by Roger Taylor
‘… wandered the bleak and blasted valley where she had pledged her troth to Elewart and, hearing ever the voices of her true love and her fiery desire disputing through the barren peaks, she pined and died. And Sphaeera, in pity, took her sighs and gave them to the mountains, that they might have some brief respite from the eternal Discourse of Sumeral and Elewart.’ Urthryn’s musical Riddin accent finished Gulda’s tale.
Gulda nodded, and all the listeners smiled and ap-plauded softly.
Then Gulda lifted a gently admonishing finger. ‘And Gwelayne wandered… And her fate is not known,’ she said slowly, finishing her own telling.
Urthryn bowed extravagantly. ‘I wouldn’t dispute with such a fine teller of tales, teacher. But I’m a romantic and I prefer the romantic ending to the mysterious one.’
Gulda smiled and looked round the room. ‘But this isn’t planning our campaign, is it?’ she said. ‘If all we encounter between here and Derras Ustramel is a sighing wind, then we can consider ourselves more than fortunate. Tell us of your journey across Narsindal, Ffyrst.’
Urthryn shrugged. ‘There’s little to tell,’ he said. ‘It was less disturbing than our journey along the Pass. Yengar and Olvric guided us. Oslang twitched his nose in search of demons.’ He winked at the Cadwanwr. ‘That’s when he wasn’t slithering out of his saddle. The weather was cold and unpleasant. The horses were unhappy, and the place felt bad. Except for our last little gallop, we travelled slowly, partly in deference to our guests and partly because fear of ambush kept us in defensive order. But we met no one, nor even saw anyone, let alone faced any attack.’ He laughed again. ‘Except, of course, at the end.’
Gulda raised her eyebrows. ‘An admirably brief account,’ she said. ‘Yengar, Olvric, have you anything to add?’
The two Goraidin shook their heads. ‘No,’ Yengar said. ‘The place still gives me the creeps, but apart from finding the road, the whole journey was as the Ffyrst has said, uneventful.’
‘Road?’ Gulda said.
‘It was new,’ Yengar continued. ‘It wound down out of the mountains and off across the plains, but we saw no one using it. I presume it’s the one that Hawklan and the others saw after they’d ridden north from Lord Evison’s. The one serving the mines. It’s a considerable feat of engineering, whoever built it.’
Gulda frowned. ‘Slaves will have built it, Goraidin, slaves. It’ll be a tombstone for many of them,’ she said, her frown deepening. ‘We’re already far too late for many poor souls.’
She was silent for a moment, then she turned to Oslang. ‘What did you learn, Cadwanwr?’ she asked.
Oslang scowled and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I learned what I already knew,’ he said. ‘That I’m scarcely a horseman, let alone a Muster rider.’ His rueful manner caused some amusement, but Gulda gave him a beady look and he shrugged apologetically. ‘There’s an awful presence pervading the place,’ he said, more seriously. ‘His presence, beyond a doubt. But it was… passive… indifferent to us, almost. As if we counted for nothing. It wasn’t what I’d expected.’
Atelon looked at him. ‘Did you use the Old Power at all?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Oslang replied. ‘I would have done had need arisen. We were prepared all the time for sudden attacks and for Dan-Tor to come riding out to meet us, but to be honest I was too afraid to use it unnecessarily.’
Atelon nodded understandingly and sank back into his chair.
The discussion moved on to practical matters.
‘We need to find out where Oklar has gone,’ Arinndier said. ‘If he’s lurking somewhere in the west, he could move in behind us, cut off our lines of supply, and attack us in the rear.’
‘Or move down into Fyorlund and Orthlund while we’re wandering round in the mists,’ Hreldar said.
Other voices began to speak.
Loman raised his hand for silence hastily. ‘My friends,’ he said. ‘There are endless alternatives that our enemy might adopt and all of them are beyond our calculating at this stage. It seems that He’s quite willing for us to move into Narsindal, but whether it’s to surround us, wear us down by fighting a defensive war, face us in one set piece action, by-pass us and attack the lands to the south… ’ He held out his arms. ‘How can we possibly know?’
