The Karpas Mountains ran north to south down the centre of Arvenstaat. Legend had it that they were created during the Wars of the First Coming by one of the Great Corrupter’s aides – a necromancer to whom He had given a portion of His power. Seeking to destroy an entire nation which was strong against his Lord, he tore a great island from its roots and hurled it into their land with such force that what had been a shoreline was crushed and buckled and thrust high into the air to become the Karpas Mountains. That this was patently true was demonstrated by the presence of sea shells in various places along the western edge of the mountains, now on the far side from the ocean and at a great distance from it. Arvenstaat’s academics, burdened as they were with observed facts and rational thought, offered explanations for this phenomenon which were far more tentative and far less interesting.
Although sometimes referred to as the backbone of the land, and certainly splendid to look at, the Karpas Mountains on the whole were not particularly daunting and posed no serious obstacle to travel east and west across Arvenstaat. There were a few places where individual peaks and groups of peaks shouldered one another ominously, but at no point did they assume the daunting impassability of the southern mountains or even the rugged defiance of those in the west which separated Arvenstaat from Nesdiryn.
Hyrald and the others had reached the northern extremity of that part of the Karpas range which lay in Arvenstaat. Hyrald found it oddly intriguing as they moved westwards that while the river dwindled and divided, making any passage to the north much easier, he was increasingly sure that they had made the right decision to end their flight and return south. Even the prospect of what would undoubtedly be serious difficulties in returning to Arvenshelm did little to diminish this certainty.
‘How far north do they go?’ he asked Endryk as they reached a vantage which showed the mountains extending to both horizons.
‘A long way, I’d think,’ Endryk replied. ‘They’ve the look of the tail-end of a long range.’ He pointed. As the range extended northwards, what they could see of it began to assume a greyer, colder aspect, its peaks higher and closer.
‘You don’t know what’s up there, then?’
Endryk shook his head. ‘No, Warden,’ he said with a smile at Hyrald’s untypically awkward prying. ‘My land’s further east. There’s supposed to be a remnant of the Old Forest up there somewhere – to the west – bigger than the whole of Arvenstaat, I’ve heard, and unbelievably ancient. Not a safe place, they say. Not for people, anyway. They go in and don’t come out. It’s said to be surrounded by mountains. Perhaps that’s where these go, I wouldn’t be surprised. The world’s a big place and a small place. However far you travel there’s always somewhere else to go, new wonders to find.’ He looked north then south along the mountains. ‘And the same old things to discover anew.’
They were not the same group that had trekked along the river and fought off Aghrid’s men, and they were markedly different from the group that had nearly drowned on the shore. Where Endryk had taught Thyrn surreptitiously, he now taught all of them constantly and openly. And too, he learned.
‘We’re like all the other animals around here. Free, but in constant peril, with only our wits and good fortune to protect us. It’s a frightening feeling for people who’ve been brought up in any kind of community, but we have to accept it. It’s important we think of ourselves as being here for ever. We must be completely self-sufficient in everything; renew as we use – waste nothing.’
Unlike the animals however, he acknowledged, their needs were more complex and in addition to their surviving day to day, they also had to plan for winter and, eventually, their return to Arvenshelm.
‘Whatever you’ve been, you’re that no longer. You must live your lives at a different pace. Learn to relax into whatever you’re doing. Take your time – concern yourselves with the here and now, be patient. Fretting about the future may break your ankle in the present, or worse, and drastically change the very future you were carefully laying out. The time to think and plan ahead is around the fire or lying in the darkness.’
‘Be patient?’ Rhavvan snorted. ‘Then the next thing he’s saying is, learn this, learn that, time’s not with us, time’s not with us.’ He mimicked Endryk ruthlessly.
‘Nor is it,’ Endryk replied laughing. ‘To go as slowly as we need to you’ll have to learn quickly. You’ll need all your Warden’s skills if you’re to leave your Warden’s thinking behind.’ He slapped the growling Rhavvan on the back.
The three Wardens were very keen to learn more about the fighting skills that Endryk had briefly demonstrated, as was Thyrn, though where the Wardens’ interest was for the most part professional, Thyrn’s was openly excited and heavily coloured by romantic myth and legend. It brought down a sober lecture on his head from Hyrald. Nordath was generally nervous of the subject and invariably diverted conversation away from it when it arose.
In any event, Endryk was not to be drawn, other than into telling them that relaxation and breathing were fundamental, underlying everything, a contribution which left Rhavvan in particular looking at him in open disbelief. The others tried to disguise their own doubts with polite nods.
