by Roger Taylor
Now, Eldric pushed it away angrily, and looked up at Gulda. ‘You knew about this?’ he said.
'About what?’ she replied.
'About Hawklan not leading the army. Wandering off somewhere on this wild ... expedition. No one knowing where he is, how he's faring, anything.’ Eldric struggled to keep his feelings under control.
'Yes,’ Gulda replied simply.
Her calm did little to help Eldric's restraint and his colour rose noticeably. Before he could erupt, however, Gulda continued, as calmly as before. ‘It needs no great knowledge of strategy to see that his mission is necessary,’ she said. ‘Nor any great insight into affairs or people to know that he alone can undertake it.'
Eldric tapped the table in mounting frustration, trapped utterly by Gulda's brief yet all-encompassing, remarks.
'But...’ he spluttered eventually.
Gulda raised her eyebrows, like a school teacher at an intelligent but too presumptuous pupil. Eldric breathed out noisily and, sagging into his chair, reached out and picked up the message again.
'I should have thought you'd be a little more pleased at the news, Lord,’ Gulda said.
Eldric nodded. ‘I am, I am,’ he said genuinely. ‘I can't pretend to understand what the escape of Creost and Dar Hastuin implies, but the Morlider defeated and Riddin secured; that's good news indeed. As is the approach of the rest of your army, though I'm concerned that Urthryn's taking the Muster into Narsindal.'
Gulda looked pensive. ‘He'd little choice, presumably,’ she said after a moment. ‘The route that Loman's taking was the nearest but if what the Goraidin told Urthryn made him decide it wasn't suitable for a large cavalry force, then...’ She shrugged. ‘Besides, he couldn't leave the Pass undefended. It'd be a threat both to his country and his supply lines. He'd want to sweep and secure it properly before he left.'
Eldric turned to Arinndier and the others, silently watching this exchange.
'I think it forces the issue,’ Hreldar said. ‘Dan-Tor will see them coming days before they reach Narsindalvak. And he's not going to assume they intend to ride straight past.'
There was a general agreement with this. ‘He'll see them as an attempt to cut off his retreat,’ Hreldar went on. ‘I don't see that he's any alternative but to attack them.'
No one demurred. There was no indication what portion of his force, if any, Urthryn intended to leave at the head of the Pass, and there was little doubt that the Muster could not be deployed at its best in the rocky terrain through which they had to travel. A force of Mathidrin and the renegade High Guards the size of that occupying Narsindalvak could do them great damage.
'He must realize this,’ Darek said.
'Maybe, maybe not,’ Eldric replied. ‘Urthryn's an experienced leader. And he's got Yengar and Olvric to advise him, but he was thinking on his feet after a bitter journey by all accounts, and with several contradictory needs to be met. We can't take the risk of his force being harried excessively, perhaps even defeated. I think we'll have to move against the northern estates and Narsindalvak, if only to occupy Dan-Tor's forces.'
'Commander Yatsu, what's your view?’ Gulda said as Eldric paused after this conclusion.
'I agree,’ the Goraidin said. ‘There's little else we can do, but I've a feeling that Dan-Tor may choose neither alternative. I think he may simply abandon Narsindalvak.'
Eldric looked at him questioningly.
Yatsu returned his gaze. ‘The real army, His army, are Mandrocs. And they're in Narsindal; waiting for who knows what signal, but waiting certainly for their officer corps.'
'The Mathidrin,’ Darek said.
Yatsu nodded. ‘I think they've been using Narsindalvak as little more than a winter barracks in which they could recover from their defeat,’ he said.
'So much the better then,’ Arinndier said heartily. ‘If they're there and venture out to face either us or the Muster, then we can engage them. If they're not, then we can join up with the Muster and go after them.'
The room fell suddenly silent as the implications of Arinndier's almost off-hand remarks became clear.
Darek brought his fingertips together and tapped them on his chin.
'Thus casually we slip into war, gentlemen,’ he said quietly, looking around at his friends. His eye came finally to Gulda. ‘Memsa, what say you?'
