Into Narsindal [Book Four of The Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  Both Yatsu and Dilrap nodded in agreement.

  So that's why we came out, Dilrap thought. Eldric needed to ease his burden a little; to grieve a little.

  'I apologize for my reproach, Lord,’ he said. ‘Another's load is always lighter.'

  Eldric did not reply but inclined his head in acknowledgement. Then he looked at Yatsu and saw the icy spectre that rode by the Goraidin's elbow whenever this subject was touched on. He reached out to banish it.

  'Your own words will come to pass, Commander,’ he said, almost gently. ‘Those who were at Ledvrin will be pursued without mercy and pursued for ever. They may have fled with the Mathidrin, but they'll be found and brought to justice eventually. No place nor passage of time can shelter them from that and the task will never be laid aside until it's completed.'

  Yatsu closed his eyes briefly. ‘I know, Lord,’ he said, his voice enigmatic.

  Dilrap looked at Yatsu. Quiet and self-effacing, with his wry humour, the Goraidin was invariably excellent, reassuring company. He exuded gentleness and great strength at one and the same time, yet unexpectedly, in the presence of the man, calm intellectual knowledge became cold visceral understanding, and Dilrap realized truly for the first time that Yatsu had within him a more efficient, cold-blooded and ruthless killer than Urssain, Aelang or any of those demented souls who had descended on Ledvrin. Where he differed from them was in the vision he had which enabled him to see this truth in himself; in the strength of spirit which enabled him to accept it, and in the wisdom which told him why and when such grim skills were needed.

  Impulsively he leaned over and took Yatsu's arm sympathetically.

  The gesture provoked no sudden response, although Yatsu turned, a little puzzled. The two men's eyes met. Yatsu, whose years of training and experience had taught him to channel his fear into the execution of deeds which would carry him silently to the heart of his enemy's camp; and Dilrap who with his inner terror screaming constantly, had faced Oklar, stood his ground, and wilfully chosen to tangle his way with a web of deceit and confusion. A brief flash of understanding passed between these two opposite yet kindred souls. He smiled and bowed slightly.

  Then Yatsu chuckled, as if, like Eldric, he had had some burden lifted. ‘Shall we canter a little?’ he suggested.

  Dilrap's eyes widened. ‘No thank you!’ he said hastily but firmly, before Eldric could reply.

  His alarm overrode Yatsu's enthusiasm and the three continued their ride through the park at walking pace. Their conversation wandered over various topics but was drawn inevitably back to the weighty matters of the moment.

  'It grieves me that he holds Narsindalvak,’ Eldric said. ‘He can come and go about Narsindal as he wishes.'

  Yatsu shrugged. ‘Narsindalvak's not much fun at the best of times,’ he said. ‘And full of those scheming Mathidrin, treacherous Lords and malcontent High Guards, with winter coming on...’ He smiled broadly. ‘I doubt they're going to be in a mood for celebrating the Festival. And as for those who've been billeted to some camp in Narsindal itself or given the job of holding the approaches! Narsindalvak's going to seem pleasant to them! I'd say that Oklar's going to have some severe morale problems before long. What we'll have to watch for is the possibility of him sending out raiding parties precisely to ease such problems.'

  'You've changed your mind about our sending the renegades to their chosen master have you?’ Eldric said, half smiling.

  'No,’ Yatsu replied. ‘But the arguments were closely balanced and a decision either way carried its own hazards. I'll not deny I didn't relish the idea of imprisoning them and tying up a great many men to act as guards, but it goes against my nature to give an enemy information unless it's specifically to deceive them.'

  Eldric let the matter lie. As Yatsu said, it had been thoroughly argued and the decision made. Whatever consequences arose from it, he knew that Yatsu and his like would make the most of them without reproach.

  'You think raiding parties are a possibility?’ he said after a moment, taking up Yatsu's passing comment.

  The Goraidin nodded. ‘They may need the supplies, they may need the diversion,’ he said. ‘Yes. I think they're a distinct possibility. In fact I've increased the border patrols already. It'll give us an opportunity to toughen up some of these flower guards a little more quickly.'

