by Roger Taylor
The questions ebbed away.
Andawyr twisted round in his chair and, resting his head on his hand, looked round at each of his friends in turn. His battered face became thoughtful and anxious.
‘It’s odd, really,’ he said, almost to himself, ‘but the hardest question I’ve had to face over the past weeks . . . months,’ – he waved his free hand vaguely – ‘is “Why me? Why now?”’ His eyes continued their progress around the circle. ‘I’ve found no answer. Possibly there isn’t one, other than the ancient soldier’s consolation – we do what we do because we are where we are. For what it’s worth, as your leader, I counsel you not to accept the burden of these questions, however tempting it may seem, but to bring your minds as quickly as you can to the real, immediate and dangerous problems we face.’
Someone coughed impatiently. Andawyr eyed him narrowly. ‘I accept your rebuke, brother Ryath,’ he growled insincerely. ‘I’m blathering – avoiding the issue. I’ll come to the point. And quickly.’
Oslang leaned forward to speak, but Andawyr stopped him.
‘I’m afraid there’s no gentle way this news can be broken,’ he said. ‘And it may as well be told quickly as slowly.’ Then he paused and took a deep breath. ‘Brothers, our worst fears have been fulfilled. The Second Coming is upon us. Sumeral is risen again. His Uhriel are abroad and probably have been for some time, doing who-knows-what harm. Derras Ustramel is rebuilt and, I presume, is growing daily with His power. Brothers, we are at war.’
Uproar filled the room the instant he finished speaking and several of the brothers leapt to their feet. Andawyr made no effort to stop the confusion, but sat motionless until, gradually, under the weight of his silence it died away. He looked regretfully at his now agitated companions.
‘Come now, my friends, this can’t be so great a shock,’ he said gently. ‘There’s been an unease growing for many years now. You all know that. We’ve all felt it, but none of us – myself included – have dared to face what we knew might have been its real cause. Now, starting with my own personal ordeal at the Gretmearc and my sudden return bearing my unexpected . . . attacker . . . circumstances have begun to force that reality on us unequivocally.’
Ryath stood up suddenly. ‘Really, this kind of nonsense is too much, Andawyr,’ he said. ‘We’ve all discussed what might have happened to you at the Gretmearc while you were in Narsindal, and while I don’t want to seem unkind, I for one feel you should rest more before you come to the Council.’
Andawyr looked at him, but did not speak. Ryath continued, beginning to feel conspicuous. ‘There’ve always been individuals who’ve come upon some of the secrets of the Old Power.’ He gestured vaguely. ‘You encountered one such at the Gretmearc. An able one admittedly if he could control that . . .’ He hesitated. ‘That bird. But it’s thrown you off-balance. That and your wild-headed trip into Narsindal with barely a word of proper explanation has been too much for you. As I said, you should rest before you speak so hastily. You can’t possibly . . .’
‘Please, Ryath, listen,’ Andawyr interrupted him quietly. ‘I understand your concern.’ He looked round at the others. ‘I understand all your concerns. But this is not an academic debate. Ryath, you and I have had some fine, if heated, disputes in the past, and I’ve valued them. But times are truly changed. We’re no longer friends talking about scholastic matters – theories, ideas, learned flights of speculation. We’re Cadwanwr, guardians of the knowledge given to our ancient predecessors by Ethriss, and the only people in the world who can oppose Sumeral and His Uhriel with the Old Power until Ethriss and the Guardians themselves can be found and awakened.’
Ryath, uncertain, pulled a wry face as if distressed to see a loved friend so deluded. In an untypical expression of impatience, Andawyr slapped the arm of his chair. ‘Ryath, you know how highly I respect your many skills. I could ask you to trust my judgement in this matter, and I know you would, albeit reluctantly. But I’ll not do that. It wouldn’t be right – not between you and me. Just know this.’
He lifted his hand slightly towards Ryath, who sat down suddenly as if pushed. Taking hold of the arms of his chair he tried to rise, but could not. Closing his eyes in concentration, he mouthed something silently. The air between himself and Andawyr seemed to tingle, but still he could not rise. Instead he seemed to be pressed further into his seat.
Andawyr lowered his hand, and Ryath was released, red-faced and slightly breathless.
There were cries of dismay around the circle. ‘That was completely unnecessary,’ Oslang said angrily.
