The Call of the Sword

by Roger Taylor

  Gavor gave a small flap of alarm when it looked at one stage as if the little man was going to disappear into it entirely.

  Eventually he stood up, rather flushed, with a length of cloth in his hand.

  ‘This should do it,’ he said, triumphantly. ‘Give me your arm.’ Gingerly, Hawklan offered the seemingly alien limb. Andawyr took it and quickly and expertly wrapped the cloth around it, singing softly and rhythmically to himself as he did so. Hawklan tried to follow the movements of Andawyr’s hands, but they were so deft that he soon lost track. When he had finished, Andawyr’s forehead was damp, but he looked up at Hawklan and smiled, his little eyes shining.

  ‘Not familiar with this technique, are you?’ he said.

  Hawklan shook his head. ‘I’ve some healing in my voice, but your weave means nothing to me.’

  ‘No reason why it should,’ said Andawyr. ‘It’s a fairly . . . specialized method, used for fairly specialized injuries.’ He made a slight adjustment to the bandage. ‘There. That should do it.’

  Hawklan looked at his arm. The bandage covered the whole of the damaged area and was wrapped individually around each finger. To his surprise however, he found he could move his hand and fingers quite easily. Looking closely at the bandage he saw that it was without texture, and apparently without edges. Nor could he see any sign of how it had been fastened. He looked at Andawyr and was about to speak when the little man raised his hand.

  ‘One day when we’ve more time I’ll explain it to you. All you need to know now is that the bandage will fall off in a few days when your arm is well again and, in the meantime, you should be able to use your hand perfectly normally.’ He looked at Hawklan strangely. ‘I’ll be honest though. I don’t know what saved you from that trap. It certainly wasn’t just me and the bird. There’s more to you than meets even my eye. We must talk urgently.’ He seemed to come to a decision. ‘Come over here,’ he said, seriously.

  Over here proved to be yet another room, the door of which appeared when Andawyr made a movement with his hands against the wall of the tent. Hawklan ducked through the low opening and turning round was surprised to see Andawyr closing a heavy wooden door. Again, in anticipation of his curiosity, Andawyr spoke.

  ‘My personal quarters,’ he said, as if that explained all. ‘Only a travelling model I’m afraid, but fairly secure.’ Then looking at his guest’s face, ‘I’m sorry if all this is bewildering, Hawklan, but we do have a great deal to talk about and not a great deal of time. I must make the most of what we have before we have to leave. My little trick on the tent door will keep most ordinary searchers away, but whoever set that trap for you will open it with no trouble, and they’ll be after me now as well. Either for revenge because I’ve done them a hurt they didn’t expect, or because I’ve seen too much. Either way, they’ll want to know who I am just as much as I want to know who they are, and now we’ve no longer got the element of surprise, they’ve the greater strength.’

  He put his hand to his head.

  ‘But you destroyed that pavilion,’ said Hawklan, trying to follow the little man’s conversation.

  Andawyr shook his head and laughed grimly. ‘Destroy. Would I had. Would I could. By some miracle you slew its heart and I managed to throw dust in its keeper’s eyes to stop him running completely amok.’ He shook his head. ‘But he’s almost totally out of control now. Who could have given him such Power? Taught him to use it like that?’ he said to himself.

  Hawklan could contain himself no longer. ‘Andawyr, what on earth’s happening? I thought I’d no curiosity in me, but this evening has shown me otherwise. Who are you? What was that place I was in, and what was that appalling . . . chair?’ He shuddered. ‘What happened to me in there? And to my arm? And how did you find me?’

  Andawyr lifted both his hands to ward off further questions.

  ‘In a moment young fellow, in a moment. I can only tell you a few things, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to spend our time asking questions, not answering them. Will you please trust me?’

  Hawklan looked into the man’s eyes for a long time, then glanced at Gavor. The raven nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘Good,’ said Andawyr. ‘Now sit down and make yourself comfortable.’

  Hawklan looked dubiously at the various chairs scattered about the room.

  Andawyr smiled. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘None of these chairs will harm you – besides, you’re better armed than you realize.’