  Dilrap watched the two soldiers share a brief moment of amused professional malice as they laughed at the term ‘flower guards'; one coined by the traditional High Guards for those whose Lords had allowed them to become more decorative than effective. He felt momentarily isolated.

  'And we must decide soon what to do about the mines,’ Yatsu went on. Eldric nodded, his face suddenly darker. Whatever Arinndier decided with the Orthlundyn, the mines were a matter that should be attended to as soon as possible.

  Following the battle, Idrace and Fel-Astian had told of their own secret war against Dan-Tor since their return from Orthlund. Working as labourers they had moved across the country, listening and watching, until they had found their way to the heart of Dan-Tor's corruption, becoming workers in his workshops. There they had learned of the dangerously inflammable material that was prepared in one of the workshops, ostensibly for use in the manufacture of many of Dan-Tor's artefacts. Unclear in their thoughts but concerned that the vast and growing quantity that was being held in storage was for no good purpose, the two High Guards had not hesitated to direct Yatsu and his Goraidin towards its destruction when the opportunity presented itself.

  When questioned, Dan-Tor's workers had revealed that they knew nothing of the true nature of the material, other than that it was dangerous and that Dan-Tor's instructions in its preparation were best obeyed to the letter. It was derived, it seemed, from ores and minerals that came, ‘from some place up north somewhere'.

  It needed no tactical genius to realize the potential of such a substance. The discipline of the phalanx pikemen had saved them during the battle, when they had parted to allow the blazing wagons to pass, but had the material been launched by catapults then no amount of evasion would have served and the day would have been lost, with appalling casualties to boot.

  Eldric reined his horse to a halt thoughtfully. No one knew why Dan-Tor had chosen to make and store the dreadful stuff in Vakloss, but presumably he could make it elsewhere. That could not be allowed. But workshops and warehouses could be built anywhere; the only way its manufacture could be prevented for sure would be to destroy the mines from whence the raw materials came.

  He shuddered as a vision came to him of great catapults hurling balls of flame against crowded infantry and cavalry.

  'Start preparing detailed plans for an assault,’ he said tersely, clicking his horse forward.

  'Yes, Lord,’ Yatsu replied, without comment, and the trio rode on for a while in a slightly more sombre mood.

  Eventually, they came to a narrow bower at the edge of the park. In the spring and summer it would be ablaze with colour and redolent with many scents, but now it was damp and bedraggled and, as the riders stopped to pass through, it splattered them with copious flurries of cold droplets.

  They emerged from the bower, damper, but a little more cheerful, to find themselves in a wide, tree-lined avenue. Their conversation began again, though still it was dominated by the battle.

  'It was a shame we didn't take that creature during the battle,’ Eldric mused at one point.

  'You'd neither have held him nor killed him,’ Dilrap said.

  Both Yatsu and Eldric looked at him, surprised at the cold certainty in his voice.

  'Only a very special person could do either,’ Dilrap emphasized.

  'He fled fast enough when he was threatened,’ Eldric said, defensively.

  Dilrap nodded slowly. ‘I doubt he fled because you menaced him personally, Lord,’ he said. ‘He simply retreated in good order to preserve what he could of his Mathidrin in preference to paying whatever it would have cost him to use his ... power ... on your whole army. He'd have
used it on anyone who came too close, have no doubt about that.'

  Yatsu smiled at this brief but accurate military dissertation and Eldric affected an injured indignation. ‘It was only a winter daydream, Honoured Secretary,’ he said. ‘You don't have to be so stern.'

  Yatsu laughed out loud at the Lord's expression, causing his horse to dance a little.

  'Commander, aren't you going to protect me from such assaults by armchair tacticians?’ Eldric said.

  Still laughing, Yatsu shook his head. ‘No, Lord,’ he said. ‘Your position's not tenable. I'm afraid I too will have to retreat in good order and yield the field to the Honoured Secretary.'

  Eldric sighed massively, then laughter erupted out of him too like a sudden burst of sunshine through the damp grey gloom.

  Dilrap joined in, not isolated this time, but truly part of the body of warriors who had set their swords and their wills against the evil of Oklar and his Master.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  Agreth's expression was pained as he turned to Arinndier. ‘It's very difficult,’ he said. ‘They're so...’ He searched for a word, ‘...vague in their introductions. I've really no idea who's related to whom, although I can work some of them out from their features. And as for where they come from...’ He threw up his hands in despair. ‘How they cope, I do not know.'

