by Roger Taylor
There, excellently disguised and very difficult to see, were the members of the attack party. In three separate groups they were slowly and skilfully approaching a small plateau. A plateau they must surely be able to see was quite deserted.
Athyr felt his mouth dropping open in bewilderment. What were they doing? Before he could react however, a cry floated up to him from the camp below. Lowering the seeing-stone, he looked around for its cause. It did not take long. Down in the waiting camp there was a flurry of movement, and he needed no seeing-stone to see it was a fight.
He watched as the two yellow-clad observers converged on the conflict like angry insects. More cries and shouts drifted up to him, then, to his horror, he saw the turmoil spread as members of the group turned on the two intervening figures.
Furiously, Athyr thrust his fingers into his mouth and blasted of a series of shrill whistles. Englar and a couple of the other observers were to retrieve the attack group from the empty mountain they were assailing and the others were to get down to the camp and find out what in thunder's name was going on.
Glancing round, he was pleased to see that his last command had been anticipated and several of the observers were making for the camp as quickly as the terrain would allow.
When he himself finally reached the camp he was angry enough to face a cavalry charge. An extremely wide avenue opened up spontaneously through the trainees as he strode towards the waiting observers.
The look on Yrain's face however dispelled his anger almost immediately.
Taking his arm before he could speak, she said, urgently, ‘We've got a serious knife wound. I've patched it up, but we'll have to get it back to the castle immediately. They're rigging a carrier now on one of the horses. And I've told them to break camp,’ she added.
Athyr winced. ‘Who's been hurt?’ he asked. Yrain shrugged. ‘I don't know their names. Two lads from Halyt Green, I think.'
'Two?'
Yrain nodded. ‘The other's got a badly cracked head. He'll have to travel back slowly.'
'Where are they?’ Athyr said. Yrain indicated a small group standing watching them nearby. As they walked towards it, he noticed she was limping.
'What's the matter?’ he asked.
She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I twisted my foot coming down. It'll get me home if I keep my boot on and take it easy.'
Athyr frowned slightly. Yrain came from a mountain village and was as fleet and nimble as a goat. Such an accident was out of character. Before he could pursue the thought, however, he was standing by the two casualties. Both were unconscious.
Kneeling down, he gently examined the wounds and confirmed Yrain's diagnoses. He glanced around the wide and shamefaced circle of which he was now the centre. A large number of minor injuries became apparent.
'What else have we got?’ he asked grimly, standing up.
'Nothing much,’ Yrain said, affecting an indifference which Athyr judged to be for the protection of the gathered students. ‘Cuts and bruises. A few bloody noses.'
'And your foot,’ Athyr said. If Yrain wanted to hide some of the antics that she had helped stop, she could take a little of the odium.
'And a pair of disjointed fingers,’ Yrain added quickly, deflecting the comment and deftly implicating one of her fellow observers.
Reluctantly a deformed hand appeared in front of Athyr. He took hold of it gently and shook his head resignedly. ‘When are you going to learn not to use your fists, Tybeck?’ he asked.
The man started to speak. ‘Tirilen will be able...'
Athyr lifted a finger to silence him and smiled. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Tirilen's got enough on her hands at the moment. This'll yield to field treatment, I think.'
The hand jerked back, like a startled animal retreating to its burrow, but Athyr's gentle grip forbade it and his smile turned into a grin. Suddenly he jerked his head forward as if to butt Tybeck in the face. Reflexively the man moved back and as he did so, Athyr gripped his wrist with his free hand and gave the damaged fingers a fierce tug.
'Don't cry out,’ he said softly while Tybeck was still drawing in a very long breath. ‘It'll set a bad example to the children here.'
'Your concern's very touching,’ Tybeck managed, through clenched teeth, hugging his throbbing hand to his chest.
'My foot's fine,’ Yrain said hastily.
* * * *
Ireck walked briskly down the corridor towards the hall where the weapons from the Armoury were being stored. He was a little late, but he knew he would probably be the first to arrive. Moving the weapons from the hall up to the impromptu armouries recently established at ground level was hard work and little relished.