  Hawklan sat down cautiously on the edge of a very hard upright chair and Gavor hopped onto his shoulder. Andawyr chuckled.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘I can understand your concern. But that was no chair you were sitting on in that . . . place. Still, another time maybe.’ Then he became very serious, and his oval punchbag face looked searchingly into Hawklan’s. Occasionally as he spoke, Hawklan thought he saw a bright white light flickering through his stained old smock, so that he looked like a worn cover over a brilliant lantern. And always, Hawklan sensed a barely controlled excitement in the little man. Excitement mixed with doubt and fear.

  ‘The question,’ Andawyr began, ‘is not who I am, Hawklan, but who you are. But I’ll answer some of your questions first . . . briefly. Don’t interrupt. I’m Andawyr, leader of the Cadwanol.’ He looked carefully at Hawklan to see his reaction to the name, but there was none, although Gavor bent forward intently. ‘We’re a group of . . . teachers. Dedicated, amongst other things, to studying and preserving ancient lore. It’s a very old Order, and we’ve accumulated much knowledge and many skills over the centuries. I was here just to buy supplies, but I’ve had a feeling there’s been something amiss for a long time now and the Gretmearc’s such a hotchpotch of a place there’s always some useful gossip to be picked up.’

  Hawklan shifted on his chair, struggling to contain his patience. Andawyr continued.

  ‘As for where you were, that was all too easy to find once they started.’ He leaned forward and put his head in his hands as if in pain.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Hawklan asked.

  Andawyr nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, looking up and smiling slightly. ‘I’m a little shocked that’s all. I didn’t think this morning that I’d ever be called upon to face such a trial as that . . .’ His voice tailed off and his face became thoughtful. Hawklan waited.

  After a moment, Andawyr straightened up. ‘The slowest apprentice couldn’t have missed them. They positively shouted their whereabouts to anyone with the ears to hear. And the pavilion? Well . . . put simply, that was a trap – an appalling trap for a considerable prey. And that brings us back to the real question. Who are you that so much effort should be expended on your behalf? Why are they so frightened of you that you have to be so bound?’

  He peered deep into Hawklan’s face again. ‘Show me your sword.’

  Hawklan drew it and laid it gently in Andawyr’s extended hands. ‘Careful, it’s very sharp,’ he warned.

  The old man did not move, but stared down at the sword, slowly moving his eyes along its length. Then he let out a long slow breath.

  ‘When I heard Gavor’s tale, I couldn’t believe it,’ he said, softly. ‘But it’s here. Actually here. In my hands. I still can’t believe it.’ He looked up at Hawklan. ‘You don’t know what this is, do you?’ he said.

  ‘It’s a very fine sword I believe,’ Hawklan offered, tentatively.

  Andawyr shook his head in amused amazement. ‘A fine sword,’ he echoed to himself. Then his voice fell to a whisper as if the walls themselves should not hear. ‘This is his sword. Ethriss’s sword. Left at Anderras Darion when he went to face Sumeral at the Last Battle. Small wonder it slew the heart of that . . . trap, and protected your arm.’

  Abruptly, his face broke up as if he were in great pain or about to weep uncontrollably. Gavor flapped his wings uneasily.

  ‘Why me?’ said Andawyr. ‘Why me? Why now?’

  Hawklan watched him uncertainly, then carefully lifting the s
word from the still outstretched hands, replaced it in its scabbard.

  ‘What’s the matter, Andawyr?’ he asked.

  The pain in Andawyr’s face faded into some kind of resignation and he bowed his head away from the gaze of the green eyes.

  ‘Everything’s the matter, Hawklan. You may be our greatest hope, but at the moment I’m your greatest hope, and you, along with everyone else, are in great danger.’

  Despite Andawyr’s obvious distress, Hawklan’s impatience broke through again. ‘Andawyr, what are you talking about? Tell me what’s happening. I’m a simple healer; who would want to harm me?’

  Andawyr started at Hawklan’s unexpectedly authoritative tone and, leaning forward, took hold of his hands.

  ‘Someone who appears out of the mountains – impassable mountains in mid-winter if I recall Gavor’s tale correctly. Someone with no memory. Someone with the key and the word to open Anderras Darion. Ethriss’s own castle. Someone who knows the castle as he walks through it, even the passage through the labyrinth that guards the armoury. Someone who sees an ancient corruption in a tinker’s toy, and then has the Black Sword of Ethriss fall at his feet. That someone is more than a simple healer, Hawklan. Isn’t he?’

