As Hawklan’s voice faded, the silence returned, colder than ever, seeming to freeze the entire group into immobility.
‘Will you lead us, Hawklan?’ Athyr asked eventually, his voice sounding strained.
Hawklan avoided his gaze briefly, then stood up and drew the black sword.
‘There are forces at work here of which we know nothing,’ he said. ‘This sword,’-he looked around at the austerely decorated walls and ceiling-‘this whole castle fell to my hands by some mystery beyond my understanding and, I suspect, beyond all our knowing. I will lead you if you wish, but you must know that since my journeyings and my encounter with Oklar I have learned much about myself, including memories of a time when I was other than I am now. Of a time before when I led a great Orthlundyn army. When I led it to a defeat so total that not one of its fighters survived.’
The atmosphere came suddenly alive again. Agreth leaned across to Arinndier and whispered to him. The Lord nodded, and the two men rose quietly, Arinndier beckoning to the other Fyordyn as he did so.
‘This is an Orthlundyn matter,’ he said to Hawklan. ‘We will leave you.’
‘Stay,’ Hawklan said, sitting down and laying the sword across his knees. ‘I thank you for your courtesy, but if the Orthlundyn choose me, then I fear the Fyordyn and the Riddinvolk will gravitate to me also, whether I will it or no.’
Arinndier met the green-eyed gaze squarely. It was free from pride and ambition, and free from spurious regret and false humility. It was the gaze of a man who saw the truth and knew he could not turn from it.
‘Hear what has to be said,’ Hawklan went on. ‘So that in your turn you can decide when the time comes. I’ll take this burden willingly if it is thrust upon me, but thrust upon me it must be. I have its measure and I’ll neither seek it nor avoid it.’
Slowly, Arinndier sat down.
Then Hawklan told his listeners the history of the Orthlundyn as he had recalled it and as it had been completed for him by Andawyr and Gulda.
There was a strange, deep, quietness when he had finished. Although obviously intrigued and curious, Agreth and the Fyordyn remained silent out of courtesy. The Orthlundyn, however, remained silent because most of them seemed to have been profoundly moved by the tale. Some were openly weeping.
Hawklan waited. ‘Your minds say "How and why did we not know this history?" That, seemingly, was Ethriss’s choosing. But your hearts acknowledge its truth. It’s a tale that makes you… us… more whole.’
No one questioned him.
‘Choose your leader now,’ Hawklan said quietly.
The first to speak was Aynthinn, the elder from Wosod Heath. His manner and tone were emotional, but at odds with the prevailing solemnity. ‘I think we’ve had this conversation before, healer,’ he said, shaking his head and chuckling. ‘And it seems to be more for your benefit than ours. With your every word you confirm what we know about you. I always suspected you were an Orthlundyn deep down, for all you’re rock-blind. Now you’ve come to us at a time of need, armed with a knowledge of Him from another age… ’
Hawklan interrupted him. ‘My memories offer me no guidance or support that you yourselves have not offered,’ he said. ‘The enemy is of this time, I am of this time, and your decisions must be of this time, strength-ened perhaps by the knowledge of time past,’-he held out the sword-‘but untainted by mysterious portents, the true meaning of which is beyond us.’
Aynthinn looked at him patiently, his face becoming more serious. ‘The portents you speak of do affect us deeply, it’s true,’ he said. ‘How could they not? And the tale you’ve just told us enriches us in some way beyond immediate fathoming; we are truly in your debt. But you are the one who’s beginning to cling to the past, not we. We have no choice but to be in the present,’-his face brightened again,-‘and no one could accuse the Orthlundyn of being obsessed by history. I say again, you come armed with a true knowledge of Him from another age. And knowledge is everything. We choose you not because of your sword and your castle, or because of the value that Sumeral seems to place in you, though these things weigh with us. We choose you because we’ve known you for twenty years and we know you’re our best man.’
The simplicity of Aynthinn’s conclusion shook Hawklan, and he looked around, uncertain what to say next.
Arinndier could not forbear chuckling at his sur-prise. ‘I’ve known you for only a matter of months, Hawklan, but I’ve seen enough to recognize your worth. The High Guards must choose their own leader as need arises, but you have my sword-and those of Eldric, Hreldar and Darek.’
Dacu made an almost imperceptible hand signal. Hawklan caught the gesture and nodded an acknowl-edgement. ‘You have the word of your companions?’ he asked.
‘If you saw the gesture, yes,’ Dacu replied smiling.
Hawklan laughed, then looked at Agreth. The Rid-dinwr bowed. ‘I ride with you, Hawklan, if Urthryn will release me,’ he said. ‘I shall tell the Moot all that I’ve heard and seen. I shall tell them of my own judgement, and that of the horse you ride, which is a judgement shrewder than mine by far, and I’ve no doubt that Sylvriss too will speak about you, if she hasn’t already.’
Hawklan thanked him and stood up to return the sword to its scabbard.
As he did so, another voice spoke. ‘We are with you too, Hawklan.’ It was the Alphraan, and though their voice was soft, it filled the hall with echoing subtleties of loyalty, obedience, friendship, and many other images of support and aid. Hawklan felt the sword come alive in his hand, and looking at the hilt he saw its myriad stars twinkling and the two intertwined strands glittering brightly into its unfathomable depth. He felt Loman and Isloman looking at him.
