by Roger Taylor
Eventually Eldric calmed the din. Shaking his head as if to silence the babble of his own thoughts, he leaned forward urgently, his face a mixture of many emotions. ‘Hawklan, this is madness. Mandrocs armed ... and liveried ... marching into Orthlund! Killing! Madness! And my son, my son, what...'
He stopped, unable to continue. Hawklan caught his gaze and held it. ‘Lord Eldric. I've told you the truth. I've little comfort for you if that Jaldaric was indeed your son. When I saw him last he was captive but alive, and the man Aelang seemed anxious that he remained so.’ He looked round at the other Lords and the Goraidin, their questions restrained only by Eldric's will. Hreldar alone seemed unmoved. ‘You have only my word for this, and that of Isloman. But we saw what we saw, and we're here because of it. Of your own kind only Fel-Astian and Idrace survived and they left us to return here. I don't know where they are now.'
Under his gaze, the anger and disbelief in the watchers began slowly to fade. The enormity of his tale seemed to sound like a deep underscoring note that transformed the chaos of recent events into an even more sinister discord. In its wake came only uncertainty and bewilderment, hanging stagnant in the air.
Eldric's voice cut through the eerie silence. ‘We're a logical people, Hawklan, but over the past months we've had to come to terms with many happenings apparently beyond logic. When we spoke together earlier I said I'd judge you by your deeds, and that judgement tells me you're our friend and ally. My heart tells me that also. Lords? Gentlemen?’ He looked enquiringly around the room.
There was no dissent.
He continued. ‘But, Hawklan, you tell us an appalling tale. We must decide...'
'Hush.’ The sound came from one of the Goraidin standing by the window. Carefully he eased back the edge of the curtain and peered out. Then equally carefully he replaced it. The others noted the signs. Sudden movements attract attention. They fell silent. Those who were seated, stood up quietly and reflexively checked their weapons.
'Mathidrin,’ the man whispered. ‘Probably a couple of hundred. It looks as if they've closed the street and are searching each house in turn.'
* * *
Chapter 38
Hreldar and Darek were correct in their assessment of the reason why such horror had arisen so apparently spontaneously from the tight-knit diversionary tactics devised by the Goraidin. The Mathidrin did indeed have orders to aggravate any large-scale disorders in the City. Dan-Tor adjusted the details as the day developed, but the overall plan was one of many he had prepared against different contingencies.
Now the men gathered in the upstairs room overlooking a Vakloss street saw another plan being implemented: the systematic and thorough searching of all parts of the City. It was a massive operation, and Mathidrin had been brought in from many of the nearby towns and villages to implement it. Yatsu looked at the speaker. ‘Archers or horsemen?’ he asked. The man shook his head. ‘I didn't see any bows. And only one or two officers are on horseback,’ he said.
'Two hundred?’ continued Yatsu.
'Thereabouts,’ came the confirmation. ‘Commander,’ said Eldric to Yatsu. ‘Do you have any plan for an escape from this house?’ Yatsu shook his head. ‘Not under these circumstances,’ he said. ‘We should have been away from the City early last night, but it wasn't possible.'
Eldric nodded. ‘You have groups waiting outside the City?’ he asked.
'Yes,’ replied Yatsu. ‘And more friends inside the City. But that's all they'll be doing—waiting. They've no way of knowing where we are or how they can help us.'
Yatsu signalled one of his men to check the back of the house. Within seconds he returned saying this was guarded also. ‘As far as I can see. The alley's narrow. It's hard to get a clear view.'
There was an intake of breath from the man by the window.
'They've found the horses,’ he hissed. ‘They'll be on us in minutes.'
An anxious scurrying in the doorway announced the woman of the house. She was flushed and agitated.
Yatsu raised his hand before she spoke. ‘Yes, we know,’ he said, walking over to her and laying a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. ‘Is there any way we can get into the houses on either side?'
The woman fluttered her hands helplessly.
'Yatsu,’ said one of the men. ‘These houses are old. They might have common roof spaces.'
The woman nodded her head. ‘Yes, they have, and there's a trapdoor...’ She stepped backwards out of the room and pointed to a panel in the carved ceiling.