‘Trust me in this,’ he said, noting their response with some amusement. ‘As I was once told by someone for whom I had a great regard, how can you expect to control others when you can’t control yourself? Cruel question. And if you can’t control your own body, or even your own breathing…?’ He grinned and shrugged.
When Rhavvan pressed him strongly one night, he reiterated the point, adding, ‘We’ll look at this in due course. When we’re more together. When it’s more appropriate. There are more urgent things needing our attention right now.’ He pointed to a bundle of sticks that Nordath had gathered and selected. ‘Like feathering and pointing those arrows, for example. An army marches on its stomach and so do we. No food for a few days and fighting skills are going to be very low down on your list of what’s important.’
For that same reason however, he did begin to show them how to use the bow and the sling.
‘You need these for hunting.’
Even here though, his instruction consisted mainly of showing them how to make and care for their bows, arrows and strings. His pupils took to their learning very variably: Rhavvan constantly demonstrated his flair for impatience; Adren showed a remarkable natural marksmanship – her wilful flaunting of which further tested Rhavvan’s threadbare patience, to everyone else’s amusement; Hyrald and Thyrn plodded along diligently and dutifully. Nordath proved to be the most reluctant and least confident, having neither youth, fighting experience nor inclination on his side. He did, however, show an unexpected aptitude at shaping bows and finding wood suitable for arrows. Ironically, his enthusiasm for the task and everyone else’s willingness to let him do it, prompted the nearest to an angry reaction that Endryk had shown since they first met him. ‘Everyone does everything,’ he insisted with unusual force. ‘All the time. We want no weak links. If you’re good at something, get better at it and help the others. If you’re bad at it – keep doing it until you’re not. And if you need help, in the name of pity, ask. Pride’s inexcusable out here. I’ll show you things as many times as it takes, but I can’t teach you anything, you have to learn it.’
On the whole though, their journey to the mountains was filled with good spirits and enthusiasm.
The only incident of note during their plodding progress was the killing of a small deer on their last westward march.
There was little excitement in the hunt itself which for the most part consisted of testing the wind, lying still, and keeping very quiet while Endryk slowly moved close enough to bring the animal down. As the heavy-headed arrow struck it, the deer ran for a few paces then stumbled. Endryk shot it again very quickly then, moving closer, finished it with two carefully placed arrows.
Though she was trying not to show it, Adren was obviously distressed when she emerged from cover. ‘Couldn’t you have killed it with your sword – like the horse?’ she asked inadequately.
‘Who would you rather tackle in an alley – a frightened man or an injured, frightened man?’ Endryk replied. ‘It mightn’t be very big but, believe me, a blow from a deer’s flailing leg can do a great deal of harm. And I’ll remind you where we are.’
‘You’ll have to forgive me,’ Adren said, wincing as Endryk cut out the arrows. ‘I’m used to seeing dead people, but…’ She stopped.
‘You’re just not used to seeing your meat killed.’
Adren ran her hand across the animal’s head. ‘It’s a beautiful creature.’
‘Yes,’ said Endryk, drawing his knife.
‘You thank it,’ Thyrn said, anxious to help her. She looked up at him uncertainly. ‘You thank it for being beautiful and for the food it’ll give you. You do it to anything you kill – for food that is,’ he added uncomfortably.
‘And there’ll be more than food from this.’ Endryk’s tone approved Thyrn’s intervention. He handed Adren his knife and without further comment began to instruct her in how to bleed and skin the animal. It took some time and was a heavy learning for her.
‘That’s because you’re not hungry yet,’ Endryk said, though his manner was sympathetic throughout. ‘You did well. Very well. That skin will be shelter or clothes before we’ve finished.’
It fell to the watching Rhavvan and Hyrald to gut and butcher the carcass.
They were all quieter than usual as they finished that day’s travelling.
They were less quiet that night when they were eating the results of their endeavours.
‘This is amazing. I’ve never tasted anything like it.’ Rhavvan’s praise of the food met with general agreement and congratulations for the hunter.
‘Fresh air and fresh meat,’ Endryk told them. ‘Not something you’re used to in Arvenshelm, I’d imagine. Especially meat you’ve caught yourself.’
When the meal was finished and a string of Wardens’ reminiscences had petered out, Hyrald remarked to Endryk that, ‘This must be much harder for you than you thought when we set out.’