‘Thank you,’ he said simply, as the Alphraan’s voice faded.
Then he looked back to his audience. ‘I accept the burden that the Orthlundyn wish me to carry,’ he said quietly. ‘Because I know that if I fight amongst such people then I am but one man, and if I fall, the army will be but one man less.’ There were some protests, but he silenced them with a wave of his hand. ‘It must be thus,’ he said firmly. ‘You, above all, know this. Nothing less is acceptable if we are to face Him.’
Then he turned to Agreth and the Fyordyn. ‘I accept now your personal loyalties and I offer you mine,’ he said. ‘As for your armies… ’ He shrugged. ‘There’s no haste for such decisions. Let’s see how events unfold.’
Dar-volci interrupted the proceedings with a noisy splutter and rolled over on Andawyr’s lap until his legs were in the air.
Andawyr supported him carefully to prevent him rolling off, and gave Hawklan an apologetic look.
‘Dar never did have any sense of occasion, I’m afraid,’ he said.
Hawklan smiled. ‘He’s only missing humankind planning one of its greater follies,’ he said. ‘I doubt he’d be other than dismayed at the spectacle.’
Andawyr did not reply, but looked down at the sleeping felci, with its tight closed eyes and incongru-ously gaping mouth. Gently he stroked its stomach.
Hawklan sat down and looked round at his gathered friends and countrymen. Am I about to betray you all again? he thought, but almost immediately the answer-ing thought came that though he had led the Orthlundyn to defeat, he had not betrayed them. It was little consolation, and his original thought simply transformed itself into, am I going to lead you all to defeat again?
He crushed the inner debate. It was futile. Now was now. He must learn from the past, but be uncluttered by it. Now he must tell the Orthlundyn and the others how he intended to lead them.
He leaned back in his seat.
‘My first task as your leader should be to discuss with you what strategy we must use against this powerful foe,’ he began. ‘However, I shall not do that. Instead I shall tell you what the Orthlundyn must do and I shall ask you to do it as I know you can do it… ’ He paused. ‘But without me.’
There was a brief, stunned silence, then a babble of questions filled the hall. Even Gulda and Andawyr turned to look at him in some surprise.
Hawklan raised his hand for silence.
‘This is indeed a man we go to meet,’ he said. ‘In that lies perhaps our greatest hope. But He is no ordinary man. He is, in truth, an unbelievably ancient and powerful force. A force well beyond our under-standing, that has chosen to appear as a man because only thus can it conquer the world of men. And even though His three Uhriel were once human, they are now barely so, so corrupted by power are they.
‘When the Lords of Fyorlund decided that they must attack Oklar, just as we’ve decided we must attack his Master, they knew a little of Oklar’s power and they devised field tactics that they hoped might offer them some protection. The worth of those tactics will never be known because Oklar, as we know, was bound in some way, and not permitted the full use of his power.’
He paused, and his face became grim. ‘However, I am told that the power Oklar used against me was… ’-he made a dismissive gesture-‘a mere fraction of what he might have done. Put another way, no field tactic, however ingenious, could have saved the Lords from Oklar’s power had it been truly launched against them.
‘Now we propose to send a similar army of men against Oklar and his Master, and, in all probability, Creost and Dar Hastuin, for he too is probably abroad somewhere. How can any mortal army face such power?’
The hall became very still.
‘It cannot,’ he continued quietly. ‘Sumeral could destroy our vaunted armies with precious little effort. Yet He does not use that power to achieve His ends. Instead He moves silently and with cunning as He builds up a great mortal army of His own.’
He paused and watched the effect of his words on his audience.
‘Perhaps He fears Ethriss and the Guardians,’ he continued after a moment. ‘Perhaps not. Perhaps equally it is all some horrific lure, to draw our might to Him so that our destruction will be both easier and more complete.’ He paused again.
‘We don’t know,’ he went on. ‘We cannot know. But we can’t take such a risk.’
He became more casual. ‘This we’ve known since my return from Fyorlund,’ he said. ‘But it’s something we’ve not dwelt upon, having chosen instead to concentrate, quite rightly, on preparing ourselves to meet mortal enemies.
‘Now however, we’ve come to the sharpening of spears and swords, to the burnishing of armour, to the deciding of the orders of marching, and this knowledge must be faced squarely.’
His green eyes became intense as he looked at his motionless listeners.
‘Orthlund, and such allies as come to its side, will march directly against the enemy, and prosecute the war with all their skill up to and through the gates of Derras Ustramel, and to His very throne. You will be led by Loman and, if she is prepared, by Memsa Gulda. I will not be at your head. Andawyr and I, with others, will go another way-to levy the forces that must be levied if you are to be protected from the power of Sumeral and His Uhriel.’
The silence disintegrated.
‘No,’ cried several voices.
Gulda raised an eyebrow and Loman shifted uncom-fortably in his seat.
‘We mean no disrespect to Loman or to the Memsa, but… ’ was the gist of the protests. Hawklan raised his arms to silence them.
‘You forget too easily,’ he said coldly. ‘With the Memsa’s guidance, Loman’s skill and his sight into truth made an arrow that struck down Oklar-that would have killed him had I been more able. And you, you carvers become fighters, did I craft you into an army, or did they? Did my insight protect any of you from the Alphraan, or did theirs? No. I was elsewhere fighting the same war in another place.’
