The galloping hooves threw up great showers of melting snow as the horsemen rode down the hill. At the bottom, they slowed as the road turned sharply to lead them into the village.
The single street that wound through it was de-serted, the drizzling rain keeping everyone indoors who had matters to attend to that could safely be left for a day or so.
The riders halted and held a brief, arm-waving, discussion. Then, with a snort of annoyance, the leader swung down from his horse, strode up the short path of a nearby house, and banged urgently on the door. A small patch of snow on the roof gave up the uneven struggle against winter’s demise and slid down suddenly to land noisily on the wet ground a pace or so away from the man.
He turned to look at it, then stepped into the shelter of the doorway. As he did so, the door opened suddenly to reveal a large man. He was leaning with his left hand on the door frame and his right behind the half-opened door.
He peered intently into the hood of his visitor then seemed to become more relaxed in his manner. The rider spoke and the man nodded and then, ushering the rider forward, he stepped out with him into the rain.
In his right hand was a large axe.
Holding it close to the head he extended it towards the far end of the village and then tilted it first to the right and then the left, at the same time talking earnestly to the rider.
The rider waved out the same instructions with his right hand, then, thanking his guide, he returned to his horse. As the group prepared to ride off, he gave the man a further brief salute and received an acknowledg-ing wave of the axe in return.
One of the riders glanced back as they gathered speed down the empty street. Shoulders hunched, the man was scuttling back into the warmth of his home.
‘Is that a tradition in these parts, Lord?’ he asked. ‘Greeting strangers at your door with the threshold sword in your hand?’
‘After Ledvrin, I’m afraid it is, Sirshiant,’ replied the leader.
The Sirshiant grimaced.
The Lord caught the expression. ‘You’re from the west,’ he said. ‘You had burdens of your own, I appreci-ate, but they weren’t those of the people around here. Take no offence at such actions. It grieves me to know why they happen, but it causes me no distress to see people willing to guard their own. Besides, you know well enough that an object’s a weapon only when it’s used as such.’ He laughed, unexpectedly. ‘In this case, that axe wasn’t an axe, it was a signpost.’
The group splashed out of the village and followed the road through the sodden countryside for some way until they came to a crossroads. Turning right they rode a little way and then hesitated at a narrow gateway. Beyond it was a rough-surfaced cart track leading to an isolated farmhouse.
The Lord nodded and one of the riders dismounted and opened the gate. The others passed through and galloped on towards the farmhouse as he closed the gate and remounted.
As they clattered into the farmyard, the door of the house opened and a woman appeared with a cloak cast hastily over her head.
‘This way, Lord,’ she said. ‘Your men can go into the barn over there. I’ll send someone over to help them straight away.’
The Lord and one of the other men dismounted and followed the woman into the house.
They found themselves in a broad hallway, its ceil-ing supported by heavily carved wooden beams and its walls bearing a homely mixture of pictures, outdoor clothes, and various bits of harness and tackle. Behind the door hung a short sword, its blade dark and pitted with age, though its edge was recently sharpened.
The woman threw her cloak on to a peg and with a brief ‘excuse me,’ trotted along the hall to a room at the back where she could be heard giving instructions to someone.
As the two men waited, the steady drips from their clothes formed large spreading pools on the tiled floor. The Lord fidgeted impatiently as he waited.
A door opened and a young girl came out. As she saw the two men, she stopped in the doorway and smiled pleasantly. The Lord, however, was looking over her head into the room. Gently, but hastily, he eased her to one side and stepped inside. The other man held out a tentative hand as if to restrain him, but did nothing.
‘Lord Eldric,’ said Sylvriss, looking up at the mud-stained and soaking figure who had just entered.
‘Majesty… ’ he began.
‘Lord!’ came a stern voice from behind him. Eldric started. It was the woman of the house. ‘You can’t go in there in that state,’ she said witheringly. ‘You must get out of those wet clothes and muddy boots immediately.’
Sylvriss lowered her gaze and smiled as the discom-fited Senior Lord of the Geadrol retreated in disorder.
‘I’m sorry, your Majesty,’ said the woman leaning in and closing the door. ‘You know what men are like.’
Within a few minutes the woman returned, leading a marginally drier and more presentable pair of visitors.
‘Lord Eldric, Hylland,’ Sylvriss said, smiling broadly and holding out a hand to the two men.
‘Majesty, are you all right?’ said Eldric, kneeling down by the side of the bed and taking the offered hand.
‘Yes, Lord Eldric, we’re both of us well,’ she replied, inclining her head to the other side of the bed.
Eldric looked across. Hylland was bending down and reaching a playful finger into a simple crib. The tiny sleeping figure lying there moved its head from side to side, frowned, and smacked its lips contentedly.