He leaned forward. ‘Hawklan’s advice was that we be open and straightforward, because we can’t begin to oppose Sumeral, the arch-schemer, with cunning and craft. We must not look to fight Him with weapons which are so much His own.’
‘We can’t not debate what might happen,’ Eldric said. ‘We must have contingency plans prepared.’
‘Of course,’ Loman said. ‘But our intention here is to march on Derras Ustramel and destroy both it and its occupant and anyone else who chooses to fight at His side. A straight thrust at our enemy’s heart. We must have that foremost in our minds at all times.’ Eldric looked anxious.
Loman turned to Urthryn. ‘Ffyrst, Sylvriss tells me that she’s set squadrons to patrolling the Pass. Can your people hold it against a large army?’
Urthryn pursed his lips. ‘I see no reason why not,’ he said. ‘Though if any of the Uhriel attacked also… ’
‘The Cadwanol have laid many defences along the Pass of late,’ Oslang said. ‘It’s better protected from the Uhriel than we are here.’
‘Then is Riddin as safe as it can be made?’ Loman asked.
The two men nodded, though uneasily, and Loman turned back to Eldric. ‘Can a large army move into Fyorlund over the mountains, Lord?’
‘You moved over the mountains into Riddin when need arose,’ Eldric replied tersely, a little put out still by Loman’s apparent hastiness. ‘And Mandroc raids into the northern estates are not uncommon.’
‘Not to mention the attack on Evison’s,’ Arinndier added.
Loman let out a long breath. ‘You know your own country, Lords,’ he said patiently. ‘Let me cut through the conjecture. What is the least that must be done to prevent a large force moving through the mountains at a place of its own choosing?’
‘The repair of the Watch Hall,’ Darek declared be-fore Eldric could speak again. ‘That at least would enable us to detect such an army. What would be needed to stop it would depend on the size, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ Loman echoed thoughtfully. ‘Otaff, how is work on the Watch Hall proceeding?’
Otaff was the most senior member of the Carver’s Guild at the meeting. ‘We’re making steady progress,’ he said. ‘And the Cadwanwr are being very helpful. To be honest I think we’d be far more use working up there now than we are here, listening to you and the others talking logistics and tactics.’
Loman agreed and Otaff left, together with Atelon and other Orthlundyn and Cadwanwr.
Loman turned back to Eldric. ‘If this work is done, then Fyorlund too will be as safe as we can make it,’ he said. ‘And will we have eliminated some of our more terrifying contingencies?’
Eldric nodded. ‘It’s a hasty Gathering, Loman, but yes,’ he conceded.
Loman continued. ‘This done then, I think that we should prepare to march north as quickly as we can, and protect our rear by a string of manned forts, patrols and post-horse messengers.’
He glanced quickly round his listeners to see what response this suggestion provoked.
‘If we’re going to thrust directly for His heart then I’d rather we used the army as a spear that we can withdraw than an arrow which we can fire only once,’ said Darek. ‘But I foresee a problem in manning all these forts. Leaving a duty garrison here, and who knows how many companies spread out across a hostile countryside in forts may leave us precious few at the front.’
‘That will need serious, detailed, thought,’ Loman conceded. ‘But whatever we decide now, we can change our dispositions as the Goraidin and Helyadin obtain information about the enemy’s strength.’
He paused and looked round at his audience again, then he stood up and began walking among them. ‘I know we have a massive ar
my here but, for what it’s worth, I have a feeling that we’ll find ourselves heavily outnumbered whatever form this conflict eventually takes. I think we must accept that now, and remember that numbers alone are not necessarily critical.’ He paused briefly. ‘Even with a cavalry force that was far too small, tactics and discipline gave us the greater part of the day against the far more numerous Morlider. Equally importantly, they brought us away with virtually no casualties.’ He tapped out his conclusion on the pate of a carved eagle that decorated one of the chairs. ‘And, all things being equal, it will be tactics and discipline that give us victory, not numbers.’
‘But will they be equal?’ someone said, amid the sage head nodding that greeted this remark. The speaker was Urthryn’s adviser, Hiron, and his question voiced a recurrent doubt. ‘The Cadwanwr can perhaps bind the Uhriel, but who will bind Him, Loman? Can we be certain that Hawklan and the others will find and waken Ethriss in time?’
