by Roger Taylor
There was an unexpected murmur of agreement at this remark that made Loman look up. As he did so, Eldric nodded approvingly and all the Fyordyn began slapping the table rhythmically. It was an acclamation.
Loman crushed his reluctance and turned again to face the task that he knew had been his ever since Hawklan asked him to prepare the Orthlundyn for war. He looked at the Queen and sought solace in practical matters.
'What about the command of the Muster, lady?’ he said.
Sylvriss smiled. ‘First, let's ensure they reach us safely,’ she replied. ‘Then leave my father to me.'
After that, attention turned to the final preparations for the assault on Narsindalvak.
Any form of surprise attack had been discounted at the outset. ‘Nothing for days around can hide from Narsindalvak's seeing stones,’ Eldric told Loman. ‘Especially along the valley. They'll know our entire strength before we even see the tower.'
But Loman's main concern soon turned to Dan-Tor himself. ‘From what I've heard and seen of the damage to your city, to be caught in a valley would not even leave us the dubious defence of dispersion against such a weapon.'
He looked at Gulda, who nodded.
'He was bound in some way when he faced us last...’ Eldric said, though uncertainly.
Loman was blunt. ‘Times change, Lord,’ he said. ‘I was a smith, now I'm something else.'
He turned questioningly to Ryath, the most senior of the Cadwanwr who had returned with the Orthlundyn from Riddin.
'We held the sea that Creost's Power had sent against the Riddinvolk,’ the Cadwanwr said. ‘And Atelon here learned much from helping Andawyr in direct conflict against Creost. We can give you protection against Oklar.'
'Are you certain?’ Loman pressed.
'Of being able to oppose him, yes,’ Ryath continued. ‘Of victory, of course not. But like you, we've survived one battle and learned from it, and our doubts are only the same as yours about your own army; straightforward and honest and not such as will corrode and impede.'
Loman acknowledged Ryath's openness.
Thus, within days, the people who had turned out joyfully to greet their Queen were thronging the streets once more. This time, however, their mood was more sombre as they bade farewell to the first companies of the allied army of High Guards and Orthlundyn leaving to reinforce the regiments already guarding the boundaries of Dan-Tor's northern estates.
Reluctantly, Sylvriss remained at the Palace. Despite her promise to stay and help with the rebuilding of the country, her immediate intention had been to sling her son about her neck and ride off with the troops. However, after a stormy clash of wills, Hylland had prevailed.
'You, madam, can go to Narsindal in a handcart for all I care,’ he proclaimed furiously at the height of the fray. ‘But your son came too early. He is stronger than he ought to be, by rights, but he needs both you and a quiet, civilized existence for a while. The last thing he needs is to be bounced up and down on horseback for hours, and then to spend the rest of his time roughing it in an army camp. Especially in this weather.’ He flung his arm towards the rain-streaked window.
Sylvriss's eyes narrowed for a final counter-attack, but Hylland moved in to massacre his weakening opponent. ‘I'm well aware of what the Muster women used to do, traditionally, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Drop their child behind a bush and then mount up and ride on! But I'll wager it's some time since any of them actually did it. And in any case, you're no tough old Muster wife with...'
'Thank you, healer,’ Sylvriss said coldly and finally, through clenched teeth. ‘We have weighed your advice and have decided to remain in the palace for a little while, for our son's sake. You are dismissed for the moment.'
Hylland bowed stiffly and retreated, victorious but battered and in some considerable disorder.
The army had fewer problems than the Queen's healer as it made its way across Dan-Tor's old estates. The new Goraidin that Yatsu and the other veterans had trained, had been reporting a marked lack of activity for some time, and as the army advanced it found only deserted campsites and abandoned villages.
The journey through the long, claustrophobic pass towards Narsindalvak was similarly uneventful, though they moved carefully and fortified their night camps for fear of ambush. On several occasions also, progress was slowed by the need to contend with areas that were still blocked by snow.
Eventually, however, the top of the great tower fortress began to make fitful appearances through the mountain clouds.
