by Roger Taylor
He turned back to the wintry scene and went through the order of the levy agreed by the Orthlundyn.
The army was to consist first of those unmarried men and women who wished to serve in it. Those who were married but with no children were to be the first reserve, and those with children, the second. The remainder, the old, the young, and the infirm, were to form a militia for the defence of their homeland should all fail, and they were also to share the re-distribution of work that would occur due to this great upheaval. In this latter, as with the cavalry training, Agreth's advice had been invaluable, the Riddinvolk being long used to the disruption of their ordinary lives caused by the demands of the Muster.
Hawklan smiled as he remembered Loman commenting that the Riddinvolk were more concerned about the disruption to their Muster activities by the demands of home and hearth, than vice versa, but its brief light dwindled to nothing in the great blackness that surged up within him abruptly.
Ethriss, this is appalling, he thought. Even if they defeated Sumeral, what was to happen was an abomination, an insanity, and its necessity offered little consolation. The face of the elder who had questioned him at the beginning hung in his memory. Sons and daughters were to be separated from their parents, husbands and wives from each other. What cherished loving bonds were to be torn asunder there? Even for the lucky ones it would be months of fretful worrying during which a portentous future would cloud all present doings. For others there would be the nursing of loved ones who had been smashed physically or mentally by what had been done to them or, in some ways worse, what they themselves had done. And finally there would be those for whom the parting embrace would be the last. So much delicate patient toil to be destroyed so casually.
Unconsciously, he laid his left hand on his sword hilt. Damn you, Sumeral, he thought savagely. Damn you back into whatever darkness you've come from. I'd have forgone the past twenty years with all their light and joy, had I known this was to be the price. He felt the ancient, mocking spectre of vengeance rise within him and he faced it. I have your enemy's sword now, and I'll cleave you from neck to hip with it if we meet. And relish the deed.
His mood lightened as suddenly as it had darkened and he turned and moved away from the window.
'Grim times for us all,’ he said. ‘But we're as ready as we can be and there's no reason why we should make them grimmer than necessary. How long to the solstice, Gulda?'
She told him.
'Good,’ he said. ‘Then we'll make this year's Winter Festival one that will warm and sustain us through anything the future chooses for us. Loman, make sure that that too goes out with the other orders.’ He clapped his hands and smiled broadly.
The sound of the clap echoed round the hall and the listening Alphraan caught it and spun it into a glistening, brilliant, rhythm, to counterpoint Hawklan's declaration. Clapping and laughter rose up from the audience to complement it and, with a wave of his hand, Hawklan dismissed the meeting.
As the people began to leave, Hawklan felt a powerful grip take his elbow. He did not need to identify the owner.
'Memsa,’ he said, cautiously.
'Young man,’ she replied neutrally, ushering him discreetly to the door. He cast about for an escape route, but Isloman, Loman and Andawyr, with Dar-volci still draped in his arms, appeared beside him suddenly, like solicitous flank guards.
'Are you in trouble, dear boy,’ Gavor said, chuckling maliciously.
'Well, at least I can rely on the support of my faithful ally, can't I?’ Hawklan replied.
Gavor looked around and sucked in his breath noisily. ‘Not against these odds,’ he said. ‘I suggest you surrender immediately.'
In silence, Gulda propelled Hawklan steadily towards the room which she had commandeered as the central command post for the Orthlundyn army. It was large and spacious with a window at one end that occupied virtually all of the wall. The view through it was similar to that from the meeting hall, and normally sufficient light flooded through it during the day to illuminate every part of the room. Now however, the premature winter greyness dominated the room, and as the party entered, the torches burst into life. Their warm light made the scene outside even darker and filled the window with a faithful, if dim, echo of the room and its occupants.
Gulda ushered Hawklan to a low settee and, signalling Isloman to close the door, waved the others to whichever seats they might choose.
She herself sat down heavily on a seat behind a desk which gave her a commanding view of Hawklan's position. Then she placed her stick on top of the desk with ominous slowness and leaned forward to rest her head on her interlinked hands.