‘Yes and no,’ Endryk replied. ‘Being Wardens has given you a greater aptitude than you realize. You listen, you think – more than many do.’ He looked significantly at Rhavvan. ‘Most times, you ask when you don’t know. No, it’s not difficult. In fact, I think it’s slowly waking me up.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I learned all these things years ago – with a damned sight greater reluctance than you’re showing now, I can assure you. Then some of them I had to use without thinking, just to get me from one place to another safely, quickly, my mind full of other things – frightening things. Now, faced with this – a long journey with no end in sight – and having spent years wandering and living alone, I see a value in what my old teachers showed me that’d make them smile if they could hear me admitting it. I’m surprised I’m remembering so much of it.’
‘You were an officer in your army?’ Nordath asked tentatively.
Endryk shied away from the question a little. ‘No, just an ordinary soldier – but none of us were what you’d think of as soldiers really. It was just our way – part of our society – a military tradition maintained in memory of harsher times long gone, just as you have a tradition of having no army – only the Warding. We had no enemies. We lived in peace with our neighbours, in so far as we ever met them. As here, no one travelled much. We had all we needed. We were content.’
‘How did you come to be fighting in a war, then?’ Rhavvan blundered in. Hyrald scowled at him.
‘We failed in our duty,’ Endryk replied. His voice was unsteady, as if he had answered without wanting to. ‘Relaxed our vigilance. Forgot how and why such a tradition had come about. Our enemy was within us…’ He stopped and stared into the fire. His eyes were shining. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘The apology’s ours,’ Hyrald said, still scowling at Rhavvan. ‘Asking questions is such a part of our job it becomes a habit. We forget that it’s not always appropriate.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Rhavvan said, genuinely repentant. ‘I don’t always think before I speak.’
Endryk did not reply but just nodded and held out his hand to end the matter. The easy, relaxed atmosphere that the meal had induced gradually reasserted itself. Rhavvan casually observed that, ‘I don’t suppose he’s eating as well as we are,’ and the discussion fell to Aghrid.
Having been moving through open country for the last few days they had taken every opportunity to look behind them. But there had been no sign of any pursuit. Hyrald voiced the unspoken conclusion.
‘I suppose he might have gone wandering off north, but I doubt it. I think we’ve bloodied his nose too much. I think he’s on his way home.’
His analysis was tentatively accepted, but Endryk still insisted that they should continue posting guards through the night. ‘We can’t be sure yet, and it’s too good a habit to break,’ he said. ‘We must be absolutely certain. There’s a chance that perhaps he’s learning too.’ He did not sound too convinced by his own argument and the Wardens dismissed it.
Rhavvan was blunt. ‘Aghrid’s ruthless and crafty, but he’s a street creature, like me, like all of us. He’s lost out here. Three horses down and at least one man badly hurt. He’s running for home.’
‘According to the one we caught, he’d abandoned men on the way; he may have done the same with his wounded,’ Endryk countered.
‘Possibly, but I doubt it,’ Hyrald said. ‘I’ve been fretting about this Tervaidin business, and about Aghrid reinstated. It’s frightening – I can’t think what it all means. But the only men I can imagine running with Aghrid would be his own kind and they’d take only so much of that treatment. He’s astute enough to know he’ll get a knife in the ribs one night when he’s asleep if he’s not careful. He’s gone, all right.’
‘But we must be vigilant, always,’ Endryk insisted. There was an earnestness in his manner and a resonance in the word vigilant that brought back their earlier intrusion into his past and the discussion ended abruptly.
‘You’re right,’ Hyrald said. ‘We’ll keep the watch duties. I don’t want to take the slightest chance that we might be wrong about Aghrid – the cost would be far too high. And anyway, it’ll be harder to start them again if we stop. Not to mention the fact that we don’t know who or what else is out here.’
‘No one lives round here,’ Rhavvan said.
‘You’re sure about that, are you?’ Hyrald retorted. ‘Bearing in mind that there was an entire sea we knew nothing about only a few days ago.’
Rhavvan conceded the point unhappily.
The rest of the evening they spent following Endryk’s advice and considering their future movement. Relaxed by the food, the soft light of the fire and the warmth of the night, the discussion about their route rambled freely over many topics. In the course of it, Nordath remarked, ‘I’ve got family in the country in the west, and quite a few friends.’ The greater part of Arvenstaat’s population lay on the eastern side of the mountains. The western side was devoted mainly to farming and was viewed with knowing disdain by the sophisticated city and town-dwellers to the east who gave little thought to where most of their food came from. ‘They think city folk – and that includes me, now – and easterners generally, are all foolish and rather unpleasant. Not people to be trusted.’