Eldric stood up and moved round to the crib. Look-ing down at the heir to Fyorlund’s throne, he smiled with grandfatherly wonder and fatherly memory.
‘How did you come to be here, Majesty?’ he asked after a moment. ‘We came as soon as we heard, but… ’
‘Lord,’ Hylland interrupted. ‘Will you excuse us? These questions will wait awhile. Now, her Majesty and I must talk alone for a moment.
Eldric looked at him impatiently then nodded with awkward understanding and once again retreated.
He was pacing the hallway and affecting to look at the pictures when Hylland emerged some time later.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked anxiously. ‘You were a long time.’
The healer smiled. ‘Healer’s privilege, Lord, to play with the baby first,’ he said, then he laid a reassuring hand on the Lord’s arm. ‘They’re both fine. Mother and son. She’s a little tired and he’s a bit small, but that’s only to be expected. He’ll soon catch up. The birth caught everyone by surprise but went well enough seemingly, and I couldn’t have tended them better at the Palace than these people have here. Our concerns were needless.’
Eldric let out a long breath. ‘Can I go in?’ he asked, unconsciously casting a glance towards the rear room that housed the Queen’s new protector.
Hylland opened the door for him. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She’s waiting for you. I’ll go and give the men the news.’
Eldric grunted nervously, and stepped inside.
He paused for a moment as he closed the door be-hind him, taking in the atmosphere of the room. It was clean and spruce, but only a little more so than it would be normally, he felt, and it held a subtle mixture of scents: old ones, rich and solid, deep sunk into the floor and walls, and echoing the lives of generations; and newer, sweeter ones, dominating for the moment, but ephemeral, and due to pass away soon, like the melting snow outside.
But perhaps not totally, he thought. Perhaps they too will add a small lasting note to the room’s old chorus.
He looked at his Queen. Her face was as rich in tales as the room. A little fuller than it had been, it told of tiredness, both from old trials and new, yet it was lit from the inside by a joy and a vigour that could not be touched by a mere passing physical weakness.
She was beautiful. Unexpectedly Eldric felt his knees go weak…
He cleared his throat noisily and stepped forward carefully on his momentarily unsteady legs.
Sylvriss indicated a chair that had been placed by her bed.
‘Sit down, Lord Eldric,’ she said. ‘You look tired.’
Eldric sat down. ‘Not as tired as I was only minutes ago, Majesty,’ he said. He looked across at the crib.
‘A fine baby, Hylland tells me,’ he said. ‘Our Queen back amongst us, and an heir. It’ll do much for the people.’
Sylvriss looked at him in silence.
‘It’ll do much for us all, Majesty,’ he added, meeting her gaze.
Sylvriss smiled and laid her hand on his arm. ‘It does much for me, to be back,’ she said. ‘Back in my other home. My husband’s home.’
Despite her smile, Eldric caught a note in her voice that made him look at her uncertainly.
‘I’ve shed all the tears that I need to shed for his absence from this precious event,’ Sylvriss said, answering his unspoken doubt. ‘Besides, he’s here with me now more than he’s ever been and I intend to honour his life by the quality of both my own and our son’s.’
Eldric nodded understandingly, though there was a slight anxiety in his eyes. ‘You are well, Majesty?’ he asked. ‘And the baby? Hylland said it was a little small, and it… he… did come much earlier than we expected.’
Sylvriss laughed. ‘He came earlier than I expected, Lord,’ she said. ‘But it’s hardly surprising after what’s been happening. However, be assured. We are both well.’ Her face became mischievous and she patted his arm. ‘I dropped him like a well-seasoned mare,’ she said confidentially.
Eldric coloured and cleared his throat again, turning away from the Queen’s laughing eyes.
Eventually she released him. ‘But we have to talk, Lord,’ she said, more seriously. The hand on his arm became purposeful. ‘I’ve no words adequate enough to thank you and the others for what you did in freeing Fyorlund from Dan-Tor and his evil. I wish I could have ridden with you. In due course you must tell me everything, but for now there are more pressing matters. Do you have any news of my father? Are there any problems with the Orthlundyn and the High Guards working together? When do you intend to move against Narsindalvak?’
Eldric held up a hand to end this stream of ques-tions.
‘Majesty, you must not concern yourself too much with these matters,’ he said. ‘Your task is to tend your child, Rgoric’s heir. Fyorlund’s future king.’
This declaration was a mistake, as the grip on his arm, and the tightened jaw told him.
‘Lord Eldric. I shall tend my child, have no fear, but I am your Queen, by both right and by acclamation, as you may recall, and my other task is to tend my people.’ She levelled a finger at him, and for a moment Eldric thought he heard Rgoric speaking. ‘And there’ll be no Fyorlund for anyone to rule if I fail in that, will there?’