Andawyr ignored him. ‘Ryath,’ he said sharply. ‘I’m sorry about that, but you understand now, don’t you? Tell them.’
Ryath dropped his head on to his hand. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I can’t describe that. I’ve never felt such power. You’ve always been more powerful than the rest of us, but that . . .’ He shook his head. ‘What’s happened to you?’
‘I’ve learned,’ Andawyr said simply. ‘Nothing more, nothing less. When my time of trial came at the Gretmearc, I learned. Found resources I never imagined I possessed. Are you all right?’ Ryath nodded and made a reassuring gesture.
Oslang however, was less easily mollified. ‘That was still unnecessary, Andawyr,’ he said, still angry. ‘This is a Council meeting. Explain your conduct towards brother Ryath immediately and explain why you made no mention of this new . . . knowledge when you returned from the Gretmearc.’
‘I will ask you to trust my judgement, Oslang,’ Andawyr replied. ‘I’ll ask you to wait until I’ve spoken. Ryath knows why I did what I did, don’t you Ryath?’
‘It was a vivid lesson, well taught,’ Ryath answered. ‘I’m not offended, brother Oslang, truly.’
Andawyr turned back to Oslang. ‘As for why I never mentioned my new knowledge,’ he began. ‘Well, as I remember, we were all rather too busy dealing with our . . . guest, to indulge in debate. And, in truth, I see now that I was too bewildered to understand fully what had happened to me. All I knew was that I must learn about fire by thrusting my hand into it.’
Oslang grimaced at the sudden pain in Andawyr’s voice.
‘And did you learn?’ he said softly.
Andawyr nodded. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘And shortly I’ll teach you what I can, though less painfully I hope. But I’ve no new knowledge to share with you my friends, only a clearer understanding of what I already knew. A clearer vision. The obvious becomes obvious again. I apologize for my demonstration, but it was necessary. Time is against us and simply can’t be squandered on needless debate. I chose my words carefully. We are at war. Metaphorically at least, we must lay aside our pens for our swords. We must fulfil the duties that Ethriss laid on our order so long ago.’
Several of the brothers again stood up to speak, but Andawyr silenced them with a wave of his hand. ‘Listen,’ he said, looking at each in turn. ‘And think. I’ll be as brief as I can, but I must tell you again what happened at the Gretmearc, then what happened in Narsindal, and you too must be prepared to re-examine what you think you already know.’
He paused briefly to collect his thoughts. ‘Even my being at the Gretmearc was unusual. You know that. I very rarely go there, but some spirit moved me, and I went. We’ll not speculate on why I should choose to go there instead of one of the student brothers, but it is a factor to colour our thoughts. However, when I arrived, there was a strange shifting aura about the place. Then one night outside my tent landed a raven, a raven with a wooden leg, a raven that talked, that told me he was searching for his friend, a healer, Hawklan, key-holder to Anderras Darion no less, and bearer of a black sword that had fallen at his feet in the Armoury of that place. A man drawn mysteriously to the Gretmearc by a strange corruption he had seen. A corruption that had been brought into the heart of Orthlund.’
He looked round at his audience. ‘How could I not help such a tale-bearer search for such a man? Well, after we’d wandered hither and thither for some time, the aura that had pricked a
nd teased me for so many days, vanished.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Focussed itself into one clear, foul emanation. I could hardly believe it, it was so appalling. Like a ghastly beacon. And when we found its heart . . .’
He leaned forward and, resting his elbows on his knees, cradled his head in his hands, his eyes wide at the remembered pain. ‘I suddenly felt as though I were in a nightmare and that I’d wake up soon in my bed. But it was there. In front of me. Vrwystin A Kaethio – the beast that binds. He hesitated, as if reluctant to go on. ‘It’s a fearful enough thing to read of such creatures, but to see one . . .’ He closed his eyes. ‘I was so frightened. Every part of me wanted to turn and run – run and run – forever. But I couldn’t. Some deep folly or deeper wisdom just propelled me right into its lair without a vestige of preparation, the bird at my shoulder.’
He shook his head. ‘I barely remember the rest. Playing the innocent clown I managed to do some damage and suddenly the man was free, attacking the creature with his black sword.’ He swung his hand from side to side, his face alive with wonder. ‘It was Ethriss’s sword, as I live. I held it in my own hands later, and felt its power. And such a blow he delivered. And such a scream that creature uttered as it died, if dying is what such abominations do.’ He closed his eyes again.
