A brilliant sun made the snow-covered fields dazzling, and a sharp wind tumbled clouds across the blue sky. It also tumbled anything light enough through the whirling confusion of activity that was the Orthlundyn camp.
Tents and shelters were being dismantled and wres-tled with in the chilly buffeting breeze; people were running hither and thither-it was too cold to stand still; food, weapons, clothes were being packed vigor-ously, and a wide-eyed Ffyrst stared on in some amazement.
‘You brought all this on your backs?’ he said.
‘Most of it,’ Loman said. ‘But the horses carried the bigger items.’
Urthryn dismounted. ‘I commend you,’ he said. ‘I can’t avoid the feeling that some of my people would fall over if they had to travel more than a hundred paces without a horse.’
Loman laughed. ‘I think we can call a truce on that,’ he said. ‘I’ll not mock your walking if you don’t mock our riding.’
Urthryn drew in a long, bargaining, breath through pursed lips. ‘You’re asking a lot, Orthlundyn,’ he said.
Loman was unyielding. ‘Exigencies of war, horse-man. Exigencies of war,’ he pronounced.
Before the debate could continue however, Hawklan came between the two men.
‘None of your people are on patrol, are they?’ he asked Urthryn.
The Ffyrst nodded. ‘None,’ he said. ‘As you asked. Are you leaving now?’
‘Yes,’ Hawklan replied. ‘All of us as we agreed. Sepa-rately and quietly. The fewer see us, the better.’
Several days had passed since the funeral. It was an interlude which had given both Orthlundyn and Riddinvolk the opportunity for a much needed rest. Urthryn’s galloping messengers had brought no grim news from the Cadwanol of approaching armies and, as he had promised, supplies began to arrive. Also, to his undisguised relief and pleasure, so did further fighting squadrons.
Yet it was also a hectic time as the various travellers exchanged their histories, and officers from the two armies began to learn about the intricacies of each other’s forces and make detailed plans for the intended journeys.
Urthryn however, was still troubled at times by Hawklan’s pointed refusal to explain his own intentions further. Now he tried once more.
‘I’d feel much happier if I knew more clearly what you’re going to do, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘This business about Guardians and Ethriss and suchlike still feels decidedly odd to me.’ He raised a hand to fend off the inevitable reply. ‘Yes, I know, I’ve seen what I’ve seen and I’ve heard what I’ve heard, but I can’t help thinking that a good arrow storm would have brought those two Uhriel and that damned bird thing down, and they bled easy enough when Gravy laid into them.’
Hawklan laughed and put his arms around the shoulders of the two men.
Urthryn looked at him suspiciously. ‘You’re just going to say "Trust me", aren’t you?’ he said.
Hawklan shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, smiling. ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking that. You said it yourself; you’ve seen what you’ve seen, and you’ve heard what you’ve heard. Trust your eyes and your ears if you can’t trust the seat of your trousers.’
Urthryn scowled. ‘You’re worse than a Fyordyn to argue with,’ he said.
‘I try,’ Hawklan said. ‘I try.’
Then he became more serious, tightening his grip on the two men affectionately. ‘Loman, you know my heart. Take care in the mountains. I imagine Gulda will have the Fyordyn either in order or rebellion by now. Urthryn, you know more than you realize. Pay heed to Oslang and the Goraidin. Take great care in Narsindal, and plenty of arrows.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Make no great scene of this parting. We’ll all meet again at Derras Ustramel.’
And with a brief embrace he was gone, striding off into the camp’s busy traffic.
From the top of a nearby tent, Gavor launched him-self after the retreating form. His landing was not one of his best.
‘Whoops, sorry, dear boy,’ he said thrusting his wooden leg into Hawklan’s jacket to gain his balance.
‘How’s the wing?’ Hawklan asked unsympathetically, straightening his collar.
‘Better,’ Gavor declared, hopping up on to Hawk-lan’s head. ‘Better. I’m well known for my great powers of recovery.’
Hawklan sniffed. ‘You’re still yawing I notice,’ he said.
Gavor bent forward and stared indignantly into Hawklan’s inverted face. ‘Don’t get technical with me, healer,’ he said. ‘You stick to your potions, I’ll do the flying.’
Hawklan laughed, but Gavor maintained a stern, figurehead dignity until they reached Serian.
‘All farewells made?’ Hawklan said as he mounted his horse.
‘I’d none to make,’ Serian said. ‘Let’s start this jour-ney now.’
Hawklan patted him. ‘Forward then,’ he said. ‘We’ll head south and then circle out of sight of the camp.’
Within the hour, Hawklan found himself approach-ing a small group of riders heading north. A quick glance told him that he was the last to arrive and as he joined them, the group began to move forward at an easy trot.
They maintained that pace for the rest of the day, and when they finally stopped to camp, Hawklan pronounced himself well pleased. Andawyr was less so, slithering down from his horse with shameless indig-nity.