Relished even less was the prospect of trailing behind Loman through the labyrinth to fetch more weapons from the Armoury proper, and that was what they would be doing later on when Loman had finished his meeting. Even with Loman's close guidance, the winding journey through the whispering columns tended to produce sleepless and disturbed nights.
Still, Ireck consoled himself, such expeditions were becoming less frequent. Many more weapons would have to be removed in due course as the people armed, but when this last batch had been taken upstairs they would have sufficient readily accessible for their immediate training needs.
As he neared the hall, a sound interrupted his thoughts. Children? Playing? Singing? He frowned. Children played all over the Castle, and the Castle took their ringing voices and seemed to celebrate them. But Ireck had never known any to venture so far down. His frown deepened. If they were in the hall then there was every possibility that one of them might be hurt, playing amongst those arrays of lethal edges and points. And there was the labyrinth. Above all, children should not play near that. Concerned, he quickened his pace.
Turning a last corner he came into the hall suddenly and silently. There was a hurried scuffling, and he caught a brief glimpse of two small figures flitting behind one of the stacks of weapons that were arranged in neat rows across the floor of the hall.
He smiled to himself. ‘Come on, children,’ he called out. ‘There are better places than this to play in. You're going to get hurt.'
'Ho!'
A voice along the corridor behind him made him turn. Glancing around he could not see immediately where the call had come from.
'Help me with this, will you?’ it came again. This time Ireck identified a nearby junction as its source.
'Just a moment,’ he shouted in reply, then turning back to the hall, ‘Come on, you two, out of it. I can see you.'
'Hurry up, it's heavy,’ called the voice again, more urgently. With a last glance at the stack behind which he thought he had seen the children, Ireck turned and went to assist the unknown caller.
When he turned the corner, however, there was no one in sight.
'Hello,’ he shouted, but there was no reply. The corridor was deserted. Puzzled, he looked up and down once or twice, then, concluding that the caller had managed whatever it was he had needed help with, he shrugged and turned to return to the hall.
As he did so, he caught again a fleeting glimpse of two small figures disappearing around a bend some way ahead of him.
Little devils, he thought with a smile. Still, at least they were away from the weapons and the labyrinth.
Perhaps he should have a word with Loman about keeping children away from here. But he dismissed the thought immediately. Apart from being impossible, such a ban would actively encourage the imps and then a real accident was highly likely. Better they be shown the dangers and allowed to come and go as they wished. He would mention that to Loman.
Still smiling, he strode forward towards the waiting weapons.
* * * *
'What in Ethriss's name is happening?’ Loman stood up and began pacing up and down the room. ‘Our best students attack the wrong mountain in broad daylight, and the others start their own personal war. What am I going to tell that lad's parents if he dies of that knife wound?’ He levelled a finger at Athyr.
‘And he might well. Tirilen's nearly unapproachable dealing with him. It's bad.'
'Don't blame me, Loman,’ Athyr protested. ‘You know damn well what happened. I've done nothing but think about it since we got back. It must have been the Alphraan. It's the only explanation that makes any sense. Even I couldn't think of anything after I'd fixed Tybeck's hand except, get away, quickly. It just kept going round and round in my head...’ He hesitated. ‘Like a bouncy little dance tune. Anyway, that's exactly what I did.'
Loman nodded. Athyr's forced march of the group through the night was already becoming a small legend. He slumped down into his chair again and started raking through the ashes of the discussion, looking for something that might enable him to avoid the consequences of Athyr's conclusion.
'And the attack group said they'd heard signals changing the location of the camp?’ he asked.
Athyr nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But we sent none.'
Loman brought the terrain to mind. ‘Didn't they see this new campsite was deserted?’ he said in exasperation.
Athyr looked unhappy. ‘They're a bit confused about that,’ he said. ‘Some of them said the signals told them it was an ambush they were approaching. Others thought they heard voices ahead, and at least two thought they saw something.’ He extended his hands apologetically.