This revelation provoked some banter about Nordath’s antecedents but then Hyrald became serious and asked, ‘How would they respond to the Death Cry, Nordath?’
‘Difficult, that. At any other time I’d have said they’d have nothing to do with it, but after what happened over here, I don’t know. I still find it all hard to accept.’
‘But on the whole, they respond badly to edicts and injunctions coming out of the Moot?’
‘Oh, yes. The Moot’s held in even greater scorn than it is over here, if such a thing is possible.’
‘And if memory serves me, there’s only a couple of towns with proper Wardings,’ Hyrald mused. ‘Everywhere else will be the Watch.’
‘Not much call for either Wardens or Watch Guards,’ Nordath said. ‘It’s a quieter, more trusting place.’
Hyrald looked round the circle of firelit faces. ‘That’s perhaps the way we should go. Through the mountains and down the western side.’
‘Forgive me, but it’s not through, it’s over the mountains,’ Rhavvan said, arcing an extended forefinger significantly.
Hyrald turned to Endryk who shrugged. ‘The further south we go, the more people there are. And the nearer we get to Arvenshelm, the more likely they are to remember the Death Cry from what you’ve told me. We’re going to have to go into the mountains sooner or later, just to hide.’
‘Do you think we can go over the mountains?’
‘I was brought up in mountains far more severe than these,’ Endryk replied. ‘But I know enough not to underestimate even the most innocent-looking of hills. Given that we’ve got to go into them eventually, we might as well do it now, while the summer’s with us and there’s game for hunting and fodder for the horses.’ He was about to add something else, then thought better of it. Hyrald pressed him. Endryk smiled a little guiltily. ‘I was about to say it’ll be even harder than what we’ve been doing, but then I remembered we were at war. Hard or not, we’ve no choice.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Deceptive stuff, good venison. Makes you too comfortable.’ He sat up and stretched himself. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. We should go over to the western side as soon as we can. I’ve no idea of the way so I suggest we continue south until we come to the first likely-looking valley, then we’ll have to take our chance.’
The next morning they woke to a thin drizzling rain. Endryk was irritatingly hearty. ‘Good mountain weather,’ he announced. ‘But at least the visibility’s not too bad.’ He watched as they each examined their boots and clothes, then he repeated the instructions he had given before they had retired the previous night. ‘Keep together. Once we start climbing, watch every step, especially now that it’s raining. And if we’re moving down – even more so. Whatever you do, don’t rush. There’s no urgency. We’ll stop a lot – go at the pace of the slowest. Any problems, speak up right away.’
‘And keep breathing and relaxing,’ Rhavvan whined, to general amusement.
‘More than ever,’ Endryk confirmed in the same vein.
For most of the morning, their journey was little different from what it had been over the past few days. The rain came and went to its own rhythms and progress was for the most part silent. As they walked, Endryk studied the mountains. Eventually he stopped and pointed. ‘There’s no guarantee whether what lies beyond it is passable, but that valley there seems to be the most tempting.’
‘Not too far,’ Rhavvan said.
‘It’ll take most of the day,’ Endryk replied. ‘Distances, heights, they’re all deceptive in the mountains.’
His estimate proved to be correct and it was late afternoon by the time they were entering the valley. As they drew nearer, Endryk stopped and turned them all round to look across the country they had just walked over.
‘I thought my legs were telling me something,’ Nordath said, rubbing his thighs ruefully.
‘What a view,’ Adren said, wiping her forehead. ‘We’re so high. I didn’t realize we’d been climbing so long.’ The rain had long stopped and though the horizon was lost in mist, the countryside was laid out before them in a rolling patchwork of hills and forests, laced here and there with white and silver streams and lit by a watery sun hesitantly making its way through the slowly clearing sky.
‘It didn’t seem to be so high when we set off,’ Hyrald said.
‘I told you – distances, heights – all deceptive in the mountains. We’re very small things really,’ Endryk replied. ‘But let’s make the most of where we are by spending a little time looking for our pursuers.’
‘I can’t even see which way we’ve come,’ Adren said uncomfortably. ‘I wouldn’t know how to get back.’ Endryk bent close to her and pointed out features that they had passed. ‘Now we’re in the mountains, that’s something we need to be careful about. It’s quite likely we’ll have to retrace our steps at some time or other and things tend to look very different when you’re travelling the other way. I’ll show you how to mark a track without it being conspicuous.’
They spent some time watching intently, but there was no sign of anyone following them.