’”Andawyr and I, with others, will go another way,"’ she began, quoting Hawklan's words faithfully. ‘"To levy the forces that must be levied if you are to be protected from the power of Sumeral and His Uhriel."'
She looked at Hawklan narrowly. ‘Explain,’ she said, quietly but with a purposefulness that made the three other men in the room sit very still.
Hawklan looked at his interrogator, then unexpectedly stretched out his legs and relaxed on the settle.
'How can it be otherwise?’ he asked. Gulda's eyes widened at his replying with a question, but he continued before she could give vent to her feelings on the matter. ‘A few days ago, you and Andawyr told me who I am...’ He smiled. ‘Who I had been, I should say. Equally importantly, you told me who I was not. I was not Ethriss. That was not something I'd ever had serious doubts about myself, nor can I pretend to any regrets about it, but it prompts the real question, “Where is Ethriss"?’ He turned and fixed Andawyr with a penetrating stare.
The Cadwanwr tried to avoid the gaze by making Dar-Volci more comfortable on his knee.
'You've been very silent about parts of your own adventures, Andawyr,’ Hawklan went on. ‘You've told us of your journey into Narsindal, and of your subsequent escape. And you've been honest in admitting that your Order has been remiss in its duties. But something's missing.'
Andawyr did not speak.
'You're Ethriss's chosen,’ Hawklan continued. ‘To you alone he gave knowledge about the Old Power. Consider. Someone, somewhere, with far less knowledge than you, I imagine, woke Sumeral and the Uhriel. Yet we hear nothing about you, with your great power and knowledge, trying to wake Ethriss and the Guardians, without whom we are probably doomed. What has happened, Andawyr? Why are Sphaeera, Theowart, Enartion, and above all, Ethriss not walking amongst us even now, determining the order of our battle?'
Andawyr looked down at the seemingly oblivious felci draped across his lap.
'I don't know, Hawklan,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I've made no mention of this before because I needed to know for certain who you were. And I've made no mention these last few days because I've been thinking. My knowledge is not for those who haven't the wisdom to withstand it.'
Outside, a few large snowflakes meandered down out of the greyness, casual vanguard to a mighty host.
Uncharacteristically, Andawyr sighed. ‘Ask me no details, because I can give you none that you'll understand,’ he said, addressing everyone. ‘But Hawklan's right. On my return from Narsindal, I was ... greatly changed. My brothers saw this and saw the truth of our danger and together we sought to contact the Guardians.’ He looked up and stared at his distant reflection in the darkening window.
'It took great faith.’ His voice was suddenly quiet and his remembered sense of wonder and awe overflowed to fill his listeners. ‘But by some miracle we succeeded. Redeemed ourselves a little, perhaps, for our neglect.’ He shrugged. ‘For a moment the Guardians shared their being with us. I ... we ... became the Guardians. Knew and understood them. He fell silent.
'What did you learn?’ Hawklan prompted gently after a moment.
Andawyr looked at him, his face slightly surprised as if expecting to find himself somewhere else.
'I'm not sure,’ he said, then, though no one reproached him, he added. ‘It was an experience beyond ordinary words. No simple, clear-cut co
nversation...'
'Speak what comes to you, Cadwanwr.’ Gulda's voice was hauntingly gentle and patient.
'They know of the danger,’ Andawyr said, his face rapt with concentration. ‘They too seek Ethriss, for they fear that alone they are not enough.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I think they are ... scattered,’ he said. ‘I think they are one with their creations. It's a great strength and a great weakness. I don't think they will ride among us in Narsindal.'
'You know this?’ Gulda said, again with great gentleness.
Andawyr shook his head. ‘Their awareness of the danger and their search for Ethriss, yes, beyond doubt,’ he said. ‘But the other, the scattering, has only just come to me.'
'What do you mean, a great strength and a great weakness?’ Hawklan asked uncertainly.
Andawyr frowned. ‘If they pervade the earth, the air, and the water,’ he said, his voice distant and preoccupied. ‘That would be a strength because they could not be defeated without great, perhaps total sacrifice by the Uhriel. A sacrifice I doubt they'd be prepared to make, for they are the way they are because of their all-too-human lust for being.'