He held out his hand to prevent further debate and turned to Gulda. ‘Are you willing… ready… to do this now?’ he asked. ‘To move against Dan-Tor?’
Gulda, watching Hawklan intently, nodded, but did not speak.
‘Very well,’ Hawklan said, turning back to his still shocked audience. ‘Then that is how it must be. The army under Loman and the Memsa will assail Narsindal while I go another way.’
‘What do you intend to do?’ someone asked through the silence.
Hawklan hesitated. ‘That you must not know,’ he replied.
‘Must not?’ his questioner echoed. ‘Are we not to be trusted with your intention.’
Two needs vied within Hawklan for dominance: the commander’s need for obedience, and the healer’s faith in knowledge. But both would have to be met.
‘I trust you with the duty of destroying Sumeral’s army,’ he replied. ‘You in your turn must trust me with the duty of destroying Sumeral’s other power.’
‘But… ’
Hawklan raised his hand again. ‘The details of what I intend are as undefined now as are your tactics for dealing with some unknown army on some unknown terrain at some unknown time in the future. That much I can tell you. I can tell you also that with others more powerful than I, I shall be striking to the heart of Sumeral’s Old Power, just as you will be striking to the heart of his armed might. Between those two tellings, no one knows what I intend, not even Andawyr and the Memsa. Should the merest whisper of what lies there reach Him then it would be my downfall. And if my venture fails then we are all doomed, just as surely as we are if yours fails. Do you still wish to know my inten-tion?’
The man looked at him for some time then slowly shook his head. ‘No,’ he said simply.
This brief exchange seemed to have silenced most of the questions that had bubbled out when Hawklan had made his announcement, though he now found he was the focus of the entire hall’s silent attention; not least that of Andawyr and Gulda. He stood up and walked to one of the decorated panels that lined the hall. For a moment he studied its uncharacteristically simple patterning. Then he touched a raised lip that protruded from the sill.
Slowly the pattern dissolved to reveal a window scene carried to the hall by the Castle’s many mirror stones. It was a view over the Orthlundyn countryside as seen from just above the main wall, and the winter hues of the landscape were oddly heightened by a heavy grey sky. Both landscape and sky merged into a common greyness well before either reached the horizon.
There were several expressions of surprise, Hawk-lan’s included.
‘Well, for all the indications we’ve had of an early winter, it seems it’s going to snow sooner than we all imagined,’ he said. ‘And heavily, by the looks of it.’ He looked at Arinndier and Agreth. Riddin had been inaccessible for some time due to snow in the higher mountains, but now it seemed that Fyorlund too was likely to be cut off very soon. He pursed his lips and shook his head.
Isloman made reassuring noises. ‘I doubt anyone will start a campaign in this weather,’ he said. ‘Certainly the Morlider have no love for snow. We suffered badly when the winter came early during the war, but they suffered worse.’ He turned to Agreth. ‘If they’ve any choice about it, I think it’s unlikely they’ll attack until the winter’s showing signs of easing.’
‘Thank you, Isloman,’ Agreth said. ‘But I’m afraid I’ll just have to live with the uncertainty. I doubt Urthryn will allow any relaxation of the coastal watch so at least my people won’t be taken by surprise if the Morlider do come.’
Arinndier too seemed undismayed. ‘If the winter’s early here then almost certainly the northern mountains at home are well blocked already. Only the most desperate would try to bring an army through them, and of the many things we’ve seen from Oklar, desperation was not one. Besides’-he indicated Agreth-‘as in Riddin, our people will be watching, regardless of the snow.’
Hawklan turned round, a dark silhouette against the grey backdrop. ‘So, circumstances determine our plans for us,’ he said. ‘The northern reaches of Fyorlund snowbound and, presumably, Narsindal also; while to the east, the mountains that prevent us helping the Riddinvolk also protect us should any harm befall them. The winter comes like a benevolent besieger to confine us safe in our nests, pending a call to arms in the spring.’
‘Take care, Hawklan,’ Gulda said.
Hawklan nodded. ‘Indeed,’ he said thoughtfully, then, quietly, but very positively: ‘Loman, start general winter training immediately, and speed up the Helyadin’s-Dacu, will you help with that? And make sure the villages along our southern and western borders are on their toes-Yrain’s point was sound. I don’t think anything serious is going to happen in the next few weeks, but having determined our strategy, we must tell the people and have them prepare to mobilize at a moment’s notice. The sooner they get used to the idea, the better.’
He turned back to the wintry scene and went through the order of the levy agreed by the Orthlundyn.
The army was to consist first of those unmarried men and women who wished to serve in it. Those who were married but with no children were to be the first reserve, and those with children, the second. The remainder, the old, the young, and the infirm, were to form a militia for the defence of their homeland should all fail, and they were also to share the re-distribution of work that would occur due to this great upheaval. In this latter, as with the cavalry training, Agreth’s advice had been invaluable, the Riddinvolk being long used to the disruption of their ordinary lives caused by the demands of the Muster.