‘Like I said last night, they’ve gone,’ Rhavvan declared emphatically. ‘Running for home with their tails between their legs.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Endryk agreed finally. ‘Besides, it’ll be much harder for anyone to follow us through the mountains.’
‘You don’t seem particularly overjoyed at losing them,’ Hyrald said.
‘Just wondering what your Vashnar will do when he finds out what’s happened to them.’
Rhavvan laughed at the prospect. ‘I’m only sorry I won’t be there to see it.’
Endryk did not share his humour. ‘You miss my point. For whatever reason, he put enough urgency into them to have them exhaust themselves and their horses finding us, not to mention abandoning their colleagues – not something I presume even the likes of Aghrid would do lightly. So the questions now become who will he send next – how many – when – where?’
Rhavvan closed his eyes. ‘Don’t you ever give up?’
‘Will he?’ Endryk replied starkly.
Rhavvan had no answer.
They continued westward along the valley for the rest of the afternoon. It rose steadily but gently and was easy going.
Sheltered by the mountains, it grew dark prematurely and they were pitching camp while the sky was still comparatively light, the higher peaks turning pink as they caught the unseen setting sun.
As all hint of the sun faded, Rhavvan looked round at the dark silhouettes hemming them in, some wrapped about with scarves of dull grey cloud. ‘I’m not sure whether I like this or not,’ he said. ‘It feels a bit too closed in for my taste.’
‘It’s not as closed in as the forest,’ Adren said curtly, though she was hunched forward a little, her arms wrapped around her knees. Rhavvan contented himself with a grunt by way of reply.
The following days passed without untoward incidents other than those inherent in travelling with horses through unknown mountain terrain. As they moved on, now west, now south, now along lush valleys, now through dense forest, up steep slopes and over disconcerting ridges, through endlessly changing weather, each of them was obliged to wrestle with the implications of their changed circumstances. Anger, elation, frustration, contentment, resignation, even some despair came to all of them in varying degrees at different times. There were angry quarrels, surly and resentful silences, earnest discussion, apologies, reconciliations, laughter and excitement. And throughout, the group slowly changed.
Adren maintained an instinctive female concern for her appearance which she used unashamedly to scorn the men into doing the same.
‘There’s not one of you suits a beard,’ she inveighed one misty morning, her face wrinkling in distaste as she emerged from her tent and viewed the shuffling ensemble. ‘And for pity’s sake do something with your hair. You look like a sale of chimney sweeps’ brushes – and second-hand ones at that.’
Her undisguised contempt provoked a robust, if brief, exchange:
‘All the disadvantages of being married and none of the advantages…’
‘Looking like that could cause a riot. I’ve arrested smarter-looking tramps…’
‘The Death Cry at our backs and the Death Nag to our front…’
‘Little chin too fragile for a blade, is it, dear?’ Pat, pat.
Endryk, who had shaved regularly since they had set out, and taken the same quiet care of his appearance as Adren had of hers, excused himself from hearing any appeals and tried unsuccessfully not to laugh. Adren’s onslaught was sufficient to make the offending males turn to him for instruction about how to sharpen their knives for such a task. Only Thyrn hesitated. Not having a mirror to hand he fancied the straggling growth tickling his chin was distinctly manly and he was secretly quite proud of it. A gentle tug on it by Adren and the epithet ‘cute’, however, was sufficient to make him hastily follow the example of the others. It proved to be a strained and bloody affair for all of them, but Adren bravely hid any pangs of conscience she might have felt about it.
It was one of many small turning points for the group. More soberly, later, they all agreed the importance of striving to keep the appearance of Wardens.
Slowly Endryk was becoming less and less their overt instructor and leader. Hunting, trapping, fire-lighting, cooking, maintenance of equipment and clothes, tending the horses, all the many activities that were a necessary part of their continued progress, not to say survival, became both shared and routine and subject only to the passing grumbles of the moment – even the continuing nightly guard duties. None of the group hesitated to ask Endryk’s advice when they were unsure, nor he theirs.
Though they still moved cautiously over skylines and maintained their watch for pursuers, it became increasingly obvious that Aghrid and his men had abandoned the chase. This, coupled with the developing daily routines eased the pace of their travelling.