‘I’m really going to have to put more effort into this,’ he said.
Hawklan laughed. ‘You’re going to have to put less effort into it,’ he retorted.
Andawyr growled sulkily.
Later, in the warmth of their shelter, Hawklan eased the pain in the Cadwanwr’s rebelling muscles. When he had finished, his hands were glowing and he rubbed them together slowly and gently, examining them as he did so.
‘What’s the matter?’ Andawyr asked.
‘Nothing,’ Hawklan replied reassuringly. ‘It’s just nice to be able to heal simple aches and pains again after the… ’ He hesitated. ‘After the hospital tent.’
Andawyr nodded understandingly and stretched his small frame out luxuriously but cautiously. ‘I think you’re going to have plenty of simple aches and pains between here and the caves,’ he said, yawning.
Hawklan smiled. ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘You’ve not got this far by refusing to learn, and you’ll be wiser by far in a day or so.’
Andawyr, however, was asleep, and Hawklan’s prophecy was greeted with a snore.
Hawklan’s eyes narrowed at the sound and he leaned forward and gently closed the Cadwanwr’s mouth.
Over the next few days the wind became less strong, though it was occasionally blustery, and throughout had a raw, damp, edge to it that the fitful sun did little to allay. The snows were beginning to thaw.
As the group rode steadily on, well muffled and wrapped, and speaking little, the northern mountains gradually came into view, their white jagged peaks rising eventually to dominate the entire horizon like the teeth of some monstrous trap.
Occasionally Dacu consulted the map that he had been given by Urthryn, but this was usually only to add some note of his own. The route they were travelling was all too clear. Being that which would be followed by both the Orthlundyn and the Muster, it had been well marked by the Muster riders who had been preparing supply caches to ease the marching army’s burden. The tracks of these riders and the slow thawing of the snow also served to disguise the group’s own progress.
Steadily they moved further away from the com-bined army unknowingly following them. Reaching the point where the Orthlundyn would leave their route to follow the one along which the Queen had been brought, the group stopped briefly.
‘Are you sure that those High Guards can find their way back?’ Hawklan asked, momentarily concerned as he looked at the desolate, unwelcoming mountains.
Dacu laughed. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And so are you. Almost everyone in the army has a copy of the route, and they’re not exactly devoid of intelligence, are they?’
Hawklan raised an apologetic hand and the group continued northwards.
Eventually one point in the scene ahead of them began to displace the dominance of the cold magnifi-cence of the mountains. It was the bleak maw of the Pass of Elewart.
‘Well over a day’s ride,’ Dacu estimated as they paused to look at it.
There were doubting murmurs from some of the others, but Andawyr nodded. ‘We’ll not even reach the caves by tonight,’ he said. ‘School yourselves for another night in the shelters.’ His manner was cheery and somewhat at odds with the sombre mood that the sight of the Pass had induced in the others. With unexpected enthusiasm he clicked his horse forward. ‘And do you think you could do something about whoever’s snoring, Hawklan, he keeps waking me up,’ he shouted back.
Both he and Dacu were correct. As night fell, the Pass seemed little nearer, and they were obliged to make camp again.
The following day greeted them with whirling show-ers of sleet: damp snowflakes and large cold raindrops. Tirke, still cautious of Dacu and his unequivocal wakening technique, was as usual the first awake. He opened the entrance of the shelter, peered out groggily, and broke the news.
‘My favourite weather,’ he said heavily as he crawled out and peered around.
The Pass, the mountains, everything beyond a few hundred paces, was gone, hidden in a dull greyness.
‘Welcome to the mountains,’ Andawyr said, his unwarranted cheerfulness persisting.
Quieter than ever, the small procession of grey sil-houettes set out again, Andawyr taking the lead and the horses picking their way carefully through the damp, treacherous snow.
Hawklan gazed around. Even in the mist, he could feel the mountains nearby, huge and oppressive. It was a sensation quite different from that of the mountains which bordered Orthlund and couched Anderras Darion. Remembering Isloman’s response to the mines, he looked across at him anxiously. The carver however, seemed more intrigued than distressed. He caught Hawklan’s glance and brought his horse alongside. His expression was amused.
‘I do believe you’re hearing the rock song at last, Hawklan,’ he said. Then he laughed, and the sound echoed from somewhere. ‘Mind you, you’d be deaf not to. These rocks have a powerful song indeed. Like nothing I’ve ever heard before. There’ll be some rare carvings to be found here; rare carvings.’ He fell silent for a little while. ‘We must come here one day,’ he said softly, apparently to no one in particular.
‘Doesn’t the Pass disturb you?’ Andawyr asked.
Isloman shook his head. ‘I can feel some distress there, but nothing can disturb me after the mines,’ he said. ‘And this isn’t the same. The mines were like a… deep… purposeful, malevolence. What I feel here is more like an echo-an echo of a long dead rage. Long, long dead. Something whose effects are well buried under eons of rain and wind. I look forward to seeing the Pass. I think it’ll have a strange song all its own.’