Hawklan smiled as he remembered Loman com-menting that the Riddinvolk were more concerned about the disruption to their Muster activities by the demands of home and hearth, than vice versa, but its brief light dwindled to nothing in the great blackness that surged up within him abruptly.
Ethriss, this is appalling, he thought. Even if they defeated Sumeral, what was to happen was an abomina-tion, an insanity, and its necessity offered little consolation. The face of the elder who had questioned him at the beginning hung in his memory. Sons and daughters were to be separated from their parents, husbands and wives from each other. What cherished loving bonds were to be torn asunder there? Even for the lucky ones it would be months of fretful worrying during which a portentous future would cloud all present doings. For others there would be the nursing of loved ones who had been smashed physically or mentally by what had been done to them or, in some ways worse, what they themselves had done. And finally there would be those for whom the parting embrace would be the last. So much delicate patient toil to be destroyed so casually.
Unconsciously, he laid his left hand on his sword hilt. Damn you, Sumeral, he thought savagely. Damn you back into whatever darkness you’ve come from. I’d have forgone the past twenty years with all their light and joy, had I known this was to be the price. He felt the ancient, mocking spectre of vengeance rise within him and he faced it. I have your enemy’s sword now, and I’ll cleave you from neck to hip with it if we meet. And relish the deed.
His mood lightened as suddenly as it had darkened and he turned and moved away from the window.
‘Grim times for us all,’ he said. ‘But we’re as ready as we can be and there’s no reason why we should make them grimmer than necessary. How long to the solstice, Gulda?’
She told him.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll make this year’s Winter Festival one that will warm and sustain us through anything the future chooses for us. Loman, make sure that that too goes out with the other orders.’ He clapped his hands and smiled broadly.
The sound of the clap echoed round the hall and the listening Alphraan caught it and spun it into a glisten-ing, brilliant, rhythm, to counterpoint Hawklan’s declaration. Clapping and laughter rose up from the audience to complement it and, with a wave of his hand, Hawklan dismissed the meeting.
As the people began to leave, Hawklan felt a power-ful grip take his elbow. He did not need to identify the owner.
‘Memsa,’ he said, cautiously.
‘Young man,’ she replied neutrally, ushering him discreetly to the door. He cast about for an escape route, but Isloman, Loman and Andawyr, with Dar-volci still draped in his arms, appeared beside him suddenly, like solicitous flank guards.
‘Are you in trouble, dear boy,’ Gavor said, chuckling maliciously.
‘Well, at least I can rely on the support of my faith-ful ally, can’t I?’ Hawklan replied.
Gavor looked around and sucked in his breath nois-ily. ‘Not against these odds,’ he said. ‘I suggest you surrender immediately.’
In silence, Gulda propelled Hawklan steadily to-wards the room which she had commandeered as the central command post for the Orthlundyn army. It was large and spacious with a window at one end that occupied virtually all of the wall. The view through it was similar to that from the meeting hall, and normally sufficient light flooded through it during the day to illuminate every part of the room. Now however, the premature winter greyness dominated the room, and as the party entered, the torches burst into life. Their warm light made the scene outside even darker and filled the window with a faithful, if dim, echo of the room and its occupants.
Gulda ushered Hawklan to a low settee and, signal-ling Isloman to close the door, waved the others to whichever seats they might choose.
She herself sat down heavily on a seat behind a desk which gave her a commanding view of Hawklan’s position. Then she placed her stick on top of the desk with ominous slowness and leaned forward to rest her head on her interlinked hands.
‘"Andawyr and I, with others, will go another way,"’ she began, quoting Hawklan’s words faithfully. ‘"To levy the forces that must be levied if you are to be protected from the power of Sumeral and His Uhriel."’
She looked at Hawklan narrowly. ‘Explain,’ she said, quietly but with a purposefulness that made the three other men in the room sit very still.
Hawklan looked at his interrogator, then unexpect-edly stretched out his legs and relaxed on the settle.
‘How can it be otherwise?’ he asked. Gulda’s eyes widened at his replying with a question, but he contin-ued before she could give vent to her feelings on the matter. ‘A few days ago, you and Andawyr told me who I am… ’ He smiled. ‘Who I had been, I should say. Equally importantly, you told me who I was not. I was not Ethriss. That was not something I’d ever had serious doubts about myself, nor can I pretend to any regrets about it, but it prompts the real question, "Where is Ethriss"?’ He turned and fixed Andawyr with a penetrat-ing stare.
The Cadwanwr tried to avoid the gaze by making Dar-Volci more comfortable on his knee.
‘You’ve been very silent about parts of your own adventures, Andawyr,’ Hawklan went on. ‘You’ve told us of your journey into Narsindal, and of your subsequent escape. And you’ve been honest in admitting that your Order has been remiss in its duties. But something’s missing.’
Andawyr did not speak.
‘You’re Ethriss’s chosen,’ Hawklan continued. ‘To you alone he gave knowledge about the Old Power. Consider. Someone, somewhere, with far less knowledge than you, I imagine, woke Sumeral and the Uhriel. Yet we hear nothing about you, with your great power and knowledge, trying to wake Ethriss and the Guardians, without whom we are probably doomed. What has happened, Andawyr? Why are Sphaeera, Theowart, Enartion, and above all, Ethriss not walking amongst us even now, determining the order of our battle?’