Loman sought out Ryath and Atelon. ‘You'd better prepare your people,’ he said. ‘Presumably where Oklar can see, he can act.'
The two Cadwanwr looked at one another and smiled. ‘No,’ Ryath said, shaking his head. ‘It'll be easier for him, true, but he could have acted against us already had he wished. We've been prepared for him for some time now.'
Loman bowed apologetically.
Nevertheless, despite this reassurance, he found it difficult to prevent his gaze from drifting towards the watching fortress as they drew nearer.
'Why've they made no effort to harry us?’ he pondered during one of his nightly conferences with the Lords. Their continuing easy progress had been concerning him increasingly. ‘The terrain's ideal for it. Small parties raiding at night, or good archers high along the valley sides. They could do a lot of damage in spite of our defences.'
Eldric shrugged. ‘Presumably he doesn't want to risk his precious Mathidrin,’ he offered unconvincingly.
'Perhaps he hopes to meet us in force nearer the tower?’ Arinndier offered.
'The Goraidin have reported no preparations being made,’ Loman replied, shaking his head.
There were one or two further, tentative, suggestions then the meeting fell silent.
'Perhaps they've already moved against the Muster?’ Hreldar said quietly.
It was a dark thought. Loman closed his eyes briefly. Hreldar, he had heard, had once been fat and jolly. Now, though still heavy, he was solid and hard, and the change had etched lines in his face that gave him a grim aspect, though it vanished like mist in the sunshine when he chose to smile. Loman had already learned that though Hreldar did not speak a great deal, when he did it was usually to some purpose.
'I fear you may be right, Lord,’ he said, after a thoughtful pause. ‘It's certainly the most likely alternative.’ He slapped his knees. ‘Unless you've any objections, my friends, I propose we break camp early tomorrow, with a view to moving as soon as the light permits. We can leave a guard with the baggage train and the rest of us can proceed at forced pace. If Dan-Tor has gone to meet the Muster, then the reduced garrison at the tower can be easily contained and we can move to attack his army from the rear. If he's still in the tower, then we can prevent him leaving and keep the pass open for both ourselves and the Muster.'
After the meeting had broken up, Loman turned to Gulda. ‘You're very quiet,’ he said. ‘You've scarcely spoken a word at any of these meetings.'
Gulda smiled. ‘I'm only a teacher, young Loman,’ she said. ‘And there's little more I have to teach any of you now; I suspect I'll become even quieter as our campaign progresses.
Loman looked at her silently, his eyes narrowing distrustfully. ‘I don't know who or what you are, Memsa Gulda, bane and terror of my enterprising childhood, but you're certainly not just a teacher.’ He tapped his fingers on his chest. ‘I may not have the vision of those who've stood next to the Uhriel, but I know that even as I look at you I'm not seeing you truly. Nor ever have.'
Unexpectedly, Gulda's smile opened out into a laugh. It was a happy sound and it filled the simple tent with its rich echoing enjoyment. For an instant, Loman saw again the proud and handsome—no, beautiful—face he had glimpsed when he had burst in upon her at Anderras Darion, his mind whirling with terror and dismay after the labyrinth had rejected him. He found he was lifting his hand almost as if to protect himself from the sight, but it was gone, vanished in some timeless moment, as strangely as it had appeared.
He shook his head as if to recapture it.
Gulda's laughter faded, and she stood up. ‘Forgive me, Loman,’ she said, laying an affectionate hand on his arm. ‘I'm afraid my circumstances obliged me to develop a ... way ... with men, I make them stand in their own light for their own good.’ The residue of her laughter bubbled out as a throaty chuckle.
'Who are you, woman?’ Loman said, very quietly and very seriously.
The hand squeezed his arm powerfully. ‘Someone who's either reaching the end of a long, long journey, or who's about to begin another one, smith,’ she replied. ‘I'll know which only when we reach Derras Ustramel.'
'No riddles, Memsa,’ Loman said, almost plaintively.
Gulda looked at him again. ‘What you choose to see is what I am, young Loman. Truly I can tell you no more than that.'