Andawyr looked at him approvingly, but did not pursue the discussion.
Gradually the sleet became a fine soaking drizzle and the mist cleared a little. Coming to the top of a small incline, Tirke was about to ask, ‘How much further?’ when Andawyr pointed towards a cluster of buildings which were just becoming visible.
They stood at the foot of a rock face which rose sheer above them to disappear into the mist, and their apparently indiscriminate positioning over the tumbling ground reminded Hawklan immediately of Pedhavin.
The resemblance ended there though as, unlike those on the Pedhavin houses, the roofs were very steep, with eaves that swept down past the walls as if anxious to usurp their function and fasten themselves to the ground. So steep were the roofs in fact, that little or no snow had stuck to them and even from a distance, the travellers could see ornate patterns laid out in the green and blue slates that covered them.
‘Home sweet home,’ Andawyr said, smiling broadly.
Most of the party tried to look enthusiastic, but whatever they had been expecting, a quaint hamlet of stone cottages was not it.
Inevitably it was Tirke who paved the way for the virtuous to follow. ‘Where are the caves?’ he asked Andawyr, almost querulously.
Andawyr fought off a smile and waved a casual hand in a direction well to the left of the village.
‘You surprise me, Helyadin,’ he said. ‘I’d heard you had quite an eye for such things. That’s a bit bigger than an Alphraan’s cave, isn’t it?’
Tirke followed the pointing hand and then cleared his throat awkwardly.
Looming through the rain-swept greyness was a dark shape in the rock face. It was so large that it made the village seem like a cluster of children’s toys, and several of the group closed and opened their eyes in an attempt to accommodate the sudden change in perspective.
Isloman threw back his head and laughed. ‘Never mind, Tirke,’ he said, laying a great hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘If it’s any consolation, I didn’t see it either.’ And as he laughed again, the sound spread over his companions like sunlight bursting from behind a dark cloud.
Despite the enormous cave mouth nearby however, Hawklan still could not avoid a sense of anti-climax in finding that the home of the Cadwanol was no more than a mountain village, albeit with rather unusual architecture. He made no outward sign however, continuing to smile at Isloman’s merriment.
Unexpectedly, Dar-volci peered out from Andawyr’s robe. He gazed around for a moment, twitching his nose, then, grunting gruffly to himself, slithered down from the horse and lolloped off across the snow. ‘See you later,’ he shouted back over his shoulder, and suddenly, with a joyous whistle, he was gone.
Andawyr shook his head and smiled, but said noth-ing.
As they drew nearer to the village, Hawklan saw that the streets were empty but, quite suddenly, without any bell or other alarm apparently being sounded, people, hastily pulling on cloaks and capes, began to emerge from the houses and gather in the main street.
Andawyr dismounted as they reached the first houses and was immediately surrounded by the villagers. He shook the hands of some, embraced others, and generally talked to several people at once; there was much laughing and excitement. Guiltily, Hawklan found that his sense of disappointment was not lessened by the very ordinariness of these people.
Gradually, Andawyr managed to bring about some semblance of order to the small crowd, then he gestured the others to follow him and set off up the winding main street through the village. Hawklan and Isloman exchanged glances as they set off again; despite the haughty appearance of the strange high-pitched cottages, and the towering proximity of the great rock face, the village at close quarters was even more like Pedhavin, save for the absence of carvings filling every blank wall.
The villagers walked alongside the group like smil-ing flank guards, though none made any attempt to speak to the new arrivals.
Andawyr eventually stopped outside a building which, like others nearby, was built hard against the looming rock. Some of the villagers ran forward to drag open two large wooden doors, and Andawyr gestured his companions inside.
As the doors closed behind them, Hawklan and the others dismounted and looked around. It was a large barn, high roofed and airy, with one side occupied by a great haystack which filled the air with a characteristic mixture of freshness and mustiness. Along the other side were stalls for the horses, and an assortment of rakes, pitchforks, ropes and harnesses, and many other pieces of farming paraphernalia.
Gavor thrust his head out from Hawklan’s cloak, and with a cheery croak, flapped up to one of the high roof beams. As he landed he disturbed a small flurry of dust which floated lazily down through the still air.
Hawklan looked up at him and noticed that though the place was well lit, he could see no lights of any kind.
‘Unsaddle your horses and rub them down,’ An-dawyr said, taking a host’s command over the hesitating group. ‘There’s plenty fodder and water for them here and there’ll be plenty for us when we’ve finished.’
‘Are we going to walk to the caves?’ Isloman asked, gesturing vaguely towards the doors. ‘It looked to be quite a distance.’
Andawyr looked puzzled for a moment, then, reali-zation dawning, he shook his head. ‘Ah, you mean the cave, just outside the village,’ he said, his two hands drawing out a great arch through the warm, comforting air. ‘No,’ he went on, disparagingly. ‘That’s just to impress visitors. The Caves proper are well hidden. Don’t worry, you won’t get wet reaching them.’ He chuckled to himself then set about unsaddling his horse. ‘Come on, I’m hungry,’ he said.
