The Fall of Fyorlund [Book Two of The Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  Dan-Tor dropped his head to hide the red anger in his eyes. ‘You shame me, Majesty,’ he said regretfully. ‘Had I known you were so near recovery after the many years of failure I'd have devoted myself more diligently to your well-being. Perhaps then you'd have sat here many months ago. As for an Accounting ... sadly, Majesty, I've been so occupied with matters of State that I'm ill-prepared to give one of even the most recent happenings, so grim have they been.'

  'I'm sure you've done nothing that you could reproach yourself for, Lord,’ said the King. ‘And I require no stringent rendering immediately. That we can do at our leisure together with the Lords of the Geadrol. Just tell me briefly what has passed in my land since my illness deluded me into arresting four of my good and faithful Lords. Such a telling will satisfy the requirements of the Law, will it not, Honoured Secretary?'

  Dilrap started at being dragged into this improvisation of the King's, but after a protracted stammer and a cadenza of flourishes and twitches, he managed to say, ‘Yes, Majesty.'

  How many years’ work has that hag undone? Dan-Tor thought, but when he looked up at the King his face was concerned. ‘Majesty, are you sure that you're fully recovered? We've had these flashes of sunlight in the past, only to fall into darkness again.'

  The King smiled slightly. ‘I'm not the man I was, Lord Dan-Tor,’ he said. ‘But I'm recovered sufficiently, rest assured.'

  An echoing silence filled the hall as Dan-Tor fought back an urge to strike down this usurping clown. There were too many unknown factors at work here. What other schemes had been prepared in secret? Had Hawklan's hand reached into his Palace yet again to wreak this havoc? A rash stroke could destroy not only the spectacular progress of the last few months, but the work of years. The shadow of his Master's wrath almost froze his tongue to his palate. He must play this farce through until a pattern or an opportunity emerged.

  'Majesty,’ he said, with a helpless gesture, ‘you must forgive my hesitation. I'm still overcome by the suddenness of your recovery. However, perhaps I should begin by explaining about...'

  Seeing his opponent regaining his balance, the King raised his hand. ‘Forgive me, Lord Dan-Tor,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Before you begin, there's an important matter I must attend to so that you'll be spared the embarrassment of retailing my folly to my face. Guards.'

  The power in the command startled Dan-Tor. He turned hastily, half expecting to see an escort of High Guards approaching him purposefully. Even the appearance of the two Mathidrin door guards did not totally reassure him. The Mathidrin were by nature corruptible. Or were they High Guards in disguise again? A voice deep inside counselled patience, but its tone was shrill.

  'Fetch me the Lord Eldric and his son Jaldaric immediately,’ said the King. The two men hesitated, blinking at the sight of the King, powerful and whole, on his throne, while their Lord stood stark and alone like a lightning-blasted tree.

  'Immediately!’ thundered the King. The two men disappeared hastily.

  Dan-Tor spun round and stared at the King as the sound of the retreating guards faded into the distance. ‘Majesty,’ he cried. ‘The Lord Eldric and his son are dangerous traitors. They and their co-conspirators have plunged the City, the whole country, into anarchy and turmoil. Even now...'

  A sharp gesture from the King cut him short. ‘I'm aware of recent happenings, Lord. And due reparation will be sought from the offenders, sooner than they imagine.’ He turned and looked Dan-Tor fully in the face. ‘Have no fear. Our Law is only a reflection of natural justice. It can no more be set aside by man than the tides can be stopped.'

  'Majesty, I implore you. Beware these men.'

  'Enough, Lord,’ said the King firmly. ‘Illness may have marred the greater part of my reign, but nothing shall mar what remains. I'll interrogate these men and end this horror that threatens to destroy our land.'

  'But Majesty, the matter's complex...'

  The King's tone became menacingly soft. ‘Lord Dan-Tor. This is a matter which I must attend to before I come to your Accounting and my reward to you for your trials. It irks me to be thus badgered.'

  Dilrap stepped back a pace as he felt the two personalities clash. Dan-Tor tightened his fist behind his back with such force that Dilrap heard the bones cracking. He felt as though the grip was choking the life out of him.

  Enough of this, screamed part of Dan-Tor's mind. Caution, whispered another. There's deep treachery here. It had been an error to move so precipitately at the King's unexpected bidding. He must find a way out of the hall ... contact Urssain.