And then she was walking out of the tent before Loman could question her further.
For a moment, he considered going after her, but rejected the idea almost immediately. She would be doing some necessary work somewhere and if he pursued her she would either chase him away ignominiously or let him trail after her like an uncertain puppy until tiredness got the better of him.
It came to him suddenly that the next time he saw her, he should say, ‘Thank you.'
That thought however, was the furthest thing from his mind the following day when Gulda's stick poked him out of his leaden sleep.
'Come on, commander,’ said a wilfully malevolent voice. ‘Time to set a good example.'
When Loman emerged from his tent it was to a chilly, misty darkness filled with the clamour of the waking camp and the mixed smells of damp mountains and cooking.
With the brief vividness that only a scent can bring, Loman was back in the mountains of Orthlund with Isloman, on one of their youthful camping expeditions, full of ridiculous laughter in an infinitely larger world, and long before they became men and were both drawn to the same blonde tresses and blue eyes; long before they quarrelled and were reconciled; and longer still before the coming of Hawklan and the opening of Anderras Darion ...
'There've been no incidents overnight.’ Arinndier's voice scattered the memory, though it left a pleasant warmth in its wake. Whatever the future, there was little wrong with the present, and the past had been good.
'Good,’ he said, speaking his thought to serve as a reply to Arinndier. ‘Just remind everyone to be especially vigilant today. The faster we move, the more careful we must be.'
It proved to be a needless injunction, however. Loman sent the Goraidin and the Helyadin ahead of the column in force, not with any pretensions of making a surreptitious assault on the fortress, but to secure the rocky flanks of the valley from ambush. They encountered nothing, however, and within hours signalled back the message that Narsindalvak itself seemed to be deserted.
'Tell them not to go any nearer,’ Ryath said urgently. ‘We can't protect them from here if they're attacked by Oklar.'
Loman nodded, then ordered the leading companies of infantry forward at the double, with himself and some of the Cadwanwr riding vanguard with the cavalry.
Thus, well before the day was through, the first contingents of the army approached Narsindalvak. Loman stared up at the great Fyordyn watch tower. Its broad, sprawling roots seemed, like Anderras Darion, to grow straight from the rocks before curving gradually into the body of the tower itself and soaring high above the neighbouring mountains. At the top, the walls flared out again to form the base of the high-domed Watch Hall. All around the tower, at every level, rings of windows stared out blankly, ominously, over the mountains. It was a dizzying spectacle and Loman found himself leaning backwards in his saddle as he looked at it.
Fyndal, one of the Helyadin, emerged from behind a tumbled mass of rocks.
'It looks empty,’ he said. ‘We've seen no movement of any kind since we arrived.'
Loman turned to Ryath.
The Cadwanwr sniffed, then half-closed his eyes as he looked up at the tower. ‘I can feel no presence,’ he said. ‘Oklar isn't here.'
Loman looked at him intently. ‘He's not here,’ the Cadwanwr confirmed positively.
Loman grimaced. If Oklar was gone, then he could even now be leading the Mathidrin against the Muster. Could Oslang fend off the Uhriel on his own? Could Urthryn deploy his cavalry effectively in the unknown and mountainous countryside? Unanswerable and urgent questions, yet he could not gallop off in search of the answers until he had answered the other question—how many men remained in this seemingly empty fortress? He gazed up at it again; it could contain thousands, ready to surge out and cut his passing army in two, or fall on their rear as they marched to the relief of the Muster.
'We'll have to purge this place before we can move on, Lord,’ he said to Eldric. ‘And as quickly as we can.'
Eldric nodded and took charge. ‘That's the main entrance,’ he said, pointing to a wide ramp that swept up to a large double door. ‘But it can only be opened from the inside. Seal the ramp with a shield line and archers, with pikes at the rear, then we'll send the Goraidin in through those two smaller doors at the side. We have the keys to those and they're the only other entrances.'
'I'll go with them,’ Atelon said, his eyes widening excitedly, then, more seriously, ‘There might be traps laid there that your men can't see.'
Eldric looked at Ryath who, albeit rather disapprovingly, nodded.