Oslang reached out and laid a hand on his arm. Andawyr covered it gratefully with his own hand.
‘And its keeper – even weakened and demented at this destruction of his soul-mate – had power such as I’ve rarely felt from one man.’ He fingered the cord of his robe and looked again at his listeners, his face suddenly calmer. ‘That was when I learned again all that I’d ever been taught.’
He nodded at Ryath. ‘Your comment was fair, Ryath, but this was no dilettante dabbler who’d happened by chance on a few tricks with the Old Power. This was a powerful and skilled mage, albeit, I fear, only an apprentice.’ He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t have wished to encounter him at his best. Even after I downed him and scattered the creature’s lair, he found us in my inner quarters.’
‘The eye called him,’ Oslang said, part-question, part-statement.
Andawyr nodded. ‘Yes. The eye of Vrwystin A Goleg, the beast that sees all. That at least, you’ve seen – and felt.’ He shook his head again. ‘You know the appalling price that must have been paid by perhaps hundreds of people to recreate and fetter the Vrwystin A Kaethio. And who was known for his use of that creature and the Vrwystin A Goleg?’
He fell silent, but the question was rhetorical. ‘Oklar,’ he continued. ‘So went my reasoning. And if Oklar is awake, then He too must be. And the man Hawklan, who tore himself free from the maw of the Kaethio and slew it? Who was he? He’s gentle and peaceful, yet his mind is closed by a strange power and he has strange inner resources.’ He leaned forward. ‘Consider. You can imagine the condition of his arm after being absorbed by the Kaethio. It was appalling. Yet it was healable. I felt those inner resources responding even as I wove.’
Andawyr clenched his fist. ‘So many things, brothers, so many. Small wonder I was nearly witless when I returned. A healer, from Ethriss’s castle, bearing Ethriss’s sword, watched and hunted in a manner that only Oklar would – could – use. Plus what I myself felt. What else could I conclude?’ The room was silent. ‘The man is Ethriss returned, as I live. But dormant in some way. How else could all these things be? And the other conclusions. If Oklar were awake so then must He be. How could I see all these wonders and horror and not go searching for its source? And where else but in Narsindal?’
Through the window openings the shadows of late summer clouds could be seen marching slowly over the undulating countryside. But inside the council chamber, all was still. Held by the power of Andawyr’s telling, no one moved, no one spoke.
When Andawyr began again, his voice was very soft. ‘I sought out some of the Mandroc families that I used to be familiar with many years ago, but they were gone from their normal hunting ranges. No sign. So I went further in. The plains were alive with bands of armed Mandrocs and black liveried men.’ There was a stir among the brothers, but Oslang silenced it with a gesture.
‘Worse than that, though,’ Andawyr continued. ‘The place was alive with His presence.’ He shuddered. ‘He is with us, beyond doubt. And strong. It defies me that we should have been so blind for so long. These things are not the happenings of months or even years.’ He waved his own thought aside and looked again at his cord.
‘I turned back. Fled, in a word. But even in full knowledge, we’re not above foolishness. Despite His presence I used the Old Power to give myself a little light and warmth in that benighted place.’ Andawyr folded his arms around himself as if bitterly chilled. ‘I was in the mountains by then, you understand, and deep. Not so foolish as to be on or even near the surface. But He felt my presence and found me. And bound me like the merest insect. But for the depth at which I had hidden, He could have made me walk to His very castle, had He chosen.’ He fell silent, but again no one spoke. It was as if the dank chill of Narsindal and His appalling touch had reached into this, the very heart of the Cadwanol’s strength.
‘And it was only because I was so deep that his . . . men . . . Mandrocs . . . couldn’t find me. I heard them searching. Passing nearby, but they always missed me, though by what chance I can’t say. It was from them that I heard of the rising of Derras Ustramel.’
He leaned forward, his voice intense. ‘Alone in the darkness and in my pain, I passed through many moods. But twice, at my very lowest, I saw the man Hawklan again. Saw him as clearly as I see you. And I felt his presence. Both times he gave me comfort and on the second he actually reached out and caught me when truly I thought all hope had gone. And He felt him too. For His presence came in Hawklan’s wake. But I’d been given a new stillness and though His binding still surrounded me, it was uncertain.’