Andawyr looked down at the seemingly oblivious felci draped across his lap.
‘I don’t know, Hawklan,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I’ve made no mention of this before because I needed to know for certain who you were. And I’ve made no mention these last few days because I’ve been thinking. My knowledge is not for those who haven’t the wisdom to withstand it.’
Outside, a few large snowflakes meandered down out of the greyness, casual vanguard to a mighty host.
Uncharacteristically, Andawyr sighed. ‘Ask me no details, because I can give you none that you’ll under-stand,’ he said, addressing everyone. ‘But Hawklan’s right. On my return from Narsindal, I was… greatly changed. My brothers saw this and saw the truth of our danger and together we sought to contact the Guardi-ans.’ He looked up and stared at his distant reflection in the darkening window.
‘It took great faith.’ His voice was suddenly quiet and his remembered sense of wonder and awe over-flowed to fill his listeners. ‘But by some miracle we succeeded. Redeemed ourselves a little, perhaps, for our neglect.’ He shrugged. ‘For a moment the Guardians shared their being with us. I… we… became the Guardians. Knew and understood them. He fell silent.
‘What did you learn?’ Hawklan prompted gently after a moment.
Andawyr looked at him, his face slightly surprised as if expecting to find himself somewhere else.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, then, though no one re-proached him, he added. ‘It was an experience beyond ordinary words. No simple, clear-cut conversation… ’
‘Speak what comes to you, Cadwanwr.’ Gulda’s voice was hauntingly gentle and patient.
‘They know of the danger,’ Andawyr said, his face rapt with concentration. ‘They too seek Ethriss, for they fear that alone they are not enough.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I think they are… scattered,’ he said. ‘I think they are one with their creations. It’s a great strength and a great weakness. I don’t think they will ride among us in Narsindal.’
‘You know this?’ Gulda said, again with great gentle-ness.
Andawyr shook his head. ‘Their awareness of the danger and their search for Ethriss, yes, beyond doubt,’ he said. ‘But the other, the scattering, has only just come to me.’
‘What do you mean, a great strength and a great weakness?’ Hawklan asked uncertainly.
Andawyr frowned. ‘If they pervade the earth, the air, and the water,’ he said, his voice distant and preoccu-pied. ‘That would be a strength because they could not be defeated without great, perhaps total sacrifice by the Uhriel. A sacrifice I doubt they’d be prepared to make, for they are the way they are because of their all-too-human lust for being.’
Dar-volci stirred restlessly.
‘And the weakness?’ Hawklan pressed, gently.
Andawyr’s voice was still distant when he answered. ‘They will have lost their ability to… move, or to move quickly. To place their power wherever the Uhriel threaten. If my feeling is right, then while perhaps they cannot readily be overwhelmed by Sumeral, I fear they cannot readily come to our aid in battle.’
Hawklan frowned. ‘Why would they have become this way?’ he asked.
Briefly, a look of irritation passed over Andawyr’s face. ‘I don’t know!’ he said sharply. ‘I… we… touched their hem-at their gift became them for some timeless moment. I couldn’t interrogate. I told you it was beyond words… ’
Hawklan raised his hand in apology and Andawyr’s tone softened.
‘Perhaps they thought Sumeral and the Uhriel truly died at the Last Battle,’ he said. ‘And that all that would be left to oppose would be the remains of Sumeral’s teachings that lingered in men.’ He shook his head. ‘Perhaps they needed peace. Who can say how they suffered in that conflict? I’ve no idea, Hawklan. Perhaps it’s no more than their true nature.’ He finished with a shrug.
‘But they look for Ethriss?’ Hawklan said.
‘Yes.’
‘Then they fear Sumeral, for all He may not be able to overwhelm them easily?’ Hawklan said.
‘They’re not invincible. Given time, and humanity out of His path, He could do anything,’ Andawyr replied.
Hawklan looked at the snow falling increasingly heavily outside, white in the light from the window. The path ahead of him seemed to be growing narrower and narrower.
‘If the Guardians are searching for Ethriss, then obviously they don’t know where he is,’ he said, his expression apologizing for the triteness of his remark. ‘But where can we begin to look if they can’t find him with their power and wisdom? Could he not, in fact, be dead; slain by Sumeral’s last throw?’
The flakes outside twisted and swirled as a breeze moved round the tower like the wake of a fleeing eavesdropper.
Andawyr nodded slowly. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s possible, but I doubt it. That, I’m sure the Guardians would have known. And Sumeral certainly would have felt it. No, he’s alive, somewhere. Don’t forget, there are many places that lie beyond the writ of both the Guardians and Sumeral; both deep under-ground and, it would seem, deep inside the hearts of men.’
Hawklan turned away from him. ‘So even if he is alive, we’ve no way of finding him?’ he said, his voice chillingly final.
The room became very silent. Andawyr looked at the healer’s motionless figure.
Hesitantly, he said, ‘I don’t think that matters. I think that you’ll be drawn to him, just as you were drawn to this time and this castle, and towards his ancient enemy. You are the closest of all of us to the heart of this mystery.’
Hawklan frowned. ‘That’s no answer,’ he said an-grily. ‘And you know it. That’s a protestation of faith.’