Eldric conceded suspiciously. ‘This is no game, Cadwanwr,’ he said sternly. ‘Those are hard, tough fighters, who'll have to put themselves at risk to protect you. You can go if you're needed, but do exactly as you're told. And be alert.'
Loman watched the exchange in silence. He was well content to leave the whole operation to the Fyordyn; it was their fortress and they knew its layout.
Soon the archers were crouching behind their shields in anticipation of the double doors crashing open and some wild enemy charging out in force.
The Goraidin flitted to the side doors.
There was a sudden silence and then, at their own signal, the Goraidin threw open the two doors and charged inside.
Loman watched as they disappeared from view; he could see them moving left and right alternately as they passed through the doors, shields raised defensively. He saw Atelon stumble and an unkind hand drag him brutally upright again.
Some shouting could be heard inside, then there was another silence. Loman became aware for the first time of the sound of the wind moaning about the great tower. His horse shifted a little, its feet clattering on the rocky ground.
Then, slowly, the double doors began to swing open. The archers prepared to fire and a ripple went through the waiting pikes, but a solitary figure appeared in the widening gap. It was one of the Goraidin. He raised his shield in a beckoning gesture and shouted something. Only the word ‘...empty...’ reached Loman.
The archers however, cheered and began moving forward.
Loman gazed around in admiration as he rode with the others into the huge ante-chamber that was served by the doors. Great ribbed walls arched high above him, wrapped by several tiers of balconies, and the space seemed to reduce the entering army to echoing insignificance.
A raucous cry above made Loman start suddenly, but it was only the Goraidin working their way methodically through the balconies and their adjoining corridors.
When the rest of the army arrived, the lower part of the tower had been searched and found to be empty, and the Goraidin, accompanied now by the Helyadin, were moving rapidly up through the many floors of the great building.
Finally they reached the Watch Hall itself and found it, too, deserted. Their relief at finding this, however, was marred by what they found there.
In the barracks and offices occupying the lower floors of the tower, the only sign of the previous occupants was the squalor and filth they had left. But in the Watch Hall they had made a determined effort to destroy everything that could be destroyed.
Many of the smaller seeing stones had been smash
ed, together with their ornate supporting frames, and the larger ones had been cracked and damaged.
Eldric walked around the Hall, his face ablaze with rage.
'We're blind,’ he said bitterly. ‘We haven't the craftsmen to repair these things. And we'll have to tie up men and resources in look-out chains now.'
Loman looked at him anxiously, then at the other Fyordyn, wandering aimlessly around the Hall. The wanton destruction seemed to be disturbing them all profoundly.
Abruptly, Eldric bent down, picked up a heavy fragment of a seeing stone, and hurled it violently at a temporarily rigged globe nearby. ‘And get those damned things out of here!’ he roared. ‘Every one!'
The globe burst noisily, discharging a small cloud of unpleasant smelling smoke and sending glittering shards tinkling across the floor. For a moment it sparked angrily, then with a splutter it fell silent.
Eldric caught Loman's eye. He waved an angry arm around the scene, then the rage seemed to leave him abruptly and he slumped a little. ‘I'm sorry, Loman,’ he said. ‘A childish outburst. But this place lies at the heart of our neglected duties. And this destruction is a measure of it even more than the damaged heart of Vakloss. If only we'd seen Dan-Tor's hand in the abandoning of the Watch. If only we'd opposed those who wanted this place closed and forgotten. If, if, if...’ He picked up another piece of broken stone but this time he turned it over in his hand tenderly. ‘It's as if we'd done all this ourselves.'
Loman did not attempt to console him. He knew that he could not truly understand the Fyordyn's distress. Instead, he ignored it and turned to a large wall bracket which had been badly bent out of shape. Wrapping his powerful hands around it he gave it one slow, twisting heave, and restored it almost exactly to its original shape and position.
Then he did the same to its partner and stood back to examine his work with a narrow critical eye. Eldric watched him, his immediate grief being slowly set aside by amazement at this display of both strength and skill.