  He slumped slightly and raised his hands apologetically. ‘Forgive me, Majesty,’ he said, in a tone that rang alien to his own ears, ‘I'm still concerned for your welfare ... as always.'

  The King nodded, but did not speak.

  'It'll be some time before the guards can bring the prisoners to you, Majesty,’ Dan-Tor continued. ‘May I take the opportunity to gather some documents which will summarize present conditions for you admirably?'

  The King waved him silent. ‘That won't be necessary, Lord. I'm not interested in niceties at the moment. As I said, a simple telling will be sufficient.’ He smiled broadly. ‘However, I'll admit that I'm looking forward to examining your Stewardship in detail in due course. I'm sure there's much to be learnt from the way you've handled things during this period of unrest. But for now, stay by my side, as you've done for so many years.'

  Dan-Tor bowed a silent acknowledgement and, stepping to one side, turned to face the door through which Eldric and his son must enter. As he did so, his eyes skimmed the balconies and archways searching for strange shadows. He saw none, but the openness of the place in the torchlight disturbed him.

  The King leaned back in the stone throne, finding, to his surprise, that it was oddly comfortable. He rested his hands on the brilliant polished arms and felt a great relaxation pass through him. His wife's tale, his own memories, his observations of Dan-Tor, all came together in a vivid whole and he saw what lay before him.

  Strange, he thought, to be so at ease in the face of such a testing.

  The silence hung, sun-filled and peaceful, in the hall, like the quiet of an ocean poised at the turn of the tide when the great forces that determine its destiny are balanced equally. Then, like the first swell of a new wave, came the distant sound of marching feet. As they approached, so the deep peace he felt faded like a glowing memory.

  Presently, four figures appeared in the doorway.

  The King dismissed the guards and ordered Eldric and Jaldaric forward. For a moment Eldric hesitated as if unable to believe either his eyes or his ears. He caught hold of his son's arm.

  'Eldric,’ said the King. ‘You were not wont to be so sluggish.'

  'Majesty,’ whispered Eldric, ‘forgive me.’ Then instinctively straightening his soiled uniform, he marched forward to the foot of the throne. Jaldaric followed him, his face set, but his eyes uncertain.

  For a long moment the two men looked at one another. The King felt some of Eldric's ordeal and was sickened, while Eldric felt the King's new health and was heartened. Tiny glimmers of hope began to flicker tentatively into life.

  'My Lord Eldric,’ said the King, ‘we've been born into a time of great change, it would seem. Darkness and strife stalk Fyorlund. Ancient ways fade into memory, institutions crumble, kin takes arms against kin as your fellow Lords arm themselves in the east. Is it their intention to move against this City?'

  'Quite probably, Majesty,’ replied Eldric without hesitation.

  Damn these people and their loathsome openness, thought Dan-Tor.

  The King showed no surprise at Eldric's response. ‘War is not a matter overburdened by logical considerations, Lord Eldric,’ he said. ‘But someone somewhere usually has a semblance of a reason for it. As you seem to be the first mover in this unhappiness, perhaps you'd tell me what demands you'd make of me.'

  Eldric searched the face of the King again, fearfully aware of his last interview in this hall when
he had been swept away in a grim black tide. There was tiredness in the King's face, but strength also. And his eyes, those traitors to the inner self, betrayed no instability.

  He bowed. ‘Majesty, I make no demands of you. I'm one of your Lords. A servant to you, the Law, the Geadrol and the people. I would make only a request.’ He paused but the King gestured to him to continue. ‘I would request an Accounting, Majesty. An Accounting before yourself and the Lords of the Geadrol.'

  Before the King could reply, there was a clamour outside the hall and, abruptly, a Mathidrin officer burst in. Eldric and Jaldaric turned round to examine this intruder while the King folded his arms and discreetly laid his hand on his sword hilt. Dan-Tor, however, almost staggered. The unease that had been increasingly tormenting him over the past days suddenly burst upon him like a raging flood. For a moment he felt as though his mind was like a boat torn from its moorings and tossed to and fro at the whim of some unregarding storm.

  'Your request is granted, Lord Eldric.’ The King's voice was soft, but it filled the hall and cut through Dan-Tor's whirling thoughts.