Though none the wiser, his guests followed his en-thusiastic example. It took some time to dry off the horses, but no one seemed inclined to hurry. It was the first time that any of them had been in a building other than a tent or shelter since they had left Orthlund and, humdrum though the place was, its large, warm space gave it a distinctly luxurious aura.
The task eventually done, and the horses feeding contentedly, all eyes turned to Andawyr expectantly. He gestured to a small battered door at the rear of the barn. It looked as if it might be the entrance to a disused storeroom.
‘Don’t worry about the lights as you step through,’ he said, struggling with the latch. ‘They’re rather bright and you may have difficulty seeing clearly. They need adjusting. Just walk straight ahead to the far door and go through it, I’ll be with you in a moment.’ The door creaked open and a brilliant light flooded through the opening, causing some gasps of surprise from the watchers. The barn around them was plunged into gloomy unreality by contrast, and Gavor’s black shadow expanded across the roof space as he glided silently down to join the others.
‘They certainly do need some adjusting,’ said Islo-man, laughing, as he lifted a hand to shield his eyes, but Andawyr made no acknowledgement other than to shepherd them all urgently through the doorway. As Hawklan passed behind the others, Andawyr stepped after him and pulled the door shut.
The barn became real again; rich with warm odours and silent except for the occasional clatter of a horse’s hoof on the stone floor.
After a few short paces through the dazzling bright-ness, the group passed through a second door and emerged into a long corridor, blinking and laughing like bewildered children. A soft echoing ring sounded as each came through the doorway.
Waiting to meet them were two old men, dressed in simple white robes such as Andawyr wore, but noticea-bly less untidy.
‘Philean, Hath,’ Andawyr said, smiling broadly as he stepped forward and took their extended hands. ‘It’s good to see you both manning the fort so well. And it’s good to be back. Have you water and soaps and warm towels for your beloved leader and his guests?’ He closed his eyes rapturously.
The larger of the two Cadwanwr looked at him sternly. ‘You were ever a hedonist, Andawyr,’ he said. ‘But in deference to the rigours your brave companions have been through, we’ve prepared a modest greeting for them which we hope will meet with their approval.’
‘Lead on, lead on,’ said Andawyr unrepentantly, waving his arms enthusiastically. ‘I’ll introduce everyone as we go.’
Later, lounging back into a soft, supporting chair, Isloman stared up at the ceiling. It was undecorated, like the few other rooms and corridors he had seen, but it was delicately curved and lit by torches very similar to those that lit Anderras Darion. He smiled in apprecia-tion of the subtle shadows that they threw, then he blew out a long, sated, breath. ‘I had no idea I’d become so disgusting after all those weeks marching and camping,’ he said. ‘And I’d forgotten completely what good food tasted like. Andawyr, you have a slave for life.’
A few grunts from his neighbours confirmed that this was the opinion of them all and that further discussion would be superfluous.
‘Don’t thank me,’ Andawyr said. ‘Thank Philean and Hath and the other brothers who prepared everything.’ He chuckled. ‘Mind you, I suspect the baths were as much for their benefit as ours. We’ve become used to one another, but I shouldn’t imagine any of us were too fragrant, and Philean was always very fastidious.’
‘Your wisdom remains undimmed, Andawyr,’ Philean said, bowing ironically.
The room fell silent again and apart from the soft undefined noise of occasional activity outside, the only sound that could be heard was that of Gavor’s wooden leg as he clumped about the table in search of uneaten morsels.
Slowly the euphoria passed and the needs of the times began to reassert themselves. Andawyr levered himself upright and stretched. Philean and Hath were seated on either side of him. He looked from one to the other.
‘Now we must talk,’ he said. ‘The essence of the battle I put in my message. Do you need to know anything further about it before we begin?’
Both shook their heads. ‘Your message told us eve-rything,’ Philean said. ‘A terrible affair. It needs no immediate amplification. Only the future matters now.’
Andawyr nodded. ‘Creost and Dar Hastuin came north,’ he said. ‘Did you see them?’
‘They flew along the Pass,’ Hath replied, grimacing. ‘Our seeing stones brought the sight to us, and the sound of Usgreckan seems to echo yet around the peaks.’
Andawyr folded his hands in front of himself and shook his head pensively.
‘What’s the matter?’ Hawklan asked.
Andawyr squeezed his nose between his fingers. ‘I’m finding it difficult to think that we’re succeeding,’ he said. ‘Sumeral’s Uhriel have all been returned to their Master, wounded and demeaned. Yet it has the feeling of having been too easy. Almost as if it were intended to be thus. It concerns me.’