Andawyr’s face became pained and anxious. His voice fell even lower. ‘And the third time I saw him – though this time, in some way he reached out to me for my aid – Sumeral’s hold left me. Abruptly. No gradual lessening. It just disappeared. His attention was elsewhere, and massively so. And then Hawklan was there in front of me.’ He began to speak slowly, his eyes narrowed, as if he were watching the scene again. ‘There were others there, I think, but in truth he was alone. And facing Oklar – Oklar in all his power, but hurt somehow, I felt, and about to release some terrible blow in his rage.’ Eyes now suddenly wide, Andawyr put his hands to his mouth in terror. ‘He was defenceless. I shouted to him to use his sword, but . . .’
He fell silent.
‘What happened?’ Oslang ventured after a moment.
Slowly, his eyes still wide, Andawyr shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Just as suddenly I was alone again in the empty darkness, surrounded by the dying echoes of my own shouting. Quite alone, I don’t know how long I stood there before I fully realized where I was, and what had happened, but when I did, I forgot Hawklan and everything else, and just ran. Ran and ran.’ His hand came up to cover his face. ‘Your precious leader ran like a frightened child. Who knows what cave lore guided me out of the depths and brought me towards the Pass? When I came to my senses, I could think of only two things. At no matter what cost, I must return and tell you everything and I must not use the Old Power for whatever reason – expect perhaps my own death. Just those two things.’
He lowered his hand and looked again at his friends. ‘That was another learning, my friends. Travelling fearfully in the darkness inside the mountains, guided only by my cave lore. Travelling fearfully from shadow to shadow when I had to travel on the surface. And then the Pass, and one foot in front of the other, on and on, with who knew what at my back, for day after day. Outside, the endless . . . voices, the discourse. Inside, the darkness again. To be honest I can remember very little of the journey.’
‘You were distraught and very weak when we found you,’ Oslang said reassuringly. ‘But all’s well now.’
Andawyr nodded. ‘Yes and no,’ he sai
d. ‘I’m alive and I’m aware now of the danger, but I’m aware too of our weakness, and I’ve no idea of the fate of Hawklan.’
Abruptly his trials seemed to overwhelm him and his voice became almost desperate. ‘At its finest the Cadwanol couldn’t stand against Sumeral unaided, and if Oklar struck down Ethriss while he slept in that form then he’d have doomed him to millennia of darkness.’
‘If the man Hawklan is indeed Ethriss, then such a blow might well have wakened him.’ The speaker was Atelon, a Riddinwr and a newcomer to the ranks of the senior brothers. ‘Perhaps Ethriss had Hawklan go there for that precise reason.’
Andawyr looked at him pensively for some time. ‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘And it’s a timely thought. We should always remind ourselves that we’re only mortals, and the subtleties and powers of the likes of Ethriss and Sumeral are well beyond our understanding. But I doubt Ethriss would volunteer his . . . host . . . his bearer . . . to the maw of Vrwystin A Kaethio, and while we might not have noted his passing from this age, we’d certainly have noticed his wakening.’
Atelon bowed in acknowledgement.
‘Then again,’ Andawyr muttered softly, ‘if Ethriss were gone from us wouldn’t we surely have felt His presence by now? Rampant in triumph?’
He fell silent for some time, then abruptly he turned to Oslang. ‘I don’t suppose you sent anyone to Anderras Darion as I asked?’ he said.
Oslang shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘We’d no small problem with the eye of the Goleg that you brought back. And . . .’ He hesitated. ‘To be frank, as Ryath said, we doubted you. You passed through like a mountain storm, left us with a string of rambling suppositions and that abomination, and then you were gone. We all thought the unexpected encounter with the Goleg had unbalanced you temporarily and that after a day or so in the Pass you’d be back.’
Andawyr grimaced in self-reproach. ‘Well, I can’t criticize you for that, I suppose. I’ve been at the heart of these events and even I have difficulty in accepting their reality now I’m back here in our old familiar surroundings.’ He slapped the arms of his chair affectionately. ‘Still, comforting surroundings or no, a new reality has come to pass and we must face it squarely.’ He looked at Ryath and smiled almost mischievously. ‘I know my tale’s strange, and lacks the niceties you’d appreciate, so I’ll not ask you if you’ve any questions, only – do you have any doubts?’