Gulda also scanned the watching Lords. Then she closed her eyes and sat very still for some moments.
'It is the time,’ she said eventually. ‘Winter will pass this year into a bloody and dreadful spring, but our brief respite is ended. We know nothing of His intentions, but delay will work against us, beyond doubt. We must ride to meet Sumeral before He rides to meet us.'
'But who will face Him when we meet?’ Eldric asked, hearking back to his earlier concern.
Gulda looked at him. ‘It matters not,’ she said. ‘The army must face the army, and the Cadwanol must face the Uhriel.'
There was a long silence, and the quiet buzz of the activity of the Palace gradually seeped into the room.
'So be it,’ Eldric said eventually. ‘The Geadrol gave me this authority against my wishes; now, against my dreams and hopes, I must exercise it. Arin, call a meeting of the senior Lords and their commanders to finalize our battle plans. Darek, Hreldar, help him. Yatsu...'
The Goraidin stood up.
'Destroy those mines.'
Yatsu saluted.
As the Goraidin prepared to follow the two Lords, Eldric spoke again. ‘Commander, if opportunity allows you to understand more of this ... substance ... that Dan-Tor used against us, then seize it.'
The Goraidin's normally calm features wrinkled momentarily in distress. He remembered all too vividly the terrible heat on his back as he and his companions had fled away from the warehouse that they had fired with the help of Idrace and Fel-Astian's special knowledge. He remembered too the sudden appearance of his frenzied shadow leaping fearfully ahead of him as all before him blanched in the blistering light of this brief new sun they had created.
Eldric turned away from the involuntary reproach. ‘Those who would use such a weapon must understand fully what that use implies,’ he said.
Yatsu bowed slightly, and left without speaking.
As the door closed, Eldric stood up and walked over to the window. Gulda watched him; a dark shadow in the fading afternoon light.
He looked out over the city with its snow-covered roofs rising untidily above the dark black and grey streets lined with sodden, well trodden, and slowly melting snow.
Here and there the snow had slipped rakishly down a roof, to expose it like a flaunted shoulder.
He watched the people pursuing their various errands, huddled against the cold thaw wind; each movement part of the great momentum of the City's life.
Then it started to rain, and very soon the view became blurred and distorted as rivulets of water began to flow down the window like uncontrollable tears.
* * *
Chapter 23
The following day, Andawyr led the group forward with seemingly greater confidence, scarcely hesitating as they continued to wend their way through tunnels and chambers and past innumerable junctions and branches. The route, however, still took them inexorably downwards; the temperature remained chilling, and the staleness in the air became almost tangible. Thus the journey which, hitherto, had been marked by the banter and mutual encouragement of companions in mild adversity, became for a while an introverted, almost sullen, procession.
Strange sounds began to drift through the stagnant air; scratchings and scufflings. Occasionally one of the walkers would turn sharply in an attempt to catch the tiny pinprick lights that might have been eyes, glistening red in the torchlight, but they were always gone.
And then a soft, scarcely audible sound, like an in-drawn breath, would sigh through the gloom, and twice Hawklan thought he heard a distant wailing howl.
On each occasion, his hand reached out hesitantly to catch Andawyr's shoulder, but was
equally hesitantly withdrawn.
'There! I saw it,’ Yrain cried. ‘Look.'
A torch flared up and all eyes followed her pointing hand. Something at the edge of the darkness scuttled away.
Hawklan turned to Andawyr.
'I don't know,’ the Cadwanwr said, answering his question before he could ask it. ‘But this is not our place, we mustn't linger.’ Then he was moving again.
Some of the group started to draw their swords, but Hawklan signalled them not to. ‘The light alone will probably frighten anything that lives down here,’ he said. ‘Let's not be too anxious to kill things that we don't understand.'
His manner as much as his words helped to dissipate the mounting unease in the group, but surreptitiously he loosened his own sword in its scabbard.
They continued in silence for some time until once again the walls and roof of the tunnel began to disappear beyond the torchlight and they felt themselves to be in an open area.