‘Dismiss your concern,’ Hawklan said coldly. ‘Only a little while ago we were tired, hungry, and dirty; now the discomfort’s all forgotten. Days ago you and Atelon were faltering, facing death or worse, before Creost’s assault, yet your agony was forgotten almost as soon as Cadmoryth’s ship struck him. Months ago I floundered across Riddin, Orthlund and Fyorlund and was swept into who knows what world by Oklar’s anger; yet all that confusion and pain is forgotten now. It’s the nature of the creatures we are to forget the totality of the horror of such things. If we’re lucky, we remember enough to learn from. Think, Andawyr, think. You know that nothing so far has been easy. We’ve all been tried to new limits in our different ways and any of us could have fallen at any time. Suffice it that we’re all here now, as whole as we’ve ever been. Wiser by far, and set to continue on our journey.’
He leaned forward and stared into Andawyr’s face. ‘And remember this. We decided that we wouldn’t concern ourselves with Sumeral’s intentions. His mind is beyond us. We can’t use cunning and treachery as He does, we must use simplicity and directness.’ He waved a hand round his listeners, almost angrily. ‘Tell them why we’re here.’
Philean and Hath seemed disconcerted by this pub-lic rebuking of their leader, but Andawyr just nodded thoughtfully.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. The debat-ing’s long ended.’
He looked round the room hesitantly, then cleared his throat.
‘When you were asked if you wished to accompany us on this journey, we told you what we told everyone else,’ he began. ‘Namely, that we were going to search for Ethriss and waken him. Our army-and the Muster, and the Fyordyn-go forth in the belief that they will face only soldiers-men, Mandrocs, whatever-but mortal creatures, capable of being brought down by the sword. They believe that my brothers will protect them from the dreadful Power of the Uhriel and that Ethriss will be brought forth somehow to oppose Sumeral Himself.’
Despite the warmth and comfort of the room, his tone seemed to bring a chill to everyone.
‘But…?’ Tirke anticipated, seizing on the doubt in Andawyr’s voice.
‘But,’ Andawyr echoed, as though grateful for the prompting. ‘We do not know where Ethriss is.’
There was a long silence, and when he spoke again, it was slowly and apparently with great reluctance. ‘The Guardians themselves do not know where he is. We could wander for generations and not find him. And even if we found him, there’s no guarantee that we’d have the skill to waken him.’ He looked around at everyone again. ‘We cannot assume that Ethriss will aid us. We must be prepared to face Sumeral alone.’
Though no one moved, Hawklan felt the emotions whirling round through his companions; disbelief, doubt, fear, anger-mainly anger.
He spoke before it found voice.
‘You may ponder all these matters as I have done, endlessly, but you’ll find nothing that could have been done to keep us from the path which has led us here.’ The pending questions spent themselves unheard against the rock of his presence.
‘But this is not the time of the First Coming,’ he went on. ‘Things are not as they were. Now Sumeral is known for what He is before He has spread His corruption throughout the world. The Cadwanol is wiser and stronger by far than in those times, while the Uhriel are weaker. And some power has given us the great armoury of Anderras Darion to arm the awakened Orthlundyn, and the black bow and sword of Ethriss… ’
‘And you, Hawklan,’ Andawyr said, before he could continue. ‘We have been given you, with your strange skills learned and honed in another age.’
Hawklan did not answer.
‘What are we here for, if not to find Ethriss?’ Yrain asked. Her voice was carefully controlled but her face was strained.
‘We’re here to go quietly into Derras Ustramel, and kill Sumeral.’
The voice was Dacu’s. All eyes turned to him and then scattered back to Andawyr and Hawklan.
Both nodded, unsurprised by the Goraidin’s correct deduction.
There was a sudden babbling upsurge of questions, but Hawklan spoke over and through it, his voice final. ‘This can be done,’ he said. ‘Andawyr, Isloman and I go because we cannot do otherwise. Yrain, Jenna, Tybek, you were chosen because you’re amongst our finest Helyadin. Athyr, you also, and because you’re a Morlider Veteran. Dacu, because you’re Goraidin and a Veteran. Jaldaric, Tirke, because you bring special qualities of your own; you, Jaldaric, from your impris-onment, you, Tirke, from your journey through the mountains.’
‘We haven’t the skills of Yrain and the others,’ Jalda-ric said awkwardly.
Hawklan nodded. ‘I know,’ he replied. ‘But you’re more than good enough to hold your own and you bring old Fyordyn skills with you, as does Dacu.’
There was a brief silence. Gavor’s head appeared from behind a bowl of fruit. ‘What about me, dear boy?’ he asked.
‘You’re coming to guard my back and to watch our way,’ Hawklan said, turning to look at him.
Green eyes and black met; old friends.
‘Ah,’ Gavor said, after a moment. ‘And as a conscript I see.’
‘Yes.’
Gavor gave a soft ‘Hrmph,’ of injured resignation and disappeared behind the fruit bowl again.
The brief exchange eased some of the confused tension that had filled the room.
