damage that had been done to them.
‘Who knows about your return, Commander?’
‘Very few, sir. I thought it best to return discreetly until we could contact you.’
‘And the men you had to leave behind?’
‘They’re all back with us, sir. We picked them up just as discreetly. And we’ve had replacement horses from friends along the way.’
‘And you’ve a wounded man, you said?’
‘Yes sir, an arrow in the shoulder. He’s weak, but he’s recovering. This Endryk apparently removed the arrow before he released him.’
Vashnar made no comment. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then he nodded approvingly.
‘You’ve done well, Commander,’ he said. ‘Very well. All of you. The outcome was merely unfortunate. Circumstances were against you. Nevertheless, much is to be learned. We have to rise above circumstances, however adverse. We’ll talk more of it later. In the meantime, I’ll speak to the men.’
As she had on many occasions, Vellain watched as her husband moved paternally amongst the men, at once both friendly and distant – always finding the right word, the right expression or gesture to raise morale. Yet too, she could see he was strained. She had heard Aghrid’s account and had watched Vashnar intently throughout. Like her husband, she stumbled over the intervention of random happenings – the sea lying to the north – the interference of a complete stranger. Endryk? The name meant nothing to her. Who could he be? And what was he doing living up there? From the north? What did that mean? It was bad enough there were enemies to the east and west, were more to be found to the north too? The sooner this country came firmly under the control of her husband the better.
But she was not given to dwelling too long on what might, or should, be. What mattered was the present. Now, she knew she would have to use all her skills to learn exactly how her husband had been affected by what he had just heard. For it would be far more than he would easily show.
Even as she was thinking about this, Vashnar was ordering the immediate future. Aghrid and his men were to accompany them to Degelvak. Their mission would be declared a success, though questions about it were to be answered non-committally. Hyrald and the others were no longer a threat. They had fled north, treacherously aided by secret allies.
‘Useful,’ Vellain said as they sat once again in the coach. She was anxious to have her husband discuss his intentions. Only as his words revealed his thoughts would she be able to see what was truly troubling him. ‘Treachery within and an unknown menace to the north. It’ll help more people realize the value of strong leadership.’
Vashnar did not reply. Vellain affected to close her eyes, though in reality she was watching him intently. After some minutes he clenched his fist and drove it viciously into the yielding upholstery. She opened her eyes as if startled.
‘What’s the matter, my love?’
‘Thyrn, damn him. Thyrn’s the matter.’
‘But he’s just a…’
Vashnar’s hand came up for silence. ‘As long as I can remember I’ve known beyond any doubt that one day this land was to be mine – that I’d dispense with the Moot and lift it from its disordered grovelli
ng ways into order and glory, that its people would bend to my will, that other lands would quail before us. Where does such a knowledge – such certainty – come from, Vellain?’
It was a rhetorical question. Vellain’s eyes widened, both in excitement and concern at her husband’s tone. He had never spoken of his ambitions with such stark openness before.
Vashnar looked around the interior of the coach as if he were viewing a vast sky with a sprawling landscape spread before him. Then suddenly he was almost whispering as though fearful of being overheard.
‘Who can say what powers control events – control us, Vellain? Or is everything just chance – random events that we simply thread our way through, finding patterns where none really exist because to do anything else would be to fall into insanity?’ He looked at his hand and flexed his fingers. ‘We feel free.’ His hands went briefly to his forehead and his voice rose a little. ‘We are free. I am free. Surely? Free to follow the destiny which has been set before me – be it by chance or some power beyond any understanding.’ Realization came into his expression and he smiled knowingly. ‘Not that it matters where it comes from. Just as I test men to learn if they are fit to serve me, so wouldn’t some knowing power test my worthiness too? And if there is no such power, just chance, then mustn’t I look to struggle if order is to be imposed on chaos?’
Vellain was almost gaping. Both her excitement and her concern had grown proportionately. What was he rambling about? Had this business with Thyrn driven him over the edge – or even given him religion? That would be catastrophic! And yet, his voice, his manner, was thrilling through her.
‘I… I don’t understand,’ she stammered.
‘You don’t need to, my love.’ Vashnar’s eyes were bright. ‘It’s enough that I do. It’s enough that I see now where Thyrn belongs in all this. Whether he’s a wilful testing or a whim of chance, he’s here to impede my destiny and I must…’
Vellain leaned forward and took his hand urgently. ‘Youmustn’t do anything. Thyrn’s nothing,’ she said, shaking him as though that might impel her will into him. ‘Things have changed. He can’t say or do anything that…’