Eldric opened his mouth to speak but the Queen’s look silenced him. ‘I didn’t follow in my father’s hoofprints, rallying the houses that Bragald’s ranting had undermined, nor chase over the mountains and halfway across Fyorlund after the Orthlundyn army, to spend my time surrounded by maids and soft perfumes,’ she said. ‘We are at war, Lord. My small party managed the journey over the mountains, but my father had no other choice than to go the way he did and he’ll need help, perhaps right now. Narsindalvak will have to be taken if… ’
‘Majesty, majesty,’ Eldric interrupted in some alarm, as the Queen looked set to leave her bed and gallop off to Vakloss. ‘I meant no harm by the remark. I was concerned. First the winter kept news of you from reaching us, then came word of Creost and the Morlider invading Riddin. We’ve spent much of the time of your absence fearful that we might have sent you into danger instead of safety.’
Sylvriss looked a little repentant. ‘I understand, Lord,’ she said, more quietly. ‘But until Sumeral and all his minions are brought to account, there’ll be no true peace for Fyorlund… or for any of us.’ She reached out and laid a hand on the crib. Her voice became stern. ‘And I’ll no more sit idly by like a helpless stable maid while these matters are decided, than Rgoric would have.’ She paused and lowered her eyes. ‘And I am concerned about my father.’
Eldric raised his hands in surrender. ‘Majesty. Even now, we’re preparing plans to assault Narsindalvak in order, at least, to occupy Dan-Tor’s forces while your father approaches.’ He looked at her gravely. ‘We can’t protect him on his journey through Narsindal, though, Majesty, and we’ve no news of how he’s faring.’
Sylvriss nodded and a spasm of concern flitted briefly across her face. ‘I realize that,’ she said. ‘But he knew what he was doing and he’ll be riding in close defensive order.’
‘And he has Yengar and Olvric to help guide him,’ Eldric added. ‘They’re no ordinary men and they’ve both ridden the Watch.’
‘And Oslang,’ Sylvriss said, then she let out a small sigh. It seemed for a moment that the chill mists of Narsindal had entered that warm room. The baby whimpered and Sylvriss rocked the crib gently.
The mood passed however, and Sylvriss gave a tight smile. ‘Still, that’s beyond us,’ she said. ‘We can’t let it hinder us here. Our main concern must be with Narsindalvak. Give me an outline of your intentions if you would. I’m afraid Hylland’s forbidden me the saddle for a little while, so I’ll have to stay here until he says otherwise, but… ’
‘Majesty, there’s a coach and your attendants follow-ing,’ Eldric said. ‘We can… ’
He stopped in mid-sentence as Sylvriss’s eyes wid-ened in a mixture of shock and disbelief. ‘A coach!’ she said. Her voice became measured. ‘Have you ever known me to ride in a coach, Lord Eldric?’
Eldric’s hands fluttered vaguely.
‘I am a Muster woman, Lord,’ Sylvriss went on, qui-etly and slowly, but with inexorable resolution. ‘By tradition, we dismount only long enough to give birth, then we remount.’
Eldric sank into his chair a little for protection as Sylvriss continued. ‘In deference to your Fyordyn ways I will accept Hylland’s over-cautious stricture, but I will not be towed back to Vakloss in a cart like a sack of farm produce. Very shortly, I will ride. With my son for all the people to see. And you will ride by my side. In the meantime you will tell me of the plans for the intended assault on Narsindalvak.’
‘Majesty,’ said Eldric, bowing.
Hawklan stood motionless, hypnotized for a moment by the mass of red eyes glinting in the darkness ahead of him.
Hypnotized, until he realized they were moving towards him.
‘Against the wall!’ he shouted, scrambling back to the shelter. ‘Gloves and knives!’
‘And torches!’ Jenna added, overtaking him.
There was a momentary delay amongst the drowsy watchers who had crawled out of the shelter after Hawklan, then the creatures emerged out of the tunnel like a streaming black river, and a flurry of knives, blankets and clothing were dragged out of the shelter with wide-eyed midday wakefulness, and great speed.
Gavor extended his wings in agitation and Dar-volci drew back his lips to reveal his own terrifying teeth.
The creatures were like rats, but bigger, and with large glittering round eyes. The hissing that in Hawk-lan’s dream had become the rustling of distant trees, was a combination of their high-pitched squeaking and the scrape of their taloned feet as they scrambled across the rocky floor. They were tumbling over each other in their haste to enter the chamber.
In the brief seconds it took the travellers to arm and position themselves against the wall, the black tide spewing out of the tunnel spread to occupy over half the floor.
All of the watching group had faced different and dangerous trials in their lives, and faced them with courage, but none showed anything other than rank fear at the sight before them. Its seething activity was made the more horrible by contrast with the many days they had spent seeing only motionless rock and stone about them. Gloves were donned, and blankets hastily wrapped around exposed arms, but their few blades seemed pitifully inadequate against such savage, scurrying, numbers.