Unbidden, one of the Goraidin clambered on to the shoulders of a companion and pushed back the carved trapdoor. Small flurries of dust floated unhurriedly down on to the heads of the watchers below.
'Yatsu,’ said Hawklan, ‘Dacu and Lord Arinndier can't go scrabbling through that.'
Yatsu ignored him. ‘Gag the wounded,’ he said to one of his men.
Hawklan's eyes opened in horror, and his fist tightened. Isloman laid a hand on him. ‘Eldric's accepted him as Commander,’ he said. ‘If you don't trust his judgement, trust mine. I know Yatsu, and I know these people. Do as he says without question. If anyone can get us out of here, he can.'
Before Hawklan could answer, Isloman received a nodded command from the Commander. ‘You next,’ said the Carver with a grin and, enfolding Hawklan in his powerful embrace, he lifted him effortlessly up towards the trapdoor, where four hands seized him and dragged him into the dark warmth of the roof space. Amid the buffeting he heard a hammering from down below.
He had scarcely recovered his balance before the rest of the group appeared, including the gagged figures of Dacu and Arinndier. He took charge of them immediately and led them after the others who were disappearing into the dust-laden gloom ahead.
A figure came alongside him and thrust a small torch into his hand. It had a comfortable, solid feel to it, and gave a good steady light. Ahead he could see other torches bobbing in and out between the moving shapes of the running men, and the motionless shapes of the intricate tracery of rafters and spars that supported the complicated roof. As they moved, black bands of shadow swept swiftly and silently about the roof space, adding ghostly lines to those already etched out by the roof timbers. The air was full of whispered scufflings.
Occasionally the floor swelled up in front of them, marking some elaborate ceiling below, and in places the roof dipped low so that they had to crouch almost on all fours as they moved forward. Hawklan watched Arinndier and Dacu closely. They were moving well but both were obviously weak and in pain. He felt a momentary anger at Yatsu but Isloman's words reminded him of the stern reality of their position. At the same time it occurred to him that both Arinndier and Dacu would probably tolerate almost any pain rather than hamper the group. At least their pain will pass, he thought. My role here is to follow, help and learn.
Abruptly the light in the roof space dimmed a little as the trapdoor was dropped back into place. Yatsu caught up with him. ‘We haven't too long,’ he said. ‘The door's barricaded and they'll have to find the man and the woman before they can find out where we've gone.'
In a flash of self-reproach, Hawklan suddenly realized he did not even know their names or how they came to be involved in such danger. ‘What will happen to them?’ he asked.
Yatsu shrugged fretfully. ‘We bound and gagged them. Apart from saying that we forced our way in, they'll tell the truth about us. That's their best protection. But, I don't know...'
Hawklan looked at him sideways without altering his forward pace. Yatsu's face was strained. Yes, thought Hawklan, asking others to face danger on your behalf isn't easy, is it? He could sense the man's mind moving back to the sound of screams and cries echoing through streets choked with fumes and ravening crowds. Not your fault, he thought, though you'll never really accept it. Just another scar to bear. More despair. Yatsu was an old soldier. All he could offer the maimed innocents was vengeance but, as an old soldier, he knew it wasn't enough.
Suddenly the group stopped. The way a
head was blocked by a stone wall.
'Is it the end of the row?’ Hawklan asked.
Several of the men shook their heads irritably. ‘No,’ said one, ‘there should be as far again if my pacing's right.'
Hawklan decided to stay silent.
Yatsu had not allowed himself the luxury of a single oath at the sight of the obstruction, but his face was as blank and hard as the wall itself.
Hawklan heard no order, but three of the men ran back the way they had come, and as their torches suddenly blinked out, he knew that the first Mathidrin to enter the roof space would die before they even realized they were under attack. Turning back to the others he saw knives scratching at the wide joints in the wall. The mortar was soft, but the wall looked very solid and the task seemed impossible. It was hard to imagine even these resourceful men overcoming this obstacle.