The room became silent and still again, filled with Hawklan’s frustration. When he spoke again however, his voice was apologetic. ‘Not that there’s any harm in that if it sustains you, but it’s not enough. Certainly not enough to risk the lives of all our finest young men and women for-not to mention the Fyordyn and Riddin-volk who’ll be riding with us in due course, I’ve no doubt.’
‘Which brings us back to where we started,’ Gulda said. ‘Horses and men, swords and spears. What do you intend to do?’
Hawklan looked round at his friends and then at their images hovering in the deepening darkness beyond the window.
For a while, he did not speak, then he said, ‘Loman’s arrow injured Oklar profoundly. I saw it for myself and according to Arinndier’s account of what that Secretary… ’ He hesitated, at a loss for the name.
‘Dilrap,’ Gulda provided.
Hawklan nodded. ‘Secretary Dilrap said the arrow remained in his side, bleeding continuously.’ He laid his hand on his sword. ‘There’s a blade for every heart,’ he said. ‘And if Sumeral has come amongst us again as a man, and surrounded Himself with mortal armies, then He is not invulnerable, and He can look to face judge-ment, or die again as a man.’
‘You would call Sumeral to account?’ Gulda said, her eyes widening, almost mockingly.
‘If the opportunity presents itself, yes,’ Hawklan replied. ‘But I’d lose no sleep if I had to slaughter Him unshriven.’
Gulda wrinkled her nose disdainfully. ‘And pre-sumably you intend to ride to the gates of Derras Ustramel, like Eldric rode into Vakloss to confront Dan-Tor,’ Gulda said acidly.
Hawklan ignored the jibe. ‘I intend to enter Narsin-dal, quietly, while His attention is on the approaching armies,’ he said. ‘Move across it, equally quietly. And yes, enter Derras Ustramel and confront its tenant.’
Gulda opened her mouth to speak, but Hawklan stopped her.
‘I would take with me on this journey, if they wish to come, Isloman, Andawyr and our best Helyadin,’ he said. ‘And none must know of it.’
Gulda stared at him, her expression changed by Hawklan’s manner from almost contemptuous dismissal to one of concern.
‘Well, I suppose you’ve enough skills there to get you part way across Narsindal,’ she said, after a long silence. ‘But as for even reaching Derras Ustramel, let alone entering it and facing Him… ’ She left the reservation unfinished.
Hawklan met her gaze. ‘What alternative have we?’ he asked simply. Gulda did not reply. He turned to Isloman.
‘I’d rather die looking Him in the eye than hacked to pieces in some anonymous battle melee, or suffocating under a mound of bodies,’ said the carver. ‘Or worse, living to see those I love slaughtered while I stood by helpless. At least this time we’ll know what we’re walking into.’
Gulda shuddered involuntarily. ‘Not remotely,’ she said.
Isloman looked at her uneasily, and Hawklan scowled openly.
‘What alternative have we?’ he repeated, more strongly than before.
Gulda looked at Andawyr.
‘I’ll go,’ said the Cadwanwr, though his face was grey with fear. ‘Hawklan’s right. We have no alternative. In all our talking and conjecturing, you and I have contrived to avoid this truth most assiduously.’
Gulda looked down at her hands, toying idly with her stick.
For the first time since he had met her, Hawklan saw her truly uncertain.
‘But to go into His presence… ’ she muttered.
For a moment Hawklan thought he saw her face flushed, but before he could remark it properly she had pulled her hood forward and leaned back in her chair.
‘Gulda… ’ he said, concerned.
She lifted a reassuring hand. ‘Have you decided how you intend to achieve this… confrontation?’ she asked out of the darkness of her hood.
Hawklan shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not in detail. The idea itself has only recently become clear. I thought we’d travel to the Caves of Cadwanen, learn what we could of the terrain of Narsindal from the Cadwanol, and then enter Narsindal through the Pass of Elewart. After that… ’ He shrugged. ‘That’s why I want to take our best Helyadin.’
‘Do you have such information?’ Gulda said, the hood turning towards Andawyr.
‘Some,’ the little man replied. ‘Mainly of the south and south-east.’ He spread out his hands in an apolo-getic gesture. ‘The interior’s very poorly mapped. No one knows even where Lake Kedrieth is exactly, other than it’s in the middle of a marshy and treacherous region.’
Gulda nodded and turned back to Hawklan. ‘And after your encounter with Oklar, you feel you can beard his Master in His own den?’ she said.
Hawklan shook his head. ‘After my encounter with Oklar, I have some measure of my inadequacy for such a task,’ he said quietly.
‘Then what do you hope to achieve?’ Gulda asked simply.
‘I don’t know,’ Hawklan said bluntly. ‘But all the travelling I’ve done these past months has been without clear direction. To the Gretmearc, to Fyorlund, to Vakloss. All vaguely motivated, yet all apparently serving some fruitful end.’ He rested his hand on his sword. ‘Perhaps I’ll be able to kill Him. Perhaps I’ll be no more than a… focus… of some kind of… for greater powers… ’
‘Perhaps you’ll die,’ Gulda said.
Hawklan nodded in acceptance of this verdict. ‘But not easily, I hope,’ he added.
Gulda eased her hood back and leaned forward again. Her face was calm once more, and slightly amused. ‘So this is an act of faith then?’ she said.