  He spun round to face the King. ‘Majesty,’ he said, starting forward. His hands were opening and closing as if to grasp the reins of power he could feel slipping away. ‘No...’ He stopped, mouth agape, paralysed by indecision. He must strike the King down now before it was too late. But this Mathidrin was no ordinary harbinger. He was riding on an evil tide.

  Unbidden, the man spoke. ‘Ffyrst,’ he said, ‘a great crowd surrounds the Palace. A man at their head seeks audience with you.'

  'What manner of man?’ Dan-Tor said, his face rigid.

  The Mathidrin was trembling, and seemed unable to speak.

  Dan-Tor repeated his question, slowly and menacingly.

  The man found his tongue. ‘A warrior, Ffyrst. An Orthlundyn.'

  The words blurred in Dan-Tor's hearing and a great roaring filled his ears. With a dreadful inhuman cry he strode from the hall.

  * * *

  Chapter 55

  Wearily the King stood up and walked down the steps to face Eldric. The noise of Dan-Tor's leaving was echoing round and round the hall like a tormented spirit and it weighed heavily on him.

  'Eldric,’ he said. ‘My old friend and comrade-in-arms. Today, I've been either very wise or very foolish.'

  Eldric barely heard the remark. ‘Majesty,’ he said in a mixture of awe and disbelief. ‘Rgoric. You're your old self again?’ He gazed into the King's face and nodded. ‘Recovered. It's a miracle.'

  'No miracle, Eldric,’ the King replied. ‘Only some strange fate and the single-minded devotion of my Queen. But she'll tell you all in due course. Right now we must consider your next course of action.'

  Eldric frowned. ‘Consider, Majesty? Consider? There's nothing to consider. We'll remain by your side and begin the undoing of all these ills.'

  The King shook his head. ‘You weren't usually so rash, Eldric. You must realize that's not possible. We're effectively alone in the Palace. Certainly we've no armed friends to aid us. We could be slain within the next few minutes.'

  Eldric's eyes opened in disbelief. ‘Majesty, this can't be. You're the King. No one would dare...’ His words faded, strangled by his own knowledge. Then came a little flare of optimism. ‘But you held Dan-Tor here, in thrall, at your feet.'

  The King shook his head again. ‘The only chains that bound Dan-Tor was surprise and caution.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘We were both playing the same game. He was waiting to see what I intended and I was waiting for some measure of him. Now I fear we both have the measure of one another, and I'm the loser by it.'

  'I don't understand, Majesty,’ said Eldric, waving his arms vaguely.

  'It doesn't matter,’ retorted the King. ‘Suffice it that I've managed to have you released. You must flee the City and head for your stronghold. Horses have been arranged for you.’ He silenced an impending interruption with a wave of his hand. ‘On my express command, you'll levy the High Guards of all the Lords, and drive Dan-Tor and his Mathidrin from Vakloss and all Fyorlund.'

  'Majesty.’ Eldric's voice was almost desperate as he attempted to stem the King's flow. The King fumbled with a ring on his finger.

  'Eldric, as you care for me, be silent and listen. Take this.’ He thrust the Iron Ring of the Kings forcibly into Eldric's hand. ‘We haven't the time for courtesies and explanations. That ring is my authority for what you must do.’ He paused. ‘You're aware of Dilrap's part in this affair?’ he asked softly.

  Eldric looked at the Secretary. ‘The Queen told the Goraidin Yatsu he's to be trusted,’ he said.

  The King nodded. ‘When circumstances permit, he's to be greatly honoured for the courage he's shown and the aid he's rendered our country. You must see to that. But now, go with him. Horses have been prepared for you but all relies on speed and surprise. Go now.'

  Eldric swung from side to side in indecision. ‘But, Majesty,’ he said, ‘what are you going to do ... ? And the Queen?'

  The King straightened up. ‘The Queen has gone already,’ he said. ‘I prevailed upon her when I realized what our position was here.'

  'Alone, Majesty?’ Eldric said softly.

  A twinge of doubt showed on the King's face. ‘You forget who and what she is, Eldric,’ he replied. ‘She's a Muster woman on a Muster horse. She'll reach your estates long before you and warn them of your coming. Besides, she's much loved by the people. There are many reasons why no one will stand in her way.'

  Eldric's shoulders lifted then dropped in angry resignation. ‘Well, if she's gone, she's gone. We'll never catch her, that's certain. But why are you here?'