‘This venture was kept from the people for fear of its inadvertently coming to the ears of the enemy,’ Hawklan said. ‘The journey will be hard enough without their being warned of our coming. However, I’ll admit that the deceit distresses me… ’
He fell silent and stared absently at the table. A nearby torch was shining through a clear glass goblet and throwing a splash of multi-coloured light on to the heavily grained surface. He gave a slight sigh, and Gavor’s head came inquisitively over the fruit bowl again.
The brief introspection faded quickly, however, and he looked round again at his companions. ‘Our chances of success at the end are not calculable,’ he said. ‘They’re probably very small… I just don’t know. If any of you wish to leave, then do so without any reproach from me. Ride back and wait for the army and hold your peace.’ Then, in contrast to these words, his voice and manner became grimly purposeful. ‘However, if you wish to stay, understand this: I value Orthlund and my life there, and however small the odds, I intend to return to both in due course. I have no intention of winning this cause by dying for it. I have a memory of advice from someone, somewhere: "You win by making the other poor devil die for his cause." It’s advice I intend to follow. Indeed, I commend it to you all.’
He sat back. ‘Now,’ he concluded. ‘Who rides with us?’
‘I do,’ said Dacu quietly. His reply was echoed unanimously round the table. The healer in Hawklan rose to reproach him at his success in engineering the loyalty of his chosen group, but the warrior rose too and laid the reproach aside. ‘They are as trapped as we are,’ he said, ‘and their vision is clear enough for them to see it.’
‘Good,’ Hawklan said simply.
‘Er…?’ said Gavor tentatively.
‘Silence in the ranks,’ someone said, and the last vestiges of tension disappeared in laughter.
‘When do we leave?’ Tirke asked.
‘Fairly soon,’ Hawklan replied. ‘Within the next few days. We need to study whatever maps and charts are to be had here, and plot out a route as well as we can. We need to learn what we can about the ways of the Mandrocs, and we have to replenish our supplies and also learn enough about Narsindal to be able to survive when they run out.’
There was much head nodding at these observations and Yrain started to ask a question.
Hawklan raised his hand. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said gen-tly. ‘Tomorrow, we begin properly. But for the rest of this evening, let’s just talk and enjoy this peace.’
Yrain tried not to frown.
Hawklan smiled. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Just this one last thing. And let me anticipate your question. We have no specific plan of campaign. We are Helyadin and Goraidin, doing one of the things that such troops are intended to do; entering the enemy’s territory like shadows and doing as much harm as possible. In this instance, striking to its very heart. Our tactics will be to put one foot in front of the other… very carefully.’
Over the following days, the group studied the docu-ments that the Cadwanwr produced for them and, amongst other things, decided upon the route for the first part of their journey. It was not one they had anticipated and it left Hawklan with a sad task which he postponed until the end.
‘You cannot come with me,’ he said to Serian, laying his hand on the horse’s muscular flank. Serian shifted, his feet clattering on the stone floor, but he did not speak.
‘We have to go through the caves to reach Narsin-dal,’ Hawklan went on. ‘Andawyr fears that the Pass itself may be watched, and any news of our arrival could prove disastrous.’
Serian shifted again. ‘This is not the way it should be,’ he said eventually. ‘You and I should ride against Sumeral together.’
Hawklan pressed his forehead against the animal and closed his eyes. ‘So our hearts say, horse,’ he said. ‘But circumstances dictate otherwise.’
Serian’s hoof scratched at the floor fretfully.
‘I go where I must, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘Set me free to find another destiny.’
‘You’ve always been free, my friend,’ Hawklan said. ‘I’ve already told the Cadwanwr that your door is to be open so that you may leave when you please.’
Serian bowed his head low. ‘Farewell then, prince,’ he said. ‘Until we meet again.’
Hawklan put his arms round the horse’s neck and embraced him, then he turned and left without speak-ing.
‘At Derras Ustramel,’ Serian said softly as the bat-tered door closed and the sudden flaring light in the barn became dim again.
Returning to his companions, Hawklan found them fully laden and anxious to start. Their enthusiasm drew him from his introspection and he smiled as Dacu helped him fasten his heavy pack.
‘Everything checked?’ he asked. The Goraidin grunted a terse confirmation.
‘Who’s carrying my food?’ Gavor asked suddenly, in great alarm.
Each looked at the other and shrugged a wide-eyed disclaimer.
‘Don’t worry, Gavor,’ Tirke said. ‘We’ll see you get well fed. You’re the emergency ration.’
There was some laughter at this, but a small circle cleared expectantly as Gavor walked slowly across to him.
‘Very droll, Tirke,’ the raven said darkly. ‘Very droll.’ Tirke cringed a little in anticipation of some form of retaliation, but Gavor turned as if to move away. ‘Oh,’ he said, turning back again casually. ‘I was sorry to hear about your sore leg.’
Tirke, mildly relieved at escaping so lightly after such an indiscretion, gazed at him in some surprise, and shook his head. ‘I haven’t got a sore leg,’ he said.