Hawklan glanced repentantly at Andawyr. ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ he said awkwardly. ‘But it’s still the only alternative,’ he added defensively. ‘Our army will meet His. The Cadwanol will contend with the Uhriel, but someone must do battle with Sumeral Himself.’
‘And you are that one?’ Gulda inquired, not un-kindly.
‘Not by my choice,’ Hawklan said with a grimace of distaste. ‘But who else should it be?’
Gulda levelled a finger towards his sword. ‘That sword could indeed slay Sumeral,’ she said. ‘Perhaps your hand could wield it truly enough. But He has many weapons, and you haven’t the remotest skill with the Old Power. If He senses you coming, and He may well with that by your side, then He’ll dispatch you with a thought wherever you are.’
Hawklan looked at Andawyr. ‘That’s why I wanted Andawyr to come with us,’ he said. ‘He could offer us some protection.’
‘He can’t oppose Sumeral,’ Gulda said, raising her voice.
‘I didn’t ask him to come with us to do that,’ Hawk-lan replied, his own voice rising in response. ‘That task, whatever it proves to be, is mine. Andawyr has hidden from Sumeral’s vision before-perhaps he could do it for us.’
Gulda took a deep breath as if to launch into a pro-longed onslaught, but Hawklan struck first.
‘Sumeral is not what He was at His height,’ he said. ‘Nor, thus, His Uhriel. Had he been, He’d have swept out of Narsindal years ago instead of all this plotting and scheming.’
‘Don’t seek to understand His intentions,’ Gulda said warningly. ‘Didn’t we agree that?’ Her manner became severe. ‘And know this. Sumeral at one tenth His strength is far beyond anything that this Cadwanwr could attain, leader of his order or not.’
Andawyr nodded.
Hawklan turned to him. ‘Strength is of no avail against nothing,’ he said. ‘You hid from Sumeral by not opposing Him, didn’t you? You avoided Him because you had the knowledge to stay silent. That’s why I want you to come-your knowledge is the greater part of your true strength in this battle.’
‘I’m not arguing,’ Andawyr said, nodding towards Gulda. ‘I’ve already volunteered. But you’re right; silence is probably the only thing that will bring us to Derras Ustramel safely.’
Dar-volci yawned and stretched on Andawyr’s knee. ‘I’ll come as well,’ he said. ‘Sounds fun.’
Gulda ignored him and turned her attention to Lo-man and Isloman. ‘You think this is a good idea I suppose?’ she said.
‘No,’ Isloman said. ‘I think it’s an appalling, terrify-ing idea, but I doubt there’s any other, and I can’t do anything other than go.’ He leaned forward and spoke earnestly. ‘Apart from the atrocities that have been committed to people, there’s no true peace for me anywhere now if I do not oppose the… creature… who opened those mines and so defiled those ancient, resting rocks. All the work I’ve ever done, the knowledge I’ve gained, indeed, my whole life, would count for nothing if I did not set it in the balance against the worker of such an abomination.’
Gulda turned to Loman. He returned her gaze stead-ily.
‘Stop dithering, Gulda,’ he said impatiently. ‘There is no alternative. Sumeral and His Uhriel have to be killed. Wherever Ethriss is he’s beyond our immediate finding, but we have his sword, his bow, his castle and not least his Cadwanol with us. Hawklan’s the only person remotely capable of doing the job, and one way or another our Helyadin will get him to Derras Ustramel so that he can do it. All we need to discuss now are details.’
There was an ominous silence. Gulda’s face had darkened as Loman had spoken. Gavor whistled a vague tuneless dirge softly under his breath and looked at almost everything in the room except the two protago-nists. Even the snowflakes outside the window seemed to hover.
Gulda’s face contorted, at first in anger, then in an almost girlish mixture of amusement and distress.
‘It’s Memsa to you, young Loman, and don’t forget it,’ she said with a peculiarly unsteady chuckle. ‘On the whole I preferred your brother’s more poetic commit-ment, but you’re not without some mastery in simple communication. I commend the clarity of your vision.’
She laughed softly, but it was an uncertain sound, and her hand came to her face to wipe away tears.
‘I don’t know why I should laugh,’ she said. ‘Ethriss knows, I can’t think of anything more devoid of humour than what we’re talking about.’
She sniffed noisily and, retrieving a kerchief from somewhere, finished wiping her eyes. ‘When do you intend to go then?’ she said.
Hawklan looked at her uncertainly for a moment. ‘It is the only alternative, isn’t it?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Gulda replied, almost casually. ‘And the smith’s right. All we have to debate now are the details.’ She stood up and stumped over to the window. As she stood there, her reflection stared relentlessly through her as if she did not exist.
‘How will we keep in contact with you?’ Loman asked.
‘You won’t,’ Hawklan said. ‘You’ll have no idea where we are, and we’ll have no idea where you are. That way neither can inadvertently betray the other. No one, save us here, is to have any inkling of what we intend. It’s going to be a perilous journey at best, and if He’s forewarned… ’ Hawklan left the sentence unfin-ished. ‘To all inquiries your answer must be, "They’ve gone to seek and waken Ethriss." Neither of us can afford to waste time fretting about the other. Have no illusions; we must both succeed or we’ll both perish. Is that clear? Commitment must be total at all times.’
