The Return of the Sword

by Roger Taylor

  Gentren gave a slight shrug. ‘What could he do? He was concerned. These men were capable and highly respected. But they offered him no advice about what he should do. Their researches told them nothing except that this . . . alignment . . . was coming, and coming soon and that it would bring great destruction – possibly the destruction of the entire world. Concerned or not, he was a practical man. How could he prepare for a disaster whose nature was completely unknown to him? There was nothing he could do but politely ignore them – hope that it was just an error in their theories . . . their measurements. It wasn’t an unreasonable hope, they weren’t unanimous in their thinking. And it was all so improbable, so fantastic – the end of the world – I ask you – it had to be nonsense, didn’t it? Despite the credentials of his advisers it wasn’t something a busy Protector could pay serious attention to, was it?’ He fell silent.

  ‘Then?’ Hawklan prompted.

  Gentren began trembling. He wrapped his arms about himself in an unsuccessful attempt to stop it. ‘Then, suddenly, they were there. No one knew how or when they came, still less from where. They were just there. Three Riders. No great armies – no worlds crashing into us, tearing the sky open, splitting the earth apart. Just three people on horseback! But what they could do – what they did! – was beyond belief. They rode effortlessly about our world, destroying all they came near to with seemingly nothing more than a wave of the hand. Towns fell, cities fell – literally fell – flattened – razed. There were no sieges, no battles, no parleying, no demands, nothing. No one knew what they wanted. They just swept places and people aside with no more thought than a man might give to scalding out an ants’ nest. Some people tried to fight, some sent heralds to speak to them, most just fled – the country, the sea, everywhere was alive with panic-stricken people. But all to no avail. Those that they saw, they slaughtered out of hand with the same ease and indifference that they used on buildings and city walls.’

  He stopped, his face taut and his fists clenched. The images he had conjured hung in the stillness, the more terrible for his quiet telling.

  ‘Then they stopped. We thought they’d wearied of their . . . work . . . or perhaps taken all they’d wanted. There was a strange quietness over everything, as though all of us who were left were holding our breath. I think it was shock – sheer disbelief – as much as anything. How was it possible that so much could have come about so quickly? How was it that so many peoples could be destroyed and cowed so easily? A civilization, aeons old, smashed as though it were no more than a flimsy toy in the hands of a reckless child. But whatever we were thinking, it didn’t matter. The destruction they’d wrought before was nothing compared to what began next.’ He turned towards the window. ‘I don’t know what it was they did but they started changing the land itself. Fleeing survivors told us of mountains rising up from nothing – blue and jagged – and of seas retreating. We might have disbelieved them but, even where we were, we could feel the ground shaking under our feet, faint but quite definite – and very frightening.’ He shuddered violently, startling his listeners. ‘Then a deep blue haze began to fill the sky. It dimmed the sun – threw everywhere into a ghastly half-night.’ He closed his eyes. ‘The air became acrid and foul – burning the throat. No rain came after that.’ He looked at the glass that Andawyr was holding.

  ‘If this is troubling you too much we can talk later,’ Hawklan said, resting a hand on his arm.

  ‘There’s precious little left to tell,’ Gentren replied. ‘For a while they were occupied with whatever they were doing, then they were moving out again, destroying new land as relentlessly as ever. This time we tried to oppose them. My father had managed to rally some semblance of an army. But, as before, it was futile.’ He flicked his hand in an airy gesture. ‘They just swept that aside as they’d done everything else.’ His mouth curled in anger. ‘We were less than ants to them. We couldn’t even bite them before we died.’

  ‘And what happened to you?’ Hawklan asked.

  ‘What indeed?’ Gentren said bitterly. ‘In the end, I did what everyone else did. The only thing I could do. I ran.’ He looked around the room.

  ‘How did you come here, then?’

  Gentren frowned. ‘I told you, I don’t know. They were getting nearer. Everyone I knew was gone – family, friends. I was fleeing into the hills with some vague idea of hiding somewhere – just hoping I wouldn’t be found. I remember I hadn’t enough nails to shoe my horse properly and it lost a shoe and brought me down. But I kept on running until I fell into a ditch.’