‘Really?’ Gavor said, then his black beak shot for-ward and struck Tirke’s shin with a resounding thud. ‘I could have sworn you had.’
While Tirke was executing a small hopping dance to renewed laughter from his friends, Gavor flapped up on to Hawklan’s shoulder. ‘And another thing, Tirke, dear boy,’ he said. ‘It’s not wise to talk about eating one’s companions when one’s made out of meat oneself, is it?’
‘Peace,’ said Hawklan, trying not to laugh. ‘There’ll be plenty to fight about before we’ve reached the end of this journey. Andawyr, lead on if you would, please.’
Andawyr did some final wriggling underneath his pack until it was comfortable then set off down the long stone corridor. Though it was deep below ground it was well lit by the window stones which brought bright, daylight scenes from the surface. Since Andawyr’s return, the seeing stones had been readjusted, and at least half of them gave a view of some part of the Pass. This had been done throughout the whole cave system thus ensuring that in addition to a formal watch being maintained, a substantial informal one was kept also.
Occasionally they passed through an arch decorated with strange glowing symbols and the same soft echoing ring that had greeted their entry to the Caves sounded again.
‘What is that?’ Athyr asked.
‘The Caves are on Full Watch,’ Andawyr said. ‘They’re riddled with traps and devices to protect us from the many strange foes that have beset us through the ages. Had you carried His taint, you’d not have survived so far. The chime celebrates your wholeness.’
The matter-of-fact tone of his voice was more chill-ing than any threat could have been and Athyr let the topic lie.
Then Andawyr led them through a short dazzling passage like the one through which they had passed from the stable.
As Isloman stepped out, blinking, he found himself in another long corridor. It too was brightly lit, but by torches not window stones. He gazed around, his head back like an animal scenting some subtle change carried on the breeze. ‘We’re much deeper,’ he said. ‘Very much deeper. How can that be?’
Andawyr nodded appreciatively. ‘How did you know we were so deep, carver?’ he said by way of answer. Then, relenting a little, ‘We call them the Slips,’ he said. ‘They spare us the toil of endless flights of stairs but they’re really a part of our defence system. Each entrance has many exits and some are into regions which are far away from here, and far from pleasant.’
Again his matter-of-fact tone was chilling.
‘We could use them at Anderras Darion,’ Isloman said ruefully, remembering the endless stairs of the Castle.
Andawyr laughed. ‘You have them at Anderras Darion,’ he said. ‘But they’ll only work when they’re needed. If the Castle were to be attacked, for example.’ He laughed again. ‘Ethriss always did have a bit of the stern puritan about him.’
They walked a little further in silence until, round-ing a corner, they came upon Philean and Hath, waiting by an open doorway.
Andawyr unslung his pack and spoke to the two men quietly for a moment. Then, seemingly satisfied, he turned to Hawklan. ‘This is where the bird is kept. The eye of the Vrwystin a Goleg that you brought to my quarters at the Gretmearc.’ He paused and looked a little apologetic. ‘In my heart I abused you for a profound fool at the time, but now I marvel at the slender threads that brought it to us, to waken our Order and blind our enemy.’ He shook his head. ‘We do right to be simple and direct,’ he said. ‘Who can say what ends any act may lead to?’
Hawklan peered into the room. Behind a large cen-tral column a blue radiance tinted the torchlight. He made to step inside, but Andawyr laid a hand on his arm. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I came this way just to satisfy myself that it was soundly held. No one knows the true powers of the creature. I’d rather it didn’t see you.’
Hawklan nodded and stepped back as Andawyr entered the room.
The Cadwanwr was scarcely in the room, however, when the blue radiance flared up abruptly and an ominous rumble shook the room and the corridor. Andawyr faltered, and even as he hesitated the blue light flickered brilliantly then vanished, and the air was filled with a hate-filled shrieking that Hawklan recognized at once.
The bird was free.
Strange, strident chimes began to echo along the corridor.
Hawklan watched spellbound as Andawyr’s arms rose up and a brilliant white light shone from them and wrapped itself around the wide column. The shrieking intensified.
‘Hide yourself!’ Andawyr’s voice, speaking unex-pectedly in the Fyordyn battle language, seemed to come infinitely slowly to Hawklan’s ears as he felt other reflexes taking command of him.
The black sword was in his hand almost before he realized his intention to draw it, but as he stepped forward, a figure moved in front of him and struck him a blow on the chest that sent him staggering. ‘Hide yourself,’ came the slow command again. Hawklan saw that it was the old Cadwanwr, Hath, and even as he fell backwards he wondered at the old man’s speed and strength.
Both Philean and Hath were now in the room; wild struggling silhouettes against a demented flickering brilliance which seemed to resonate with the appalling screeching of the bird.
Briefly, a hint of blue returned to the light, but al-most immediately the room and the corridor shook violently, and with a cry all three men were sent sprawling back through the doorway.