Loman turned to him. ‘No,’ he said, simply, and without hesitation. ‘But it makes no difference to what we must do. If Ethriss is there, then he’ll assail Sumeral in whatever manner such beings assail one another; the Cadwanwr will resist the Uhriel; and we’ll pit ourselves against whatever mortal army He’s collected about Him. And we must all prevail. If Ethriss is not there, then we and the Cadwanwr will hold as long as we can, and do what hurt we can, in the hope that, as in times past, it may stem His advance and give others, elsewhere in the world, a chance to prepare to face Him.’ He bent close to Hiron. ‘We have no other choice,’ he said slowly, looking at him intently. ‘For reasons beyond us, the creature is risen and come to great strength. He’s brought death to all our lands already, and beyond-the Drienvolk, the Morlider. If He’s not opposed now, then He’ll return again, again and again, to corrupt and destroy all of us, one way or another.’
Hiron looked away from the stern gaze in reluctant acceptance. It was a necessary question that he had asked, but it was the last time that the need to prosecute the war was mentioned amongst the leaders of the three nations and the Cadwanwr.
Two days later, Otaff and Atelon declared that the Watch Hall had been repaired as well as it could be under the circumstances, and the Fyordyn pronounced the work excellent. There were areas which were still beyond the reach of the tower’s injured vision but, to much delight, there were also areas that could be seen more clearly than ever before.
The various officers of the army and the Muster spent much of the time learning about one another’s forces and discussing tactics. Such rivalry as there was, was for the most part good-natured and drew them together.
Among the ranks, however, there were initially a few angry exchanges as some of the younger Riddinvolk chose to taunt the Fyordyn cavalry. Urthryn dealt with such incidents ruthlessly.
‘Twenty years ago, when you were scarcely stirrup-high, these people came over the mountains to fight and die with us,’ he thundered at the gathered culprits. ‘Barely months ago they had to charge their own kind in massed infantry to drive Oklar from their land.’ He jabbed his finger into the chest of the one he deemed to be the ringleader. ‘You need to understand what a debt is, young man, and to help you towards this, I’m grounding you until further notice.’ Mouths dropped open, but Urthryn’s stern gaze prevented any other form of protest. Grounding was a considerable disgrace in the Muster and was usually used as a punishment for those who had ill-treated their horses. ‘You and your equally witless friends here will help with the baggage train for a day or so and then you can spend some time with the High Guards,’ he went on, ‘in their infantry contingent. Then we’ll see if your attitude’s improved.’
‘Bit severe, Ffyrst,’ Agreth said quietly afterwards. ‘They were only… ’
‘I’d ground Sylvriss if she behaved like that, in these circumstances,’ Urthryn said, before Agreth could finish. ‘I despise that… infantile… behaviour, at the best of times.’
‘They’re only young,’ Agreth protested tentatively.
‘Then they should learn both humility and true pride from their horses if they look to get older,’ Urthryn said angrily. ‘This is no horse fair. The finest rosette any of us will come away with will be a head on our shoulders. Grounding those clowns will soon spread the word that all energies are to be directed north-wards.’
Agreth bowed and let the subject lie.
Then the final plans were laid. The Goraidin and the Helyadin were gone ahead, the Watch Hall was manned, and the army stood ready to move.
There was no brash and raucous departing however, a steady downpour saw to that. Flags and pennants clung limply to their poles, and horses and hooded figures alike stood uncertain and dripping as Loman took one final look at the long column winding back out of sight along the valley.
Then he drew his sword and, holding it high, shouted, ‘Duty Watch, forward.’
His voice echoed off the rocks and the walls of the tower. Eldric straightened up and glanced at his fellows. They showed no outward sign, but he knew they were deeply moved by Loman’s gesture. It was a long time since the traditional marching order of the Watch Patrols had been called out at Narsindalvak.
Watched by the duty garrison, the army slowly be-gan to move forward on the first part of the journey that would carry it into the bleak, desolate heart of Narsindal and towards their terrible Enemy.
Chapter 28
Sylvriss stood at the half-opened door to the nursery and looked at her son in his simple crib. His arms were thrown up over his head and he was lying very still.