Loman changed tack. ‘And we've no explanation for the fighting at the camp?’ he said.
'None,’ Athyr replied. ‘Tybeck and Jenna both say the same thing. One minute everything was fine, then all of a sudden this fight came out of nowhere. And when they moved in to stop it, they were attacked as well.'
'What did Tybeck and Jenna feel?’ Gulda's blue eyes fixed Athyr. He met her gaze squarely. He had anticipated the question. ‘Surprised and then a little frightened,’ he replied, echoing the response he had received from both of them.
'But no anger?'
Athyr shrugged slightly. ‘A little, obviously. Particularly when things started to get heated,’ he said. ‘That's why Tybeck got a bit rough. But nothing at the beginning and nothing ... unreasonable ... at any time.'
'How's your foot?’ Gulda turned abruptly to Yrain. Slightly surprised, the woman leaned forward and rubbed it gingerly.
'Sore,’ she said. ‘But it's only sprained. It'll be all right after a little rest.'
'It'll slow you down for weeks, and trouble you on and off for months,’ Gulda replied, coldly. ‘You were carrying that boot knife again, weren't you? After I specifically told you to go unarmed.'
Yrain's face clouded. ‘How did you ... ?’ Gulda's long fingers flicked out to cut her short.
'How did I know?’ she said. ‘I didn't. Though I suppose I might have expected it. Suffice it that they made you face the consequences of your disobedience. I've told you before, Yrain. Think. And learn to listen, or you'll die.'
Yrain scowled and Gulda's eyes opened menacingly.
Loman, looking on anxiously, laid a hand on Gulda's arm. ‘It's bad enough that our people are fighting one another in the mountains,’ he said. ‘Let's not us start quarrelling here.'
The two women subsided uneasily and for some time no one spoke. Loman stared down at the floor, and Gulda gazed out of the window at the motionless grey sky, high and pale.
Yrain, too, stared pensively out across the mountains. Surrounding the window was a large landscape carving, with a sweeping mountain range in the background. As she shifted her head a little she saw that these mountains coincided with the real mountains outside, bringing an eerie, disturbing perspective to the scene. The device was unusual, and familiar though she was with the intricate deceptions inherent in all Orthlundyn carving, she felt momentarily disorientated.
She shook her head to clear the impression as Loman's voice brought her back to the room. He was talking to Gulda.
'You've no doubts about what caused this, Memsa?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘None,’ she replied. ‘We know everybody involved far too well for there to be any other explanation.'
Loman rested his head on his hands. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he said. ‘Two men badly hurt, and who knows what kind of a morale problem. And all because of what?’ He waved his hands in frustration. ‘A troop of ... of ... singing midgets!'
A faint flicker of amusement lit Gulda's eyes at this outburst, but travelled no further.
'There must be something we can do, Memsa,’ Loman continued, more quietly. ‘We need the mountains for our advanced training.'
Gulda curled her hands over the top of her stick and rested her chin on them. ‘We may need them for access to Riddin before we've finished,’ she said absently.
Loman looked at her irritably. ‘True,’ he said. ‘But I'll settle for access within a two day march for now, and worry about Riddin later. That at least will enable us to keep working.'
Gulda took the rebuke with uncharacteristic calm.
Loman looked at her again. ‘How did you break free from them when we went out with the boys?’ he asked.
Gulda's long nose twitched and she did not respond at first. ‘I've got skills and knowledge I can't teach to you, Loman,’ she said eventually. ‘Believe me, if I could, I would.'
Loman had little choice but to take this comment at face value, but his mind went back again to their encounter with the Alphraan. ‘You said if we went out in force we might be able to overwhelm them in some way.’ He tried to sound hopeful.