  Arinndier could not help but smile at the Riddinwr's discomfiture. ‘I don't think they follow bloodlines as intently as the Riddinvolk, Agreth,’ he said, looking round the hall, crowded with Orthlundyn elders, senior officers, Helyadin, and all the newcomers. ‘As for me, I'm ashamed to admit that I've forgotten a lot of their names already, let alone their relationships.'

  The confession seemed to amuse Agreth, and he leaned back in his chair, chuckling. ‘Ah well,’ he said. ‘We're strangers here, I suppose, but more holds us together than holds us apart.’ He became confidential. ‘And, to be honest, I'd rather be with these people than some distant cousins I can think of whose lineage I know for ten generations.'

  Arinndier laughed, but any further conversation was ended by the entrance of Hawklan, preceded by a swooping Gavor and followed by Gulda and Andawyr. The general hubbub diminished as all attention turned towards them.

  The hall chosen for the meeting was simple and functional, its relatively few carvings and pictures being abstract and calm in character as if to help the focusing of concentration. Comfortable bench seats and desks had been laid out in spacious semi-circles to achieve a similar effect, and it was to a group of seats at the centre of these that Hawklan and the others moved.

  As he sat down, the remaining murmur of conversation faded and there was a sudden uneasy silence.

  Hawklan looked at the waiting people and, cocking his head on one side as if having difficulty hearing, smiled, and said, ironically, ‘Ah, a goose has walked over my grave.'

  It was the phrase that Dan-Tor had used during a similar silence when he had visited the green at Pedhavin in his guise as a travelling tinker. For those who had been there on that day, Hawklan's wilfully casual use of the phrase acted both as a release and a reminder. For the others it was merely a mildly humorous opening to what must surely become a serious, and probably grim, meeting.

  The tension vanished and the atmosphere in the hall became quietly expectant.

  Hawklan made no preamble.

  'It's time to decide, friends,’ he said simply. ‘We've spent the last weeks talking, learning, thinking. Bringing together all the knowledge we have of both recent and long past events so that when we reached this point we'd be able to speak to some purpose. Now we shall see whether this will indeed prove the case.'

  He turned to Arinndier. ‘We're indebted to you for your stern control of our ramblings. You've managed to teach some of us the value of listening.’ He cast a significant look at a group of elders earnestly occupied in a whispered conversation. ‘And if such an impossibility can be achieved, then perhaps others can be as well,’ he concluded pointedly.

  There was some laughter at this remark and Arinndier nodded in acknowledgement.

  Hawklan continued. ‘The Lord Arinndier, as you know, both speaks and listens with the authority of his people, as does Andawyr, as do we Orthlundyn here.’ He smiled at Agreth.

  'The Riddinvolk, being wiser, or more foolish, do not entrust such authority to any one man, but we know that Agreth will report our discussions faithfully to them when he is able to return. In the meantime, our thanks to you for the help you've already given with the training of our cavalry squadrons, and be assured that when the Morlider arrive we shall help your people if it is possible. We can but hope that they're not assailed while the mountains are still impassable.'

  Agreth bowed and thanked him.

  Hawklan looked round his audience. Again he was direct. ‘I'll waste no time discussing further the many different ... adventures ... that have happened to us all recently, and I'll waste none debating how it could have happened that such an evil—so long presumed dead as to be known to most of us only as a myth—could so suddenly be alive and whole and as intent on its purpose as it was millennia ago. Suffice it that it is alive and that it does threaten us, and if we choose to take no action, then it will destroy us utterly.'

  'You have no doubts about this, Hawklan?’ one of the elders asked. ‘In all that has been discussed over these weeks and months, there seems to have been a presumption that we can come to only one conclusion, namely armed conflict; war against Sumeral. One of my sons died over in Riddin, fighting against the Morlider, and we must remember that when we reach this “inevitable” conclusion, it is our young people who will bear the consequences of this decision, while many of us here will remain safe in our homes. Do you find no other interpretation that can be placed on these happenings that might avoid such an end?'