The air became fresher though there was still a strange quality about it.
Faint scurryings in the darkness marked their entry, but beyond these was an echoing emptiness in the silence that was like nothing they had encountered so far.
Isloman gazed around and then gave the instruction he had given once before. His voice was excited.
'Douse the torches,’ he said.
This time no one demurred and once again the group was plunged into darkness.
Gradually a faint light began to manifest itself. Not, as before, coming from some particular rock formation, but from above, like the vanguard of dawn. Around the silent watchers, the silhouettes of great rock formations began to appear.
'This is no cavern,’ Isloman whispered, as if even the slightest sound might dispel the faint and pervasive light. Dar-volci started chattering and whistling softly then Hawklan felt him brush past his legs.
'Take care...’ he began.
'This is a ... landscape we're looking at.’ Isloman's awe-filled voice cut across Hawklan's warning.
As the words faded, Hawklan felt the shadows around the group assume a new perspective. Though he could not distinguish any details, he knew that some of the shapes he was looking at were a great distance away. His eyes moved upwards. Somewhere, high above, faint lights sparkled.
'Look,’ he said, pointing, though he knew the others could scarcely see him.
'Stars,’ someone said softly.
Almost reluctantly, Andawyr intruded into the ensuing silence. ‘They'll be insects of some kind,’ he said. ‘I've heard about them. Creatures that live underground and which glow in the dark.'
To give substance to his words, some of the lights began to move, very slowly. Others, Hawklan noted, were winking in and out of existence, though not rapidly like stars, but in a leisurely, fading way.
'Where are they? How high?’ someone said. ‘It's too dark to judge distances.'
'They're far above us,’ Isloman said. He rubbed his eyes and pointlessly stood on his toes as he peered upwards.
'I think they're whole clusters of ... insects ... or whatever,’ he said. ‘Clusters that keep breaking up and reforming again.'
Dar-volci interrupted any further discussion. His low excited whistling came out of the darkness, then he said, ‘Come here, carefully. Use a dimmed torch to see where you're treading.'
Following his instructions, the group slowly made its way towards his voice, Isloman leading.
'Careful,’ said Dar-volci urgently as Isloman neared him. The great carver stopped, gently extending his arms to stop those following him. Very cautiously he eased himself forward and then abruptly drew in a sharp breath and dropped on to his knees.
'It's a cliff edge,’ he said, before anyone could speak. Carefully he crawled forward.
'Give me a torch,’ he said, reaching back. Dacu thrust one into the extended hand. Isloman struck it alight. It revealed him to the others, kneeling on a rocky edge, immediately beyond which lay darkness. He leaned forward and, lowering the torch over the edge, peered after it.
Cautiously the others joined him. There were murmurs and gasps of surprise.
Isloman swung the torch from side to side, and turned up its light. The ensuing brilliance at once shrank and expanded the world around the group. Shrank it by destroying the subtle radiance that had gradually increased as eyes had adjusted, but expanded it by showing that they were at the top of a craggy rock face which fell precipitately away from them into the darkness far below.
Tirke flicked a stone over the edge. It fell whitely through the torchlight and then was gone. The listeners waited silently, but no sound came back to record the end of its journey.
Tirke swallowed nervously.
'Keep your torch alight, dear boy,’ Gavor said to Isloman, hopping to the edge of the drop. Then, before anyone could speak, he had launched himself into the darkness.
There was another long silence until he returned. ‘It's a long way down, and very wide,’ he said.
'Did you reach the bottom?’ Tirke asked enthusiastically.
Gavor shook his head. ‘I'm not a bat, dear boy,’ he said with mild irritation. ‘And flying in the dark's not much fun you know.'
Dar-volci ended the discussion. ‘Come back,’ he said. ‘And turn that torch off.'
As the group retreated from the edge, Isloman did as he was bidden and once again they were plunged temporarily into utter blackness.
Slowly the faint glow and the subtle shadows came back to them. A murmur of questions came with them.
'Look now,’ Dar-volci said over the growing hubbub. His voice was full of strange excitement.