  His manner became calmer but more intense.

  ‘I must have fallen asleep. I remember dreaming – dreaming about a plough tearing open the ground – three huge horses pulling it – and seagulls screaming and flapping behind it – bickering and fighting the way they do. They were all around me. I was trying to beat them off when I awoke, staring up from the bottom of the ditch through the dead grasses and reeds at that awful tainted blue sky. But the gulls were still screaming. Except that the sounds they were making weren’t sounds any gull could make – or any natural creature. It was – dreadful. It reached right inside me, tore at me.’ Gentren’s eyes widened as he relived the scene. ‘And suddenly I knew who was making it. It was them. Everything they were was in that noise.’ His face contorted and his hand reached out, claw-like, as if to crush something. ‘All of a sudden, every part of me was alive with anger – so powerful – I’d no control over it. They were here! These creatures who’d brought all this horror and destruction were here – probably only a few paces from where I was lying. Part of me wanted to leap out of the ditch and cut them down – slash and hack at them until no part of them would even be recognizable.’ His hand tightened, then relaxed, and he gave a sour smile, full of self-contempt. ‘I didn’t, of course. I grabbed my knife . . .’ He mimicked the action, then paused, looking at the knife in front of him. ‘But just doing that – feeling that familiar handle in my hand – feeling reality – told me I wasn’t going to do anything. The anger was still there – but I didn’t want to die. So I just held my breath – lay still, very still – willing them to go away. But they didn’t. They stayed there – screeching at one another – to and fro – endlessly.’ He put his hands to his ears. ‘Then one of them was right above me. His horse kicked in part of the edge of the ditch making me jump – I thought it was going to fall on me. I must have made a noise because the next thing, the horse was craning round, looking into the ditch. Except that it wasn’t like any horse I’d ever seen before.’

  ‘Long bony head, malevolent eyes, and a strange way of moving – like a snake.’ The voice was Vredech’s, standing in the doorway with Antyr.

  ‘Yes,’ Gentren exclaimed. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Go on,’ Hawklan pressed, frowning at Vredech’s interruption.

  ‘It saw me. Looked right at me.’ Gentren took a deep breath. ‘Then the rider was turning towards me. I’ve never been so afraid, ever. I had to get away. I don’t know what possessed me. I jumped up, drove my knife into his leg, then ran!’

  This time it was Andawyr who interrupted. ‘You stabbed him?’ he said, eyes wide with incredulity.

  ‘Yes,’ Gentren confirmed, as if surprised at Andawyr’s surprise. The Cadwanwr gaped. ‘I didn’t think about it – I just did it.’

  Hawklan motioned Gentren to continue. ‘I can’t remember much after that. I was running like I’d never run before. Dodging and weaving across the hillside. I could hear the Riders behind me, but I didn’t look back. It wasn’t me running, really. Something inside me had taken charge and was hurling me along. I did things I know I couldn’t possibly do – jumping from rock to rock – crashing through undergrowth. I do remember their screams, though – they were different – more human, somehow. It didn’t sound like any language I’d ever heard but I could understand it well enough . . . it was full of anger and hate. I knew they weren’t going to reach out and kill me with that power they had, like they’d done to entire ar
mies. I knew they were going to capture me. I could feel the pain of the one I’d injured.’ He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. His brow furrowed with concentration. ‘The rest is vague – just the sound of my heart and my breathing filling everywhere. I seem to remember turning towards a light. And I remember the tone of their screeching changed – it became desperate, frantic. Then, very suddenly, it was fading away – dwindling into the distance like an insect whine. And I was . . . falling . . . I think . . . yes, falling – tumbling through something I can’t begin to describe – strange lights – strange sounds, all around me – sounds that became a howling. I remember thinking, “They’ve killed me. This is what dying is like.” Yet I was wondering what the howling was. And I remember thinking how strange it was I should be curious at such a time. Then the howling seemed to be leading me – keeping me safe somehow. And I was on hard ground – running again – running blindly through a darkness filled with a terrible roaring – but the howling was still guiding and protecting me. And now I’m here – wherever here is, with its open and clear sky – and sunlight – talking to you . . . whoever you are, with your strange names and . . . your kindness.’ He laid down the knife and looked at Hawklan as if for a conclusive answer. ‘Am I dead?’ he asked plaintively. ‘Or mad?’