  Rgoric stared into the old Lord's face. Truth, he thought. Truth was what had kept Fyorlund whole for so long, and truth alone could restore it now. He took Eldric's arm and led him to one side. ‘Eldric. I've no plan this day. No scheme. Nothing. To plan implies to know, and I know nothing of Dan-Tor. What he is ... or,’ he looked significantly at Eldric, ‘the force that moves him.’ The two men looked at one another in silence for a long moment, then the King continued. ‘I knew only that I'd have one chance to learn and act. It was my hope, no more, that I could effect your release and escape, but beyond that, nothing.'

  'I understand, Majesty,’ Eldric said urgently. ‘But you can flee now.'

  Rgoric shook his head. ‘No, Eldric, I can't,’ he said. ‘Dan-Tor's poisons have injured me irreparably, despite the efforts of Sylvriss and my appearance of well-being. It's only a matter of time before I succumb to illness again, and I see no fixture other than as a whingeing dotard.'

  Eldric winced at the force of the King's momentary bitterness. ‘Rgoric, how can you be sure of this?’ he said anxiously. ‘There's a great healer in the land, from Orthlund...'

  The King's look stopped him. ‘I'm sure, Eldric,’ he said. ‘An inner sight has come with my recovery. I can't turn my feet from the path it has shown me. Be assured, what you see now is an unseasonable flowering before a cruel frost.'

  Eldric was silent, head bowed.

  'It's not what I'd wished for, Eldric,’ the King continued. ‘But it is the truth. Time works against us on all fronts of the battle. If you escape then I'll have redeemed some of the failures of my poor reign. Next, I'll kill His servant here or perish in the attempt.'

  Eldric stared at him. The words rang in his head—His servant—but before he could speak, Rgoric led him further from Jaldaric and Dilrap. ‘Eldric. Sylvriss thinks I'm following on with you,’ he said, very softly. ‘When you meet, ask her to forgive me this last small deceit.’ He hesitated and looked down at his hands. ‘Tell her ... tell her ... we've had two lives together, one at the beginning and one at the end ... tell her, greater joy could never have been.’ Then a little more heartily, though his eyes were shining damp in the torchlight, ‘As you love me, Eldric, do as I've asked—for all our sakes. Leave me to ... to attend to my Royal duties.'

  Impulsively, Eldric reached out and embraced the King. As they parted, wor
dlessly, the King nodded towards the door and Eldric, signalling to Dilrap and Jaldaric, marched quickly from the hall without looking back.

  Rgoric listened to their receding footsteps, then slowly climbed back up on to the ancient throne of the Kings of Fyorlund.

  * * * *

  Dan-Tor strode through the corridors of the Palace, his mind in a turmoil. That the King was opposing him and perhaps even now might be wreaking havoc with his plans dwindled into insignificance against the awesome force that was drawing him inexorably towards its heart. His thoughts whirled in imitation of this maelstrom but as he neared it, words of caution floated increasingly to the surface.

  Then came the memory of his Master's terrible cold anger and gradually his pace eased and his mind became clearer, even though the alien power was ringing like a mocking challenge through his entire body.

  A warrior. An Orthlundyn. That green-eyed demon had come to confront him in his own lair! He shuddered at the memory of Orthlund and Anderras Darion and briefly his old reproaches returned. Why had he done what he had done there? What had so marred his judgement? He brushed them aside, but the fear that came in their wake halted him as he reached the main entrance hall.

  For a moment he stood motionless, feeling the powerful presence waiting for him. It was a power such as he had not met since his return from the darkness—but it was not the Power of Ethriss awakened. Slowly, hope began to mingle with fear. With soft words and cunning, he might yet lure Hawklan into subtle captivity. It wouldn't be easy. Hawklan's distrust would be deep and profound. Nonetheless, it was possible. The man might yet be bound and delivered to His care in Derras Ustramel.

  He moved forward and the group of people gathered around the main doorway parted silently to allow him through. A harassed Urssain met him.

  'Commander,’ Dan-Tor said coldly. ‘I'm called away from an audience with the King like some scullery-maid...’ The look on Urssain's face stopped him.

  'Ffyrst, I don't know what's happened. There's been unrest since Eldric was taken from Oremson's, and that business with the Queen didn't help, but we've had no indication of anything like this.’ Urssain's voice fell to a whisper. ‘The crowd's enormous. I daren't set the men on them.'