  Hawklan lowered his eyes briefly. ‘None,’ he replied after a moment, shaking his head sadly. ‘None of us here would strike before we would talk. Indeed, few of us here would wish anything other than good fortune to our neighbours or even passing strangers for that matter. Sumeral however, without provocation, sent Oklar secretly into Fyorlund to destroy it, and but for the King, he'd have succeeded. Indeed, so near this success did he consider himself that he'd ventured forth and was spreading his evil amongst us here, even as his foothold in Fyorlund was beginning to falter. As it was, he did them terrible harm. Now we hear, again by chance, that a second of the Uhriel is abroad, intent upon leading the Morlider against Riddin.'

  The elder nodded, but did not yield. ‘I know all this,’ he said. ‘Indeed from what I've heard, I can deduce too that Sumeral may even have had some hand in the making of the Morlider War so that Creost could be carried to the islands. For that alone I could have greater cause to see Him brought down than many other Orthlundyn. But still we can't send our young people into such dangers without assuring ourselves that this ... creature's ... needs can't be met by debate or perhaps just by the threat of force.'

  Gulda fidgeted impatiently. ‘You can't threaten force without being prepared to use it, and in any case you can only treat with an aggressor when you've stopped him,’ she said bluntly.

  The man met her gaze almost angrily. ‘Maybe so, Memsa,’ he said determinedly, then waving his hand around the listeners. ‘But I'll stand against this tide until I have an answer which satisfies me that we've really thought about this and aren't simply assuming that this pending war is a foregone conclusion, just because that was what happened the last time.’ He raised his voice passionately. ‘Our young people will give us the protection of their courage and vigour. We in return must give them the protection of our wisdom and experience.'

  The two protagonists stared at one another for a tense moment, then with a slight nod, Gulda leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands.

  'You're right,’ she said. ‘I'll be silent.'

  The man turned expectantly to Hawklan who looked at him almost helplessly.

  'All I can give you fro
m my personal knowledge is what I've already given you,’ he said. ‘My every experience with Oklar's agents in the form of the Mathidrin has been marked by the foulest treachery and the most brutal disregard for life. The appalling trap laid for me at the Gretmearc, the kidnapping of Tirilen, the slaughter of Jaldaric's men, the slaughter of innocent men and women in the streets of Vakloss, the slaughter and mutilation of Lord Evison's men, the terrible destruction he wrought across Vakloss in his rage. These and other things you've been told of, and you know that their truth can and has been testified to by others. For my ... contact ... with the Uhriel and Sumeral Himself you have only my word, weigh that how you will without fear of my reproach.’ The old man did not move. ‘Oklar himself radiated an evil ... a wrongness ... that I can't begin to describe to you,’ Hawklan continued, ‘and the mere nearness of Sumeral's Will was cold ... alien and terrible beyond my comprehension. My heart tells me that Sumeral works only for our destruction and that negotiations, treaties, would be but pieces on the game board for Him, until He achieved that end. Pieces to be adopted, or discarded as His need dictated. My whole being tells me that He is a disease beyond all treatment save excision.'

  'And what does your reason tell you?’ the elder asked.

  Hawklan lowered his gaze again. ‘Less,’ he said uncomfortably. He turned to Andawyr. ‘The Cadwanol hold the greatest knowledge about Sumeral. Knowledge gathered during the First Coming and for generations afterwards. Knowledge tested by relentless scholarship ever since. Weigh his words too as you see fit.'

  Andawyr looked uneasy at being unexpectedly drawn into this debate. ‘I've little I can add,’ he said. ‘Hawklan's right. In the past Sumeral has made treaties, alliances, promises, beyond number, but all vanished like smoke in the wind when they'd served their purpose; His purpose.'

  The room fell silent, and the questioning elder rubbed his cheek fretfully. ‘I hear you all, and I trust your hearts, and your pain, but...’ He frowned and shook his head unhappily. ‘I know my own thoughts are dominated by my grief for my son, for all it's twenty years or so old. I'd do much to spare any other having to bear such a burden. Yet, setting this aside, I still feel we need to come nearer to the heart of this ... this ... whatever He is.’ Then, in some anguish. ‘It eludes me utterly why all this should be.'