Dar-volci stirred restlessly.
'And the weakness?’ Hawklan pressed, gently.
Andawyr's voice was still distant when he answered. ‘They will have lost their ability to ... move, or to move quickly. To place their power wherever the Uhriel threaten. If my feeling is right, then while perhaps they cannot readily be overwhelmed by Sumeral, I fear they cannot readily come to our aid in battle.'
Hawklan frowned. ‘Why would they have become this way?’ he asked.
Briefly, a look of irritation passed over Andawyr's face. ‘I don't know!’ he said sharply. ‘I ... we ... touched their hem—at their gift became them for some timeless moment. I couldn't interrogate. I told you it was beyond words...'
Hawklan raised his hand in apology and Andawyr's tone softened.
'Perhaps they thought Sumeral and the Uhriel truly died at the Last Battle,’ he said. ‘And that all that would be left to oppose would be the remains of Sumeral's teachings that lingered in men.’ He shook his head. ‘Perhaps they needed peace. Who can say how they suffered in that conflict? I've no idea, Hawklan. Perhaps it's no more than their true nature.’ He finished with a shrug.
'But they look for Ethriss?’ Hawklan said.
'Yes.'
'Then they fear Sumeral, for all He may not be able to overwhelm them easily?’ Hawklan said.
'They're not invincible. Given time, and humanity out of His path, He could do anything,’ Andawyr replied.
Hawklan looked at the snow falling increasingly heavily outside, white in the light from the window. The path ahead of him seemed to be growing narrower and narrower.
'If the Guardians are searching for Ethriss, then obviously they don't know where he is,’ he said, his expression apologizing for the triteness of his remark. ‘But where can we begin to look if they can't find him with their power and wisdom? Could he not, in fact, be dead; slain by Sumeral's last throw?'
The flakes outside twisted and swirled as a breeze moved round the tower like the wake of a fleeing eavesdropper.
Andawyr nodded slowly. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘That's possible, but I doubt it. That, I'm sure the Guardians would have known. And Sumeral certainly would have felt it. No, he's alive, somewhere. Don't forget, there are many places that lie beyond the writ of both the Guardians and Sumeral; both deep underground and, it would seem, deep inside the hearts of men.'
Hawklan turned away from him. ‘So even if he is alive, we've no way of finding him?’ he said, his voice chillingly final.
The room became very silent. Andawyr looked at the healer's motionless figure.
Hesitantly, he said, ‘I don't think that matters. I think that you'll be drawn to him, just as you were drawn to this time and this castle, and towards his ancient enemy. You are the closest of all of us to the heart of this mystery.'
Hawklan frowned. ‘That's no answer,’ he said angrily. ‘And you know it. That's a protestation of faith.'
The room became silent and still again, filled with Hawklan's frustration. When he spoke again however, his voice was apologetic. ‘Not that there's any harm in that if it sustains you, but it's not enough. Certainly not enough to risk the lives of all our finest young men and women for—not to mention the Fyordyn and Riddinvolk who'll be riding with us in due course, I've no doubt.'
'Which brings us back to where we started,’ Gulda said. ‘Horses and men, swords and spears. What do you intend to do?'
Hawklan looked round at his friends and then at their images hovering in the deepening darkness beyond the window.
For a while, he did not speak, then he said, ‘Loman's arrow injured Oklar profoundly. I saw it for myself and according to Arinndier's account of what that Secretary...’ He hesitated, at a loss for the name.
'Dilrap,’ Gulda provided.
Hawklan nodded. ‘Secretary Dilrap said the arrow remained in his side, bleeding continuously.’ He laid his hand on his sword. ‘There's a blade for every heart,’ he said. ‘And if Sumeral has come amongst us again as a man, and surrounded Himself with mortal armies, then He is not invulnerable, and He can look to face judgement, or die again as a man.'
'You would call Sumeral to account?’ Gulda said, her eyes widening, almost mockingly.
'If the opportunity presents itself, yes,’ Hawklan replied. ‘But I'd lose no sleep if I had to slaughter Him unshriven.'