The Queen was holding her breath and she did not release it until she saw the slight movement of the sheets that showed her son too was breathing.
Then, looking around rather self-consciously, she closed the door gently and, pulling her cloak about her, set off along the wide corridor.
As she walked past the hanging tapestries and the ornately carved panels that decorated the corridor, Sylvriss took out the message she had received from Narsindalvak and read it again. Her father was safe, but though he made little play of it, his regret at not being able to come to Vakloss and see his grandchild shone through his simple straightforward prose like a beacon.
She smiled indulgently, as children will at the folly of their parents then, carefully, she returned the letter to her pocket and turned down a broad curving flight of stairs.
Outside, she acknowledged the salutes of the guards and set off towards her private stables.
As she had throughout her bitter struggle to reclaim Rgoric from Dan-Tor’s malign influence, she rode every day. Sometimes through the streets and parks of the City, sometimes around the extensive gardens of the Palace.
Her riding now, however, was not to assuage the seething emotions that had surged and roared within her in those times, but to ease the quieter, deeper, concerns that beset her now that her nation was recovering from its trial and turning to face its true foe.
As she neared the stables she heard the unsteady clatter of hooves and an anxious voice torn between coaxing and cursing. She quickened her pace.
Turning the corner she came into the smooth flagged courtyard that was bounded on three sides by buildings that Rgoric had had converted into stables suitable for her fine Riddin horses. The upper floors of the building protruded on to arched columns to form a covered walkway and, wandering in and out of the columns, was the source of the small commotion. A High Guard cadet was trying to take the reins of a large horse but the animal kept snatching its head away and then either walking round the columns or gently nudging its would-be captor sideways.
The boy was red-faced with frustration and despair, and an increasing amount of abuse was seeping into his language as he spoke to the animal. Sylvriss smiled at the sight: the boy must have saddled the horse for her and then tried to sneak a ride on it. Then her smile faded as the horse emerged calmly out of the shadow to avoid another lunge by the boy.
It was undeniably a Muster horse, but it was un-kempt and thinner than it should have
been, and it was not one of hers.
The cadet saw her and stopped his weary pursuit to salute; there was no guilt in his manner.
‘I’m sorry, Majesty,’ he said plaintively. ‘It was here when I arrived. I don’t know where it’s come from, or who it belongs to and I just can’t get hold of it.’
‘It’s all right,’ Sylvriss said reassuringly, quietly walking up to the horse. It watched her, unmoving.
‘It’s a Muster horse like one of yours, isn’t it, Maj-esty?’ the cadet said.
Sylvriss nodded absently as she stared at the horse, her eyes widening with recognition. ‘It’s more than a Muster horse,’ she said softly, almost to herself.
‘You’re Hawklan’s horse, aren’t you?’ she whispered as she laid her hand on the great horse’s neck. ‘You’re Serian.’
Serian dipped his head and shook it.
The question, where is Hawklan? rushed into Sylvriss’s mind suddenly, but she set it aside with practicalities. ‘And you’re famished and filthy,’ she said.
She signalled to the cadet. ‘Open the big stable, move the other horses, get food and water and bring me a brush and comb,’ she said. The boy gaped. ‘Quickly!’ she said urging him on with a wave of the hand.
Questions cascaded into her mind again as the boy scurried off. Hawklan had gone off with Andawyr and a small party according to Eldric. But what was he doing now, without his horse? And where was he? She looked at Serian carefully. Though untidy and obviously hungry, the horse bore no signs of injury, nor did he seem to be distressed. Indeed his eyes were calm and watchful. For an instant she felt a surge of driving purposefulness that she knew must be the horse’s will.
‘You’ve come over the mountains, haven’t you?’ she said. ‘You’re looking for him! No. You’re going to meet him!’ She clenched her fists in frustration. If only she could talk to the animal as Hawklan used to.
She reached up to take Serian’s reins, then withdrew her hand. ‘Come with me,’ she said, walking away. ‘The big stable has wide doors and I’ll leave them open, have no fear.’ She smiled as she looked back over her shoulder. Even in his present condition, Serian was a splendid horse. Have no fear, she thought, mocking herself. You’d smash those doors with a single kick, wouldn’t you?