  ‘Neither,’ Hawklan replied bluntly and without hesitation. ‘There are far stranger things in this universe than death and madness. Far stranger.’ He turned to Andawyr. ‘More hard information for you?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Andawyr replied grimly. ‘Too hard for the kind of comfort I’d prefer. I’ll tell the others straight away.’ He spoke to Gentren. ‘There’s nothing I can say that will ease the pain you must have suffered. To be honest, I can’t begin to imagine how you feel after what’s happened to your world – indeed, I don’t want to imagine the kind of desolation you must feel. I’d like to tell you that you’re safe here but that wouldn’t be entirely true. We know – we think we know – the creatures you called the Riders. We’ve dealt with their kind before. We know they’re striving to reach us in this world, presumably with the intention of doing to it what they did to yours. In some ways we’re better placed than you were to deal with them, but I fear we’re looking towards a desperate and bitter struggle – one we may well lose.’ Hawklan’s eyes moved uneasily from Andawyr to Gentren and he raised a hand to intervene in this harsh verdict. But Andawyr waved him aside and while the gesture was gentle his words were unyielding. ‘Your world has gone, but you may perhaps have an opportunity for vengeance in this one, if you wish. We could use your help if you’re prepared to give it.’ Gentren stared at him in silence. He was trembling again. Andawyr’s manner softened. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘This is all too much, too quickly, isn’t it? Don’t worry, there’s no immediate danger, for sure. Rest here as long as you wish.’ He pointed towards the door. ‘When you’re ready – when you’ve satisfied yourself that Hawklan’s right – you’re neither dead nor mad – you can go anywhere you wish about this place – this land. Speak to whoever you wish, ask whatever questions you wish. Vredech and Antyr will go with you. It was Antyr’s Companions who guided you through the Labyrinth.’

  Nertha coughed conspicuously. ‘And Nertha will go with you, too,’ he added hastily.

  ‘How do you know about the Riders?’ Gentren asked, seizing his arm abruptly.

  ‘Later,’ Andawyr replied. ‘There’s a lot to tell. And there’s a lot more we can still learn from you, I’m sure. Rest now.’

  * * * *

  A little way to the east of Anderras Darion, in the mountains, a strange encounter was taking place.

  Chapter 28

  Gulda stood on a rocky outcrop and gazed down into a broad, sweeping valley. She had spoken a simple message in a clear and ringing voice when she arrived.

  ‘Alphraan, the Labyrinth awakes again. Help us.’

  Now she waited, as motionless as the crags around her and seemingly as endlessly patient. High above her, Gavor swooped and dived and tumbled through the unseen cascading pathways of the mountain air. Below her, the shadow of a small cloud slid silently along the valley floor.

  ‘You use the Power with great subtlety, my lady.’

  The voice was behind her. There was surprise and admiration in it that touched on awe. As Gulda turned, it spoke again, no louder, but with a quality that sent the words spiralling up towards Gavor.

  ‘Your wings make a rare music, Sky Prince. Join us if you would.’

  Gavor dropped a little way like an untidy bundle before stretching his wings and arcing into a wide, rushing spiral.

  ‘Aah!’ said the voice appreciatively.

  Gulda found herself looking at a small, slightly built man sitting on a rock a little above her. Dressed in what appeared to be practical travelling clothes, simple in design though of an unusual cut, he was studying Gulda intently. She returned the compliment. He had the immediate look of a frail old man, though, on examination, neither his face nor his manner gave any indication of his age. Gulda’s piercing, blue-eyed gaze was not one that many could meet comfortably, but the man’s eyes twinkled in the sunlight and a white smile cracked his face. It was definitely not the smile of an old man.

  ‘Great subtlety,’ he emphasized. His voice was high-pitched and musical. Abruptly he was apologetic. ‘Do forgive me for staring,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid I’ve always been drawn to taller women.’

  Gulda’s eyes narrowed.