All eyes turned again to look out into the darkness beyond the cliff edge. But nothing was to be seen. Nothing except more shadows within shadows, perhaps far below, perhaps far away.
'It is a landscape,’ Isloman said. ‘We're looking out over a huge area. It's like being high in Anderras Darion.'
From somewhere in the dark distance came a faint noise that might have been the call of an animal.
'Where are we, Andawyr?’ Hawklan said, his voice a mixture of curiosity and concern.
'I don't know,’ Andawyr replied. ‘But we must move on. It's not our place.'
'Some day...’ said Isloman, before Hawklan could pursue his question.
'Some day quite possibly, carver,’ Andawyr said. ‘But this day and until we see Him perish, we must keep moving forward.'
He waved his hand for silence; it was a faint white blur in the shimmering darkness.
No one either spoke or moved until eventually Andawyr said, ‘This way,’ and, striking his torch, moved off again.
The others fell in behind as before, but Hawklan strode alongside Andawyr.
'What do you mean, it's not our place?’ he asked. ‘I don't understand.'
Andawyr cocked his head on one side as if he were still listening to something while he answered. ‘It's just not our place,’ he said again. ‘It's ... old ... very old. From before...’ He waved his hand again. ‘Ask me no more, healer. I can't answer you, and it's ... difficult for me here.'
Hawklan laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder and stepped back.
'Dacu,’ he said. ‘All of you. Make sure our route is well marked.'
Encased within the dome of their own torchlight, the group continued on in comparative silence for some time, the main disturbance being Dar-volci, who kept chattering and whistling to himself.
Suddenly Jaldaric, who was carrying the rear torch, cried out in annoyance.
Hawklan turned to see the Fyordyn flailing his free arm as if to beat off some irritating insect.
'Douse the torches!’ The command was loud, urgent, and unequivocal, and it was Dar-volci who gave it.
It was also effective, and the group found itself immediately in darkness yet again. But this time the soft diffuse radiance did not return. Instead they found themselves almost immediately underneath a cloud of vague, fluttering lights.
'Sphrite!’ cried Dar-vo
lci, his voice a bizarre mixture of surprise and delight mingling with a concern that verged on panic. ‘Don't touch them!’ he shouted. ‘Get down on the ground. Get down! Right down and stay still. Now!'
'Do as he says,’ Hawklan shouted, unnecessarily.
As he himself crouched down, someone pushed him off-balance and fell on top of him as he went sprawling. He heard a scuffle nearby and an oath from Andawyr. He was about to push the offender away when he realized that whoever it was, was deliberately protecting him with his own body. Loman's amused taunt returned to him. ‘You have a bodyguard now,’ together with its unspoken corollary, ‘Whether you like it or not.'
He lay still.
Glancing upwards he saw that the fluttering lights were flying insects of some kind. He could hear the sibilant thrum of countless tiny wings beating as the creatures pursued whatever errand it was they were on.
'They're like butterflies,’ Yrain said.
'Andawyr ... ?’ Hawklan began.
'I don't know,’ replied the Cadwanwr, his voice muffled and irritable.
Abruptly there was a grunt of effort nearby, and Hawklan became aware of Dar-volci leaping high in the air, his sinuous body twisting dark against the flickering lights. As he reached his peak there was the resounding snap of his jaws closing on something, and he was chewing audibly and with relish as he thudded back on to the ground.
Hawklan noticed that the shifting cloud scattered and rose a little at Dar-volci's intervention.
'Ssphride!’ said the felci, speaking with both satisfaction and his mouth full. Then, more clearly, and still urgently. ‘Keep down. Keep still.'
Twice more he leapt, each time catching something, and each time with the same effect on the hovering insects, then quite suddenly, they were gone. Hawklan looked up to see a hazy cloud of yellow golden light receding into the distance. He displaced his protector and rose into a kneeling position.
Out of the darkness came a loud belch. ‘Oops, sorry!’ Dar-volci said repentantly.
Someone struck a torch.