Having increasingly less to tell his charges about the necessities of their lives, Endryk began to show them some of the fighting techniques which had manifested themselves in his skill with the bow and the sling and in his confrontation with the indignant, sword-wielding Adren. Ironically, the searching inquiries which this incident had generated at the time had faded away as the real nature of the group’s day to day existence had become apparent. The interest was still there though, and of all the daily tasks that had to be done, practicing with sling and bow were the least likely to be scowled at. The sling proved to be a demanding weapon and while all of them acquired a modest proficiency, none of them excelled. With the bow, the patterns set at the beginning were maintained. Adren became very fast and accurate, while the others became more than proficient. Nordath, never having had cause to handle any kind of a weapon before, was particularly proud of the progress he eventually made.
‘It would never have occurred to me that I could learn such a thing at my age. It’s oddly relaxing too.’
His unassuming pride illuminated all of them, particularly Endryk.
Rhavvan, inevitably, made himself a particularly powerful bow which sent a heavier arrow further than all the others’. Save Endryk’s, that is. ‘It’s just a better bow,’ he told the irritated Rhavvan as the big man tested its seemingly less powerful draw. Rhavvan’s range and accuracy nevertheless became impressive, though the lengthy task of retrieving the far-flung arrows caused him as much irritation as it did amusement to his comrades. ‘We should get that damned dog of yours to bring these back,’ Rhavvan protested. He picked up a stick and threw it. ‘Here, Nals, fetch.’
The dog’s head did not move, but his eyes followed the flight of the stick then returned to stare balefully at the thrower before closing.
Endryk had no hesitation in teaching his companions the use of the bow and the sling because they were necessary for hunting and none of the group had had experience with them. The use of sword, staff and knife, however, had no such rationale, nor had unarmed fighting, and he was almost apologetic when he suggested that these too should be studied and practised. His concern was unfounded. The three Wardens had a genuine professional interest in what he had done to Adren and had not forgotten it, least of all Adren herself. And while Thyrn’s youthful enthusiasm had been tempered by Hyrald’s stern reproaches, Nordath’s reservations had dwindled in the light of his success with the bow and his rueful acceptance of the reality of their circumstances.
Unlike the instruction he had given with the bow, Endryk did not teach directly. Instead he had the Wardens demonstrate their own ways, then made suggestions and debated strengths and weaknesses with them. He was particularly intrigued by Rhavvan’s skill with the long staff. His work with the knife disturbed them all, as did his teaching on the ethics of fighting with or without weapons, which he was adamant were to be understood more deeply than any fighting technique.
‘Don’t start conflict. Avoid it if humanly possible. If it isn’t, be clear in your mind: you’ve the right to survive and you may do whatever’s necessary to ensure that. When you’re safe, stop – perhaps help your enemy, if you can.’ He addressed his remarks most strongly to the Wardens. ‘This is more alien to you than it is to Thyrn and Nordath, but you understand, don’t you? I’m not talking about trying to avoid injuring disorderly citizens. I’m talking about dealing with people who intend to kill you. You’ve had to do it already and you’ve done well, but you’ve not really thought about it and you need to. If you hesitate, you’ll die. And your companions may die. Don’t forget that. Not ever. Your focus, your resolution, must be clear and unclouded.’
‘We understand. But it’s hard. As you say, it’s not our way,’ Adren said into a heavy silence.
‘It is now,’ Endryk replied coldly.
‘It’s horrible.’
‘It is.’
There was some debate, but not much. Endryk’s logic on all points was as impeccable as it was awful. He did not attempt to teach Thyrn and Nordath this kind of fighting, but left it to the Wardens, intervening only when complexity and elaboration began to bring confusion.
‘Keep it simple. This is life and death. Avoid, and attack the centre. Your body’s far wiser than you, let it do what it already knows. You’ve more resources than you realize when you have to fight.’
‘If,’ Nordath said.
Endryk did not reply.
As with everything he did, Endryk proved to be quietly relentless in his instruction. Practice was not excessive but it was regular and purposeful. Achievements were praised but they were always used as a step towards some further goal. It was a discipline that bewildered, even angered, all of them at some time, except, unexpectedly, Thyrn.
‘There is no end. Abilities must always be stretched,’ he said, quoting one of his wiser erstwhile masters at the Caddoran Congress. ‘Where improvement can be made, it must be made. Why else would it be there?’ Thyrn’s manner was both unaffected and peculiarly humbling and the need for continuing practice was never disputed again.
Thus the days passed. Occasionally there would be speculation about the future and what they should do when they reached the far side of the mountains, though it was accepted that no plans could be made until the mood of the people was known. Occasionally too, homesickness would come like a hammer-blow to take its toll as some casual remark reminded them of the injustice they had suffered and the good lives they had been obliged to abandon. Weapons practice was the invariable cure for such attacks.
Then, one morning, Thyrn was gone.