He turned to his charges. Gently he made Arinndier and Dacu lie down and, with a soft murmur and an almost imperceptible pressure of his hand, he sent both of them to sleep. Yatsu's eyes widened in a mixture of concern and anger. Hawklan gestured him to the wall. ‘I'll keep them on their feet,’ he said. ‘Sleeping like that will husband energies they'd otherwise squander in waiting and fretting.’ Yatsu looked at him and then nodded.
'Give me light.’ Isloman was standing in comparative darkness a little way from the others. Yatsu directed his torch towards him. There was an exclamation of satisfaction.
'Here we are,’ Isloman said. ‘I thought I saw it.’ He ran his finger along a dog-legged crack running through the stonework. Without a pause he drew his knife and, using his clenched fist like a hammer, quickly and expertly removed much of the mortar surrounding one stone. Hawklan had often seen Isloman work like this when carving fine details, and gave it no thought, but in the circling torchlight, the Goraidin and the Lords formed a necklace of amazed faces about the spectacle.
'Poor workmanship this,’ Isloman muttered, sheathing his knife. Then closing his eyes he thrust his fingers into the open joint and even Hawklan was amazed as he saw the power of the Master Rock Worker surge down into his hands and slowly ease the damaged block from the wall. Several willing hands took it from him and he thrust his arm into the gap he had made. He looked pleased.
'That's lucky,’ he said. ‘Just one skin. These others will be easier.
But, for all his confidence and skill, it took him several minutes to pull free sufficient blocks to make a gap large enough for the men to pass through and sweat was running down his face when he had finished.
Hawklan had Arinndier and Dacu lifted through the gap before he roused them, and then the silent race was on again. As Isloman replaced some of the blocks, he caught a glimpse of lights in the distance. ‘They're here,’ he whispered urgently to Yatsu.
Yatsu nodded. The Mathidrin had obviously moved through the house slowly, as he had hoped, fearing ambush after finding the bound householders. With luck they would continue to do so through the dark and complex roof space. Then Isloman's replaced blocks would be no slight obstacle. Each one had made two of Yatsu's men stagger. But time was still against them, and he could not begin to assess what deployment would be happening down in the street. They could simply be running towards disaster. He dismissed the thought. It served no useful purpose even if it were true.
All too soon, however, the thought presented itself again as another wall blocked their path. This was indeed the end of the long row of houses and once again three of the men disappeared into the blackness behind them.
Yatsu looked at the wall then, beckoning Isloman, moved to one side until they were both crouching in the eaves. Hawklan saw Isloman nodding and abruptly, over the sibilant cautious breathing of the waiting group, there was a sharp, brittle crack, and a bright jagged splash of light fell into the gloom, dimming the torchlight and illuminating a myriad scurrying dust motes. The whole group stood motionless in this new twilight. Yatsu's hand went up, unnecessarily, for silence and his head turned slightly as he listened to the sounds that were entering through the gap at a more leisurely pace than the sunlight. Apparently satisfied, he nodded to Isloman, who quietly removed more tiles. Yatsu picked up several pieces and put them in his pouch. ‘There might be archers out there.’ Hawklan heard him say. Cautiously, and a little incongruously, Yatsu stood up and peered out of the opening. As he reappeared, a crash sounded flatly through the roof space, followed rapidly by another and another, each more distant than the last. Isloman's blocks had been located and were being prised aside.
Then came a brief frantic scuffling.
Three figures came running silently out of the darkness. Yatsu raised his eyebrows in inquiry.
'We let three get through before we killed them, then we killed two in the gap,’ said one. ‘Left them all skewered on their own swords and wedged there. That'll slow them down.’ Yatsu nodded and turned his attention back to the others. ‘Quickly, form a ladder. I can't see the alley, but we'll have to go over the top.'
Two men climbed through the gap in the roof and Isloman followed them.
Yatsu beckoned Hawklan urgently. ‘Get Arinndier and Dacu across first,’ he said. ‘We'll fetch the other Lords.’ Hawklan looked out through the gap and felt his knees start to buckle. He deduced they were above the archway at the end of the alley, but he could not see it, nor the storeys above it. He could see only the pitched roof that topped it. It was not too long, spanning the narrow alley as it did, but it was some distance below where he was standing and it fell away very steeply from its pointed ridge down into the alley. A chasm whose base he could not see.