  ‘Who am I, then?’ Hawklan almost shouted.

  ‘Close your eyes and relax,’ Andawyr said, abruptly and decisively. ‘Trust me.’ Hawklan hesitated, but Gavor closed his claw reassuringly on his shoulder.

  Hawklan nodded and closed his eyes. As he did so he thought he glimpsed again the flickering white light within the old man. Andawyr reached up and placed the palms of his hands on Hawklan’s temples then he too closed his eyes.

  The room was very quiet; not a vestige of sound from the Gretmearc penetrated into it. Gavor fidgeted.

  Hawklan felt himself floating free in a great space filled with countless swirling images and whisperings. Occasionally, tiny portions of the sounds and the scenes would come together and make sense, but they slipped away before he could catch them, like morning dreams. Then abruptly he was standing on something solid.

  Andawyr’s voice said, ‘Open your eyes, Hawklan. You’re quite safe. Don’t be afraid. Just tell me what you see.’

  Hawklan opened his eyes. He could still feel the pressure of Andawyr’s hands holding his temples, but he could not see him. Instead he found he was standing in the middle of an apparently endless plain. Looking around he could see no distinguishing features at all. The ground beneath his feet was smooth and flat and unblemished in every direction. And everything was silent and still. He described it to Andawyr.

  ‘The ground you’re standing on, what’s it like?’ came the question.

  Hawklan looked down and tapped his foot. The sensation was strange.

  ‘It feels very solid. Like . . . rock perhaps . . . only more solid . . . more permanent,’ he said.

  He felt Andawyr sigh. ‘I feared so,’ he said. ‘Close your eyes. I’ll bring you back.’

  Then he was floating free again through the shifting scenes and sounds until Andawyr said, ‘All right. Open your eyes now,’ and the pressure went from his temples. He was back in Andawyr’s room.

  ‘What was all that about?’ he asked rather irritably. Andawyr’s face was screwed up with doubt and disappointment, and he was squeezing the remains of his nose between his thumb and forefinger pensively. He jumped slightly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, scratching his head, but he offered no answer.

  ‘Sorry!’ Hawklan spoke heatedly. ‘Andawyr, you’re a complete stranger to me and I’m in your debt. You’ve saved me from something extremely unpleasant – probably even saved my life. You destroyed a man and a building with a flick of your hand.’ He looked at his bandaged hand. ‘You’ve treated an injury, the like of which I’ve never even seen. You bring us to a room in a tent that feels as if it’s in the very heart of a castle, with its timbered ceiling and stone walls. You say, “Trust me,” then transport my mind who knows where. Then you say, “sorry”.’

  He stood up suddenly, and banged his fist down on a nearby table. ‘What’s going on, Andawyr?’ he shouted.

  Gavor cleared his throat. ‘Steady, dear boy.’

  Andawyr looked up at the green eyed figure towering over him. ‘I don’t know where to start,’ he said plaintively.

  Hawklan bent forward, almost menacingly. ‘Find a beginning, then. Somewhere. Anywhere. And start there. Tell me what’s happening in plain simple language that a plain simple healer can understand, without any more conjuring tricks or mysterious commentaries.’

  Although not spoken, Hawklan’s final cadence said ‘Or else’ quite unequivocally.

  Andawyr continued staring up at him thoughtfully for some time, then motioned him to sit down.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘As I said, I’ve had a trial of my own today, a severe one, and I’m caught in a maze of questions at least as bewildering as yours. I can’t tell you everything that’s happening, because for all my knowledge, I’m afraid I don’t know.’ He shrugged apologetically.

  Hawklan’s eyes narrowed, but Andawyr returned his gaze sternly.

  ‘Hawklan, I understand your impatience, but you’re a principal player in this, and your naiveté and ignorance are weapons in the hands of our enemies. Just listen while I do my best.’

  Hawklan bridled at the word ‘ignorance’. Something lurched inside him.

  ‘There is no more voracious, destructive and shadow dwelling creature than ignorance,’ he said, his voice strange. He leaned forward and took Andawyr’s arm in a powerful grip. ‘It must always be destroyed, but only the light of truth can do it – only the light of truth – no matter what horrors it exposes.’