Scarcely yet on balance, Hawklan had a vision of a flitting brown shape and two malevolent yellow eyes seeking for him. Into his head came the terrible cacophony that had tormented him at the Gretmearc, but now it was thunderous and triumphant, like the song of a pack of predators converging on its prey.
He could see the Cadwanwr reaching out to him, but they would be too slow, he knew. Then his arms were swinging high and the black sword struck the demented creature an appalling blow in mid-flight.
There was a bright, blood-red flash.
Days before, a far lesser blow had cleaved a stout Morlider shield effortlessly, but instead of the bird falling, broken and destroyed, it merely flew on, still shrieking. Hawklan felt the Sword torn from his grasp by the impact.
He heard it clattering to the floor somewhere as he himself was falling over, raising his arms to his face to shield himself from the screaming bird.
Before the baleful eyes turned to him, however, a long, brown shape interposed itself and with a powerful twisting leap, Dar-volci closed his massive teeth around the swerving bird. The tone of the shrieking changed immediately; not to anger, Hawklan noted, but to a mixture of surprise and fear.
As Dar-volci landed, he gave his head a blurring series of neck-breaking shakes. The bird’s screaming wobbled incongruously and with a final shake, Dar-volci released it and sent it crashing back into the room.
The door slammed shut behind it untouched, with a deafening crash, and the three Cadwanwr threw themselves against it. The rumbling that had shaken the cave before redoubled itself, but it faded as the three Cadwanwr passed their hands over the thin line that marked the edge of the door.
Finally all was still, though the strident ringing still clattered along the corridor. Turning round and leaning against the door, Andawyr slid gracelessly to the floor. His two companions looked at him but made no effort to lift him up. All three looked shocked and drained.
Someone retrieved Hawklan’s sword and thrust it into his hand. He became aware of the sound of running feet and knew that Cadwanwr from all over the Caves were converging on this one small room. When he spoke, his voice seemed to echo strangely in his head, ‘What happened?’ he asked inadequately.
Andawyr did not reply but began struggling back to his feet. Dacu and Tirke stepped forward to help him. He nodded a cursory thanks then turned again to face the door, at the same time reaching out to take hold of Philean and Hath.
The three stood for a moment in some strange, silent, communion, then Andawyr stepped back. ‘We can do no more,’ he said. ‘It would do too much harm.’ He looked at the gathering crowd of brothers and acolytes. ‘We’ve been massively assailed,’ he said. ‘But the creature’s held and the immediate danger’s over. I commend you all on the speed with which you answered the call, but no help is needed now. Brothers Philean and Hath will tell you exactly what’s occurred shortly, in the meantime, return to your duties. Maintain the Full Watch.’
Reluctantly the crowd began to disperse.
‘I’ll come with you to the last door to ensure the seals are sound,’ Hath said to Andawyr. ‘But we mustn’t delay.’
Andawyr nodded and, picking up his pack, began urging Hawklan and the others forward. ‘Quickly,’ he said. ‘We must leave immediately. If the Vrwystin tries to free the bird again, the Caves may be sealed auto-matically.’
Hawklan postponed his questioning in the face of Andawyr’s urgency. Hastily the little man hustled them along the corridor and then through another Slip.
They emerged into a wide circular area with a low, domed ceiling. Around it were several arches, though what they led to could not be seen as beyond each lay darkness.
‘This way,’ Andawyr said, striding towards one of them.
As they passed through, torches burst into life to illuminate a long corridor. It was markedly smaller than any of the others they had been through and the walls were more roughly hewn and less well polished. There was also a sense of oppression about the place that the torches, with their dimmer, yellower light, did little to alleviate.
The corridor took them steadily downwards and ended in a small flight of steps. At the bottom of these was a heavy wooden door secured by three great iron bolts. Hath went down first and, after passing his hand over them, slowly drew the bolts.
Isloman clenched his fists as he watched the Cad-wanwr pull on the door’s ornate handle. It seemed that the door would be far too heavy for such a frail soul to open.
But it opened smoothly and easily and with a faint, sighing movement of air. Hath beckoned the watchers down quickly and pointed to a further flight of steps beyond the door.
‘You’ll need your lights now,’ he said. ‘Go down the steps and wait. Light be with you all.’
Cautiously the group obeyed him, Dacu going first and Hawklan last, save for Andawyr himself.
Hawklan paused at the foot of the steps and looked up at Andawyr and Hath standing on the other side of the door. Andawyr hesitated on the threshold then turned and embraced his friend.
Their brief conversation drifted down the steps to Hawklan.
‘Light be with you, Andawyr,’ Hath said shakily. ‘We’ll remember your teachings and your courage, and hold this place no matter what transpires.’
Andawyr did not reply but just patted his friend’s arm and turned away quickly.
As he started down the steps the door closed behind him with a booming thud that echoed away into the cavernous darkness beyond the torches of the tiny group.