They watched dry-mouthed and gaping, as the tide flowed into the chamber; squeaking, scratching, clambering.
They watched for an interminable, unmeasurable, interval.
Then, slowly, the realization dawned that the flood was passing them by unheeded.
And then it was gone.
As silence returned to the chamber, the cohesion of the warriors disintegrated. Almost all of them slithered down to the ground as their legs gave up the uneven struggle between terror and stability.
Hawklan tried to sheathe his sword, but his hands were trembling too much.
‘All right,’ he managed, wiping his hand across his clammy face. ‘Breathe easy. Whatever they were, they’d no interest in us, apparently.’
‘This time round,’ Yrain said, wrapping her arms about herself and shivering. ‘And what if we’d been walking along that tunnel when they came through?’
Hawklan looked at her helplessly, then at Andawyr.
‘It’s the way we must go, Hawklan,’ said the Cad-wanwr, shaking his head.
Hawklan nodded. ‘We’ll think about it in a moment when we’ve all got over the shock a little,’ he said.
He tapped his sword idly against a rock. ‘Is there any point my asking you what they were, Andawyr?’ he said, though not unkindly.
‘They were rats,’ Tirke declaimed definitively, before Andawyr could declare his ignorance.
‘I’ve never seen a rat with eyes like those,’ Jenna snapped viciously. ‘Nor that size.’
‘Peace!’ said Hawklan angrily before Tirke could reply. ‘It’s not that important what they were. Let’s bend our minds to Yrain’s problem. What do we do if we run into them when we’re fully loaded with packs and moving along that tunnel tomorrow?’
He walked across to the tunnel, peered casually into it and then turned to look along the route the creatures had taken.
Dar-volci chattered his teeth. ‘It mightn’t matter what they were,’ he said. ‘But what they were doing might.’
‘Why?’ Hawklan said. ‘That was probably a feeding frenzy or a mating frenzy, or something.’
Dar-volci made a disparaging noise. ‘They were running away,’ he said categorically.
Hawklan looked at him doubtfully. ‘Running away?’ he said. ‘From what?’ He stepped forward.
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth than two long arms swept out of the tunnel mouth, and grasping three-fingered claws snapped together where he had been standing.
Hawklan spun round at the sound in time to see a large triangular head surging towards him. He had a fleeting impression of large bulbous eyes focusing on him and two waving antennae, but dominating his attention was a wide gaping mouth which split the head in two with a grotesque and malevolent grin.
He jumped backwards to avoid the apparition but as he did so, one of the creature’s misshapen arms struck him a glancing blow and sent him sprawling.
The black sword clattered out of his hand.
He became aware of a great commotion as screams and shouts rose up to fill the cavern. Vaguely, at the edge of his awareness, he sensed his companions rushing to his aid, but the two arms, obscenely articu-lated, were drawing back to strike again.
Gavor came from nowhere and struck the great head, but it tossed him aside effortlessly.
A large rock hit one of the poised arms with great force.
Isloman! Only Isloman could have thrown such a rock so hard.
But it too bounced off ineffectually, and the crea-ture’s eyes did not flicker by even a fraction from their intended prey. Somehow Hawklan jerked himself backwards as the arms lunged at him. He was not fast enough however and he heard himself cry out as the two clawed hands closed painfully about his body.
Worse than the pain though, was the terrible strength of the arms and the casual, callous, indifference of the creature’s feeding intent as the arms drew him rapidly forward. Somewhere his name was shouted, and the black sword was thrust into his hands as his feet left the floor.
Without thought, he swung the blade down and struck the creature on the centre of its head.
The impact of the massive blow shook through his entire frame, and the creature too paused momentarily but, to his horror, Hawklan saw that the great black sword of Ethriss had done virtually no harm to the strange head.
The creature was still whole, and still intent on its simple resolve.
He felt the arms bracing to draw him further for-ward.
Suddenly everywhere was filled with a blinding light. A torch at full brightness, Hawklan thought irrelevantly as his eyes screwed up reflexively. The creature emitted an eerie screech and great membranes flickered over its bulbous eyes. Hawklan felt its arms grow slacker, but its grip did not change.
He sensed the creature preparing to flee-with him!
Desperately he swung the sword at one of the arms, but again it had little effect. Then, through the bril-liance, he saw Dar-volci, his back legs swinging free and his fore-claws clinging to the creature’s arm. Almost before Hawklan could register the fact, the felci’s mouth opened wide and his formidable teeth closed around the creature’s bony wrist.
Even through the clamorous din of his own terror, Hawklan heard the fearful crunching of bones.
The creature let out another screech then, abruptly, released him. As he hