The Waking of Orthlund [Book Three of The Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  Silence.

  She spoke again. ‘Whatever we were doing, be it wisdom or folly, it offered you no hurt. We raised neither sword, fist, nor even voice against you. Yet you make friend turn on friend. And now brother has slain brother.'

  Gulda turned her head away, but still there was only the mountain silence.

  'Answer me!’ Tirilen's voice suddenly shook with barely controlled emotion. ‘Tell me why, in your wisdom, you give my people this pain? Tell me how I am to bear it, who must enter into it to aid them? Tell me the words I can use to mend the cry you heard rise up from that man's heart?'

  The faint sounds of the rain seemed to shift and change imperceptibly. Doubts and regrets rose to surround the two women, though no words could be heard.

  'I need your words, your reasons, for what you've done,’ Tirilen said. ‘Not hints and vague nuances. If you have no words or reasons, then leave us, Alphraan. Leave us to our own destiny. Bear your own guilt as best you can.'

  'We have no guilt. We took no life,’ said a voice abruptly. It was harsh with uncertainty, and doubts fluttered all around it. ‘We did what was necessary.'

  'Words and reasons,’ Tirilen said again. ‘Give me your words and reasons for this necessity so that I can carry them back to comfort those you have injured.'

  'We will not be questioned,’ said the voice.

  'I don't question you,’ Tirilen said with soft but unyielding purpose. ‘This terrible blood debt is yours. It will question you forever. I asked you for comfort for those you have injured—and for myself. Whatever solace you have for yourselves will help my people too, because our burdens are the same. You willed the deeds, we committed them.’ She opened her arms in a gesture of resignation. ‘If you have no words of comfort, then tell me that and I'll disturb you no more.'

  'We are not responsible for your vi—your people's violence,’ the voice said hesitantly.

  Tirilen shook her head. ‘You are not responsible for our nature, but you cannot avoid your responsibility for what you did yesterday,’ she said.

  'We did not strike down any of your people,’ the voice said. ‘What was done was necessary to show you your folly.'

  'Who are you to show us our folly?’ Tirilen said reluctantly, as if not wishing to enter into debate. ‘You, who've shunned us so completely for so long that we didn't even know you existed.’ She paused, but the words forced themselves forwards irresistibly. ‘But as we're ignorant of you, so are you ignorant of us. And as you know yourselves, so we know ourselves.’ Her voice pleaded. ‘And we need no one to show us the darkness that lies within us.'

  'We are not responsible for your deeds,’ said the voice again, hastily, a disturbing mixture of arrogance and doubt.

  'No?’ said Tirilen, still reluctant. ‘Who but you released that darkness which we hold in gentle check as part of our own harmony? Who but you let it run unfettered in all its horror? If you cannot see the wickedness of that then content yourself with shunning us further. But leave us alone before more ill is done and the debt becomes beyond your bearing.'

  'Do you menace us ... healer?'

  Tirilen lowered her head for a moment, then lifted it and threw back her hood, as if she needed the rain to cleanse her. She held out her bloodstained hand.

  'How can I menace you?’ she asked. ‘A simple healer asking for help? I come for words of comfort.’ She pointed in the direction of the camp. ‘But can you not hear the anger you are unleashing?'

  Silence.

  Tirilen gazed around, blue eyes peering into the grey mist. ‘Have you no words for me then?’ she said. ‘Nothing for the injured spirits of my people?'

  Silence.

  Tirilen opened her arms wide again. ‘Accept then what comfort I can offer you,’ she said slowly, tears mingling with the rain running down her face. ‘For our pain is yours also, even if you do not yet feel it. We forgive you the blindness that led you to these deeds. May it pass from you before it harms further. And may you find peace.'

  Suddenly, all around, the whispering returned. It seemed to pluck frantically at her very cloak, but Tirilen stood motionless. Then it rose in intensity until it became a vast babble, swelling all around to enclose the two women.

  Gulda touched Tirilen's arm. Tirilen looked around again at the grey stillness that now seemed like a great domed cave, echoing with this tumultuous cacophony. Then, without speaking, the two women set off to return the way they had come.

  As they neared the camp, angry voices reached out of the mist towards them, but when the motley array of tents and shelters loomed up to greet them, it seemed at first to be deserted.

  The two women exchanged a significant glance.

  'I'm going to look to my charges,’ Tirilen said, businesslike. ‘You look to yours.'

  Gulda watched her until she disappeared from view behind a group of horses, then turned and walked towards the sound of the shouting.

  As she neared the centre of the camp she found herself at the back of a large crowd. She scowled, unable to see what was happening over the heads of the people in front of her. Selecting a particularly large individual who was waving his fist in the air and shouting loudly, she swung her stick up and gave him a determined poke. The man turned, his brow furrowed angrily, then immediately identifying his assailant he stepped deferentially to one side, nudging the man in front of him as he did.

  The nudge rippled urgently through the crowd which parted in its wake as Gulda strode through, swinging her stick purposefully from side to side like a farmer scything through a field of tall grasses. Reaching the platform that was the focus of the crowd she clambered up its makeshift steps to join Loman and Athyr.

  The crowd fell silent as her stern gaze swept over them.

  'Carry on,’ she said incongruously to Loman after this inspection.

  Loman gestured vaguely. ‘We were waiting for you, Memsa,’ he said. ‘To see if you have any news.'

  An angry voice rang out from the crowd. ‘We were deciding what to do about those murdering...’ It was stopped short by Gulda's levelled stick and piercing gaze, but several other voices rose to buttress its meaning.

  Gulda looked at Loman. He shrugged helplessly. ‘They're barely listening to me,’ he said quietly.

  'It seems nobody wants to listen today,’ Gulda said. ‘But you're not trying too hard though, are you?'

  Loman waved the remark side. ‘I sympathize with them,’ he said. ‘And most of them need to get rid of their anger before they'll listen to any of my ideas about what we can do next.'

  Gulda looked round at the watching, restive crowd and nodded. After a moment she held up her hand for silence.

  'We've a problem, ladies, gentlemen,’ she said. ‘We—or rather, Tirilen—spoke to the Alphraan. Asked them why they'd done what they did, but they gave her no answer.’ She looked round the crowd. ‘They heard,’ she continued, ‘and some of them might have listened. But they gave no answer.'

  'No more talking then, Memsa,’ someone shouted before she could continue. ‘Not after yesterday. They'll only listen properly when they've had a good hiding. We should be up in the mountains flushing them out, not debating here like a Guild meeting.'

  Applause and cheering greeted this observation.

  Gulda let it subside, then she looked at her adviser and nodded with exaggerated gravity. ‘I'm half inclined to agree with you, young man,’ she said. ‘But only half. The other half tells me still that they're divided amongst themselves and that we should wait a little and let that division widen. And besides, flushing them out may present some difficult problems. Think about it for a moment. We know what they can do, but we don't know how they do it. They use weapons quite beyond our understanding, and very effectively too, although they seem to have some difficulty in dealing with large numbers of people. But that aside, how are we going to give them a good hiding when we can't even find them? And how are we going to fight people who make us fight amongst ourselves?'

  The man looked at her impo
tently and offered no reply, but another pushed forward to the front of the crowd.

  'Memsa, how long should we wait then?’ he said simply.

  Gulda stared at him. His eyes were anxious but determined. She bowed slightly, in acknowledgement of the aptness of the question then looked up into the mist.

  'You heard, Alphraan?’ she said. ‘How long? How long before we know your will?'

  The crowd fell silent.

  Slowly, the babble that had surrounded Gulda and Tirilen rose up until it seemed to hover over the whole camp. It was like a myriad tiny voices all talking at once and it was laced through with doubt, recrimination, regret, grief, anger, countless emotions of every intensity.

  Gradually however, one sound, angry and sour, wove through the confusion turning it into a single coherent pattern that finally became one voice. ‘Leave us,’ it said. ‘Go from our mountains, and take your corrupted hearts and your corrupted wares with you. We will not allow your folly.'

  'Have you learned nothing from those wares—His work?’ Gulda said. ‘Or from what you've seen here—our work. Or from the results of your own work? Did you learn nothing from Tirilen's blessing?'

  'Go,’ said the voice. ‘We will talk with you no more. Go, or we will punish you further.'

  Gulda's hand shot out to silence the angry gasp that rose up from the crowd.

  'If you will not talk now, then you leave us with no alternative but to pursue you until you will talk,’ Gulda said. ‘You understand that, don't you? The Orthlundyn, of all people, cannot be dominated.'

  Silence.

  Gulda turned back to the young man. ‘I'm sorry,’ she said.

  The man held her gaze. ‘Don't be,’ he said softly.

  Then the temporarily subdued anger of the crowd broke through, and for several minutes nothing could be heard over the shouting.

  Gulda stood motionless, leaving Loman struggling to restore order.

  'You're Orthlundyn,’ he shouted over the din. ‘And would-be soldiers. You're supposed to be disciplined and ordered. Is this how you intend to behave when we meet a real enemy? Like a quarrelsome rabble?'

  The noise subsided a little, but not to Loman's satisfaction. ‘Attention!’ he thundered furiously. His voice echoed even through the mist and the crowd fell silent abruptly.

  He leaned forward. ‘Have you learned so little?’ he said. ‘We have an enemy who can use our anger as a weapon against us, and you give them all this.’ He extended his arms and shook them powerfully, fists clenched. ‘Understand. Only your discipline and your knowledge that the man or woman next to you is disciplined also, will sustain you through the terror of battle and ensure you stand any chance of walking unhurt from the field. If this is how you behave when someone opposes you just with words, how are you going to behave when arrows and stones are falling around you? When horses and angry men are charging you?'

  Gulda moved to stand next to him.

  'What we will do is this,’ he continued, more quietly. ‘We'll consolidate into three large forces, and carry out a methodical search of the mountains until we find where these people live. Then, equally methodically, we'll take possession of their domain just as they've done of ours.'

  A hand went up. Loman nodded.

  'If we go in large groups, and they take control, couldn't the damage be worse than before?’ asked the questioner.

  'I don't know,’ Loman replied. ‘But we'll go in as the duty patrol approached camp three. We'll go in as free of anger as we can. We'll go in doing what we do best.’ He smiled a little. ‘Or at least, what you do best. You'll go in like carvers. Listening to the rock song. Using your shadow vision.’ He bent forward and his voice fell almost to a whisper. ‘Full of the great silence of your craft.’ He raised a finger. ‘The Alphraan can't use a weapon that we aren't carrying.'

  Doubt rose up from the crowd, but no one demurred. The manner of the rescue of Tybek at camp three had been circulating freely.

  'But we don't know where they are,’ the questioner said.

  Loman straightened up. ‘The Alphraan have remained hidden because we've never looked for them,’ he replied. ‘Why should we?’ he added with a shrug. ‘We didn't even know they existed. They probably hide the entrances to their ... caves? ... tunnels? ... in some ingenious way.’ His voice rose. ‘But can anything be so cunning or subtle that it can deceive the shadow vision of the Orthlundyn?'

  No answer was needed, but another hand went up.

  'And when we find them?’ asked the new questioner.

  Loman made an airy gesture. ‘We'll continue to reason with them until they agree to return the arsenal and leave us alone.’ He looked at certain individuals in his audience. ‘No vengeance,’ he said darkly.

  Then he raised his hand to forestall any further questions. ‘I don't know whether this is going to work,’ he said. ‘But I think it's the best we can do, and it has a clear rightness to it. However...’—He looked round the crowd—‘There may be a price to be paid, I can't deny it. If any of you wish to walk away from this, then do so now—without reproach. But those of you who choose to stay must accept that you'll be under military discipline. Once committed, we'll pursue this wherever it takes us.'

  No one moved.

  Loman nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘All patrol company leaders come to Athyr's command post immediately so that we can work out details. The rest of you—carry on with your normal duties and try to think quietly about what we have to do. Try to put aside your view of yourselves as fighters and warriors about to face an enemy.'

  He lowered his head for a moment and when he looked up, his face was oddly sombre. ‘This is a sad, unnecessary skirmish in a battle against a far greater enemy than these ... neighbours of ours. We'll settle for peace with them, but I'd prefer their friendship and help. Sooner or later they'll have to stand by our side or His. There'll be no other place for them. Let us show them the value of our friendship and our ways, before He shows them the power of His shackles.'

  The following day, the Orthlundyn quietly buried their dead, and three days later, the first of the three forces left the central camp in a loose and casual formation, with Loman and Jenna at its head. A watery sun shone through high thin clouds, and the mountains stood sharp and clear in the cool, moist air. But in that same air, rising and falling menacingly, rang also a faint but definite warning note.

  * * *

  Chapter 27

  Hawklan stared along the tunnel that stretched ahead of him. It went far beyond the light of the torch he was carrying. The walls were dry and smooth, and the floor was covered with dust much like that in the cave in which they first encountered the Alphraan.

  The guiding sound was clearer here though, with increasing frequency, it wavered as if its source were wearying. Its urgency was now clearly audible.

  Gavor tapped him with his wooden leg. ‘Come on, dear boy,’ he said, his curiosity overcoming his reservations.

  Hawklan, however, needed no encouragement. He strode forward a few paces and then almost immediately broke into a run, obliging Gavor to extend a wing from time to time to steady himself.

  As he ran, Hawklan felt the strange sound almost pulling him forward, although it was growing increasingly weaker. The tunnel twisted and turned and he found himself passing by side tunnels and through elaborate junctions where groups of tunnels met. Although he did not slacken his pace, part of him, hard and calculating, took note of these, telling him that this headlong dash was unwise and that he may yet have to return this way in flight.

  Then suddenly, as if in confirmation of this counsel, everything was gone. The sound stopped abruptly and the walls and roof of the tunnel disappeared. The impetus of his chase, however, took Hawklan some way into the silence before he skidded to a halt, startled and alarmed. Gavor tumbled off his shoulder with an oath but, with a great flapping, just managed to regain his equilibrium before striking the ground.

  He landed, flustered and indignant, just outside the circle of li
ght cast by Hawklan's torch. ‘Really, dear boy,’ he muttered irritably, moving quickly back into the light.

  But Hawklan was not listening; he was gazing round into the darkness. Wherever he was, the light of his torch seemed at first to be insufficient to illuminate more than the ground beneath his feet.

  Gradually, however, he began to detect faint shadings in the blackness. To one side at least, there were shapes that might be part of a wall, while overhead he sensed rather than saw a vast echoing roof-space hidden in the gloom. Behind him, his footprints in the dust led towards a deeper darkness that was presumably the mouth of the tunnel he had just run along.

  He had come into a large cavern. Or was it a great hall of some kind? The vague images told him nothing further.

  He stood uncertainly for a moment, then asked, ‘Where are you?'

  His voice echoed distantly and gave him an impression of the immensity of his surroundings far more vividly than his eyes were doing. For an instant, he felt more exposed and vulnerable than if he had suddenly found himself on a mountain top.

  Then he repeated his inquiry, more forcefully.

  'We are here, here, here...’ said countless voices all around him, echoing about the unseen chamber.

  The suddenness of the sound and its confusion made him start and he raised his sword into a defensive position.

  'Trap,’ he mouthed softly, unconsciously voicing Dacu's words as they came to mind again, though he felt no real menace. Gavor flicked the sheaths off his spurs and, extending his wings, floated off into the darkness and began circling just outside the dome of light-formed by Hawklan's torch. Hawklan too began to turn round slowly in anticipation of some attack.

  But nothing came. Nor did the aura that shimmered around the still echoing voices indicate any threat. They spoke again. ‘We are here, here, here ... Help us, Hawklan, help, help, help...'

  Hawklan lowered his sword. ‘You startled me,’ he said, as if his action might have caused some offence. ‘You must guide us. Your voices are everywhere. We don't know which way to go. We're lost.'