  Gavor cocked his head to one side, listening intently. Andawyr looked into the piercing green eyes with a mixture of fear and awe.

  ‘Have you studied the Great Gate of Anderras Darion, Hawklan?’ he asked, rather hoarsely.

  ‘No,’ said Hawklan. ‘I know some of the tales from it, but I doubt a lifetime would be long enough to study even the visible part of it, let alone those parts that the blind can read or, according to village legend, those parts that sing in the wind. Gavor knows more of it than I do.’

  Andawyr sighed. ‘This is going to take some time,’ he said. ‘Try not to get angry with me again, please.’

  Hawklan’s face was neutral.

  ‘Do you know the history of Sumeral, Hawklan? The Great Enemy. The Corruptor. The Enemy of Life?’

  ‘The name’s familiar. He’s some evil demon out of legend, isn’t he?’

  Andawyr shook his head. ‘Ah, the poor Orthlundyn,’ he said sadly. ‘Such a price they paid.’ He fell silent for a moment, his eyes distant as if in the past. Hawklan waited.

  ‘He’s not a mythical character, Hawklan, nor is the Great Gate a repository for children’s tales. It’s a history. A history of the rise and fall of Sumeral. Of His rise while the Guardians slept, of His power spreading forth across the world, destroying the Great Harmony of things that the Guardians had created, then finally corrupting Mandrocs and men and sending them out as all-conquering armies.’ He sighed heavily. ‘There was a great and terrible shadow on the world then.’

  He fell silent and pensive again.

  ‘Then in His pride and arrogance, He woke the Guardians, and they stemmed His surging greed. But His shadow had fallen on them too, because they knew that they would have to teach His corruption if they were to defeat it. They knew that even as they sustained the righteous courage of the Kings of men, they were weakening themselves irreparably and sowing the seeds for His Second Coming.’

  He looked hard at Hawklan, now beginning to feel somewhat contrite after his outburst.

  ‘You believe in powers beyond yourself, don’t you?’ he asked.

  Hawklan nodded. ‘Yes, though belief is an odd word. They’re all around like the wind and the sky. I feel and direct them in my healing. I hear them in the miracle of every living thing, and my friends hear them in the rock
s and minerals of the land.’

  ‘Good,’ said Andawyr. ‘And good and evil power?’

  Hawklan frowned, the question made no sense. ‘The spirit that flows through things is neither good nor bad.’ He gesticulated vaguely. ‘It’s like fire and water. It can be used to create or to destroy. It has no will of its own.’

  Andawyr nodded as if satisfied, then abruptly changed the direction of the conversation.

  ‘Let me tell you what I’ve learned about you,’ he said, pulling his chair closer to Hawklan.

  ‘When I took you into your own mind, you passed through your memories of the past twenty years, then you found yourself on a featureless landscape. What you saw as a barren, hard plain is the barrier between you and your earlier life. It’s far beyond my skills to penetrate such a barrier. It’s been put there by a mighty power, and only that or some great pain can remove it. Who you are, or rather, who you were, will not lightly be discovered, so we must use such signs as we have.’ He hesitated. ‘Those signs tell me that you may be . . .’ He hesitated again, until the reluctant words blurted themselves out. ‘You may be Ethriss himself. The first among the Guardians. The Guardian of Life, and Sumeral’s greatest enemy.’

  Hawklan looked at him in embarrassed disbelief.

  ‘Andawyr,’ he said, gently. ‘Orthlund is a land of small villages peopled by quiet farmers, carvers. It’s a civilized country, full of peace and harmony. We’ve neither Lords nor Kings, let alone mythical gods.’

  Andawyr grimaced. ‘This is no use,’ he said angrily. ‘I can’t do anything here. I’ve neither the time nor the resources. If you are Ethriss, dormant yet waked, then He too has wakened. Terrible times lie ahead if we don’t act.’

  He paused, struck by a sudden thought. ‘If He is indeed awake, and His servants are peddling their wares, then . . . the Uhriel too must be awake.’ He took Hawklan’s arm urgently. ‘Come with me to the Caves of Cadwanen. To the Council of the Cadwanol. There I’ll be able to explain things properly. Great forces have already been set against you, and greater will follow. You need protection until you can be taught about yourself . . .’