Gulda wrinkled her nose disdainfully. ‘And presumably you intend to ride to the gates of Derras Ustramel, like Eldric rode into Vakloss to confront Dan-Tor,’ Gulda said acidly.
Hawklan ignored the jibe. ‘I intend to enter Narsindal, quietly, while His attention is on the approaching armies,’ he said. ‘Move across it, equally quietly. And yes, enter Derras Ustramel and confront its tenant.'
Gulda opened her mouth to speak, but Hawklan stopped her.
'I would take with me on this journey, if they wish to come, Isloman, Andawyr and our best Helyadin,’ he said. ‘And none must know of it.'
Gulda stared at him, her expression changed by Hawklan's manner from almost contemptuous dismissal to one of concern.
'Well, I suppose you've enough skills there to get you part way across Narsindal,’ she said, after a long silence. ‘But as for even reaching Derras Ustramel, let alone entering it and facing Him...’ She left the reservation unfinished.
Hawklan met her gaze. ‘What alternative have we?’ he asked simply. Gulda did not reply. He turned to Isloman.
'I'd rather die looking Him in the eye than hacked to pieces in some anonymous battle melee, or suffocating under a mound of bodies,’ said the carver. ‘Or worse, living to see those I love slaughtered while I stood by helpless. At least this time we'll know what we're walking into.'
Gulda shuddered involuntarily. ‘Not remotely,’ she said.
Isloman looked at her uneasily, and Hawklan scowled openly.
'What alternative have we?’ he repeated, more strongly than before.
Gulda looked at Andawyr.
'I'll go,’ said the Cadwanwr, though his face was grey with fear. ‘Hawklan's right. We have no alternative. In all our talking and conjecturing, you and I have contrived to avoid this truth most assiduously.'
Gulda looked down at her hands, toying idly with her stick.
For the first time since he had met her, Hawklan saw her truly uncertain.
'But to go into His presence...’ she muttered.
For a moment Hawklan thought he saw her face flushed, but before he could remark it properly she had pulled her hood forward and leaned back in her chair.
'Gulda...’ he said, concerned.
She lifted a reassuring hand. ‘Have you decided how you intend to achieve this ... confrontation?’ she asked out of the darkness of her hood.
Hawklan shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not in detail. The idea itself has only recently become clear. I thought we'd travel to the Caves o
f Cadwanen, learn what we could of the terrain of Narsindal from the Cadwanol, and then enter Narsindal through the Pass of Elewart. After that...’ He shrugged. ‘That's why I want to take our best Helyadin.'
'Do you have such information?’ Gulda said, the hood turning towards Andawyr.
'Some,’ the little man replied. ‘Mainly of the south and south-east.’ He spread out his hands in an apologetic gesture. ‘The interior's very poorly mapped. No one knows even where Lake Kedrieth is exactly, other than it's in the middle of a marshy and treacherous region.'
Gulda nodded and turned back to Hawklan. ‘And after your encounter with Oklar, you feel you can beard his Master in His own den?’ she said.
Hawklan shook his head. ‘After my encounter with Oklar, I have some measure of my inadequacy for such a task,’ he said quietly.
'Then what do you hope to achieve?’ Gulda asked simply.
'I don't know,’ Hawklan said bluntly. ‘But all the travelling I've done these past months has been without clear direction. To the Gretmearc, to Fyorlund, to Vakloss. All vaguely motivated, yet all apparently serving some fruitful end.’ He rested his hand on his sword. ‘Perhaps I'll be able to kill Him. Perhaps I'll be no more than a ... focus ... of some kind of ... for greater powers...'
'Perhaps you'll die,’ Gulda said.
Hawklan nodded in acceptance of this verdict. ‘But not easily, I hope,’ he added.
Gulda eased her hood back and leaned forward again. Her face was calm once more, and slightly amused. ‘So this is an act of faith then?’ she said.
Hawklan glanced repentantly at Andawyr. ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ he said awkwardly. ‘But it's still the only alternative,’ he added defensively. ‘Our army will meet His. The Cadwanol will contend with the Uhriel, but someone must do battle with Sumeral Himself.'