'Quickly, man,’ said Yatsu, as he hesitated in the gap. The two Goraidin had clambered down on to the roof and, with one sitting on the shoulders of the other, they leant against the wall to form a human ladder down on to the ridge. Isloman was standing slightly bow-legged, straddling the ridge at the far side, where it continued past the high wall of the opposite building to form a valley in which they could move in comparative safety, and unseen from below.
Without allowing himself the luxury of any further thought, Hawklan levered himself through the opening and gingerly slithered backwards down the roof and down the two men until his feet touched the narrow ridge. Cautiously he looked up and saw Dacu being lowered down the same route. He reached up and caught the man's belt as he was released. But Dacu was a Goraidin and, injured though he was, needed little help. He twisted round Hawklan and scuttled along the ridge almost before Hawklan realized what he was doing.
Arinndier, however, proved more of a problem. Fit as he was for his age, he was no Goraidin, and he was a big man. Hawklan heard the two men breathing heavily as they took his weight, and saw feet shifting on the sloping tiles, and hands gripping the wall as they struggled for a better hold to accommodate the unbalanced fumblings of the injured man.
As he touched the roof, he lurched backwards and, staggering into Hawklan, fell heavily across the ridge. A substantial groan escaped his gagged mouth, and his eyes dosed in pain, but he was safe enough. Hawklan was less fortunate. As he staggered to regain his own balance, one foot skidded from under him and sent him sprawling forward. His left hand reached out for the ridge, but fell short.
As he watched his hand sliding over the tiles, he felt the narrow alleyway at his back luring him down with a dark siren song. A fearful screeching filled his ears as his fingernails dug into the hard tiles seeking purchase in their tiny blemishes to slow his slide. He saw Arinndier's eyes opening in horror and Isloman starting forward with appalling slowness.
Abruptly he felt his feet slide over into nothingness and an eerie calmness came over him. Now will come all my answers, he thought, but reflexively the fingers of his right hand found an open joint between two tiles and drove themselves into it ferociously. For a fraction of a second this stayed his slide, then his left wrist was seized in a powerful grip to stop it completely.
Seeing Hawklan fall, Isloman had seized the ridge with one hand and flung himself after his friend. Now he
dragged him up the slope and unceremoniously draped him over the ridge next to Arinndier before pulling himself back up. ‘Stay there,’ he whispered unnecessarily.
In the few seconds that he lay there, gathering his wits, Hawklan realized the Goraidin were retrieving Arinndier and shepherding the Lords over him. As he tried to stand up, two pairs of hands gripped him and dragged him the remaining short distance to the comparative safety of the valley gutter on the far side of the alley.
'Are you all right?’ asked Yatsu casually, as he stood looking alternately after the rest of the party departing along the roof and at the hole in the roof they had just left.
Hawklan glared at him balefully. ‘No, you...’ he began, but was checked partly by the flicker of a smile on the Goraidin's face and partly by a cry from behind. Turning he saw a Mathidrin emerging from the hole. He was calling to attract the attention of others, presumably below.
'After the rest, quickly,’ said Yatsu, ushering Hawklan along and at the same time reaching into his pouch. Looking round after a few paces, Hawklan saw the Mathidrin ducking rapidly from sight, then he saw Yatsu's arm swinging forward and a large piece of tile go flying through the hole. The second one, he presumed.
'Every moment counts,’ said Yatsu, by way of explanation as he came up to him. ‘We've got a good chance if they don't spot our first few turns. These roofs spread a long way.'
'I'll gain us some more then,’ said Hawklan and, putting his fingers into his mouth, he gave a long penetrating whistle that echoed round the surrounding rooftops and down into the street that fronted the houses they had just left.
It seemed to the trooper who was guarding the horses there that the large black stallion they had found bowed its head as if listening and then spoke to the others. But he did not survive to tell of his impression: a blow from Serian's flailing hoof dispatched him instantly, and the Mathidrin troopers scattered in panic as the horses galloped screaming from the street.