Loman nodded.
‘When are you going?’ Gulda asked again.
‘As soon as we can get over the mountains,’ Hawk-lan said. ‘And as soon as you wish after that, you can make preparations for the army to march.’
Gulda turned back from the window. ‘You’ll not leave before the Winter Festival, then. Or for some time after, if I’m any judge,’ she said, inclining her head towards the steadily falling snow.
Hawklan smiled. ‘I’d no intention of doing that anyway,’ he said. ‘This Festival is important; a beacon of light in the midst of the darkness in every way.’
He joined her at the window. The snow was falling very heavily now and, all around, the lights of the Castle were shining out to illuminate its silent, graceful, dance. It was a comforting and reassuring sight.
A little later, Andawyr lingered with Gulda after the others had left.
‘You were suspiciously quiet, sage,’ Gulda said with some irony.
Andawyr replied with affected airiness. ‘Far be it from me to venture amongst such incisive debaters,’ he said.
‘Can you protect them?’ Gulda said abruptly, brush-ing aside his facetious shield.
‘I can help them remain hidden, I think,’ Andawyr replied. ‘He’s not actually looking for us. But at the end… ’
He raised his hands in resignation. ‘Who can tell? I’ve risen to some trials recently that I’d have thought overwhelming only a year ago.’ Still holding Dar-volci, he hitched himself up on to her desk. ‘And the Order has changed too-remarkably. I’ll send who can be spared to you when we reach the Caves. If they can bind the Uhriel, then perhaps Hawklan and I between us… ’
He finished with a vague gesture. Conjecture about such a meeting was pointless.
Gulda’s eyes narrowed. ‘You and Hawklan may prove to be the best we can offer, but… ’ A look of realization spread across her face. ‘You still think he’s Ethriss, don’t you?’ Her voice was almost a whisper.
Andawyr hesitated, as if searching for a denial, then, stroking Dar-volci thoughtfully, he said, ‘I believe he carries the spirit of Ethriss within him, yes.’
‘But… ’
‘But everything indicates he’s the last Prince of Orthlund,’ Andawyr continued across Gulda’s interjec-tion. ‘Yes, I know that too, and I accept it. He is the last Prince. But I believe he also carries Ethriss.’
‘You cannot know this,’ Gulda said.
Andawyr nodded, agreeing with her doubts. ‘But it’s not completely an act of faith,’ he said, looking at her intently. She raised her eyebrows questioningly.
Andawyr swung down from the desk and laid Dar-volci gently on a nearby chair. ‘I’ve told no one here how we tried to make contact with the Guardians, and what happened,’ he said.
‘Would anyone have understood?’ Gulda said.
Andawyr ignored the question. ‘We made a great… silence… a stillness… the like of which I’ve never known. In it, as I told you, we became for a little while, the Guardians themselves.’ His face twisted and his hands fluttered with uncharacteristic uncertainty as he searched for words. ‘As our… joining… with the Guardians faded, we seemed to be drawn to something; something that was either bound… or hidden. And as we touched it, it stirred.’
‘Hawklan. In the cave,’ Gulda said. ‘The silence that woke him was of your making? The silence that quelled the Alphraan and so impressed that Goraidin, Dacu.’
Andawyr nodded. He took a chair and sat down very close to Gulda. ‘But our silence was an… absence… of conscious thought,’ he said earnestly. ‘It wasn’t something that could impose itself on others. What Dacu and the others felt was not of our making, it couldn’t have been, by its very nature.’
Gulda frowned.
‘It was something from Hawklan himself,’ Andawyr said, taking Gulda’s hand, as if for reassurance. ‘Some part of him responded to what we were doing and did the same, like the playing of one instrument will cause another lying idle, to sound. Only this was a far deeper, more intense echo of our actions if it could reach out to others like that. Especially others in such a state of agitation and fear.’
Gulda’s face was tense. ‘I understand,’ she said softly.
‘Somewhere inside that man lies Ethriss,’ Andawyr concluded. ‘Of that I’m certain, though it’s beyond my reaching.’
Gulda’s blue eyes fixed him. ‘And your hope is that Sumeral’s touch will rouse him?’
Andawyr met the gaze without flinching. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘Mine can’t. Oklar’s didn’t. Sumeral Himself becomes our only hope.’
Gulda let out a long breath and shook her head. ‘We hang by slender threads,’ she said. ‘You may be right or you may be wrong, but Hawklan mustn’t even guess at this. He must know to the depth of his being that ultimately it is he, and he alone, who must face and defeat Sumeral, mortal frame to mortal frame. The slightest hint that some other may appear to take the task from him could well destroy us all.’
Andawyr nodded vigorously, but Gulda’s gaze did not release him. ‘And you too must travel in the knowledge that you are probably wrong, or that you too will falter at the moment of need. Do you need my help in that? I’m not without some skill in the Old Power myself.’
Andawyr showed no surprise, but nodded an ac-knowledgement of this revelation. ‘No thank you, Memsa,’ he said. ‘Like Hawklan, I can only face Sumeral with hope if I’m aware of the true nature of my burden.’
Gulda reached out and covered his hand with her own.
Outside, the snow fell, its legion soldiers patiently transforming the Orthlundyn countryside.