  The man frowned in self-reproach. ‘I’m not doing this terribly well, am I?’ he said, scrambling nimbly down from the rock. ‘Life’s been more crowded for me than usual lately but I’m still not all that used to dealing with people. Especially remarkable people like yourself.’ He looked her up and down. ‘I was told about you, but I found it difficult to believe. Even now I find it hard. Gauche or not, I have to ask. Why do you choose to be the way you are?’

  ‘I am what I am.’

  ‘Oh, come now. A bland truism? Indulge me with an open answer. After all, we’re both old in the ways of the world, aren’t we?’

  ‘I don’t know. Are you?’

  The man smiled. ‘You’re teasing me, my lady. Which I probably deserve. But while I may not be a true Sound Carver, and your skill with the Power may be considerable, I can do no other than hear what you are beneath the fiction you adopt.’

  Gulda raised a warning finger. ‘Don’t listen. Nothing is to be shaped from what you hear there. And it is my fiction, my wish. Just as yours is yours.’ She added the last sternly.

  The man bowed. Then, after some rooting through his pockets, he produced two small pieces of cloth which he proceeded to knead into rolls and insert in his ears. At the same time he affected a look of great contrition. His manner made Gulda laugh. Eyes widening in wonder, the man gazed around as though he was following the sound as it rose to join the wind-carried murmuring rising from the valley below. Suddenly, he was very close to her, looking up into her face.

  ‘Rare music, your laughter, my lady. Rare indeed,’ he said, his voice deeper and richer. ‘And you are a very beautiful woman.’ He was two paces away from her by the time her warning finger levelled itself at him again.

  ‘Enough,’ she said, though her voice lacked the edge that such a command from her would normally have had. Gavor landed on her shoulder, ending the exchange. He looked at the man, his head cocked first on one side then the other. The man bowed to him. ‘It’s an honour to meet you also, Sky Prince,’ he said.

  Gavor tapped Gulda’s shoulder with his wooden leg. ‘I don’t wish to seem churlish, dear boy,’ he said. ‘But who are you?’

  ‘Just a traveller recently come home,’ the man replied.

  Gavor clucked wearily. ‘One of the problems with dealing with humans is that they’re so often not what they seem. I’ve never felt the need for it myself. It can make life so difficult. Let’s just be our plain ordinary selves, I say.’

  The man chuckled, a dancing joyous sound. ‘I’d heard you had a
fine sense of irony, Sky Prince. Someone who carried the spirit of Ethriss through the ages and became the friend of the man who opened Anderras Darion can hardly be said to be an ordinary bird, can he?’

  ‘That’s as may be, dear boy,’ Gavor said with the air of someone rapidly changing the subject. ‘It’s a complicated tale. More to the point, you still haven’t told us who you are. You’re not Alphraan, that’s for sure . . .’

  ‘And I’m not human either,’ the man interrupted in a mockingly injured tone. ‘Not wholly, anyway. You were a tad free with your insults before.’

  Gavor drew in a reproachful breath and was suddenly fulsome. ‘My dear boy, I do apologize,’ he exclaimed. ‘That was quite unforgivable. Thinking about it, I suppose I should have realized. But it was an understandable mistake, I hope you’ll agree. The two legs you see . . .’

  ‘Who are you?’ Gulda asked before Gavor could plunge into what was promising to be a lengthy justification for his gaffe.

  ‘I’m . . . kin . . . to the Alphraan,’ the man replied. ‘But I’ve been away for a long time – listening to the world.’

  Gulda raised an inquiring eyebrow. ‘How long?’

  ‘When I left, the Great Gate was still closed,’ came the explanation.

  ‘And what have you heard?’

  ‘So many questions, my lady. I . . .’

  ‘He is the Traveller.’

  The voices rolled over his answer. They were all around, at once one and many, at once shouting from afar and whispering nearby. The word ‘Traveller’ was filled with many meanings. ‘You honour us with your presence, my lady, Sky Prince. Since the opening of the Ways and the Heartplace, the Song has grown and it has become ever more difficult for us to touch on human affairs. But we are always yours and as he speaks, so is our will.’

  Gavor spread his wings, and Gulda said, very softly, ‘It is good to hear you again, Alphraan. May your Song sound through the ages.’