Gulda nodded tentatively. ‘Possibly,’ she said. ‘But I could have been wrong. They had precious little trouble with Athyr's group, although we don't know what that display has cost them.’ She fell silent again for some time, then she shook her head. ‘No,’ she said decisively. ‘It would be too dangerous. We simply don't know enough about them. We can't find them, surround them, attack their food supplies, menace them in any way. And they've shown quite clearly that they can control individuals very effectively. If we went in force we could suffer appalling self-inflicted casualties before we even made contact with them.’ She shook her head again.
The room fell silent. It seemed that such few avenues as existed had been explored as thoroughly as they could be, and that nothing now was left.
Loman wanted to say, ‘We can't just sit here, doing nothing,’ but he bit back the words. This was no time for stating the obvious.
He looked down at his hand resting on the arm of his chair. Gently it was tapping out a rhythm. Consciously he stopped it, but the jigging impulse remained, teasing his palm. Slightly irritated at this nervous tic he clenched his fist.
As he did so he became aware of its cause. Very faintly the sound of the snowman's song seeped into the room. Despite his concern, he smiled and turned to Gulda. ‘The boys are still...'
Gulda raised her hand to silence him. She was craning forward and listening. Abruptly she stood up and walked over to the window. Throwing it open, she peered outside. The singing became slightly louder, but it was still faint and distant, although it seemed to echo around the mountains and the towers and spires of the Castle. Suddenly, it stopped, and after a moment Gulda quietly closed the window and returned to her seat.
'They are divided amongst themselves,’ she said. ‘Balanced like a sword standing on its point. The least misstep and all will be lost.’ She looked significantly at Yrain.
'They said we'd been misled,’ she continued. ‘But misled by what? And why should they bother with us at all? Our crawling over the mountains, for whatever reason, wouldn't have affected them. Why did they watch? Why did they come to listen?’ She answered her own questions. ‘Because they know something's amiss. They've had signs of their own, and they—some of them anyway, perhaps most of them—don't want to face the truth. They don't want to face the truth that is represented by the Orthlundyn training for war.'
Loman thought he felt a faint rumbling vibration but, glancing round, he saw that no one else seemed to have noticed it.
Gulda snapped her fingers. ‘For their own reasons, they doubt us—faithless and
treacherous they called us,’ she said. ‘But they accepted our gift, poor thing though it was by their lights. Now we must give them another.'
She turned to Loman. ‘Have the remains of that ... tinker's ... wares collected from the leaving stone. We'll take them into the mountains for their consideration. Tirilen can come too, she...'
A frantic knocking on the door interrupted her. Grimacing, Loman strode over to the door and threw it open.
'What?’ he demanded crossly.
The recipient of this greeting was a red-faced and very flustered junior apprentice. Loman repented his temper. ‘What's the matter?’ he said, more gently.
The apprentice had obviously been running hard and, unable to speak at first, he gesticulated desperately to his interrogator.
'Slow down,’ Loman said, crouching down, and smiling genuinely now. ‘Slow down.'
'Master Loman,’ the boy managed eventually, reaching out and taking hold of Loman's jacket urgently. ‘You're to come now. Right away ... please.'
Loman put his hand against the door jamb, to steady himself from this unexpected invitation. His smile faded slightly. The young boy was very distressed.
'Where am I to go, son?’ he said. ‘And who sent you?'
'Master Ireck, sir,’ the boy replied. ‘You're to come downstairs. To the labyrinth. Something's happened to it.'
* * *
Chapter 19
Isloman lay very still. There was another slight movement to his left. His first thought was to leap up and seize whoever or whatever it was, but this was followed immediately by others, more cautious. Tirke, he could see, was sound asleep, but so also was Dacu, and Isloman had learned both many years ago and very recently that Goraidin were sensitive sleepers. Furthermore, the horses seemed unconcerned.
Perhaps it was some small mountain creature curious about these strange intruders? But it didn't feel like that. It was too still; no snuffling, no scuffling scurrying.
Tirke snorted and turned over noisily. There was another small flutter of movement near Isloman.
Taking the cue, he breathed out heavily and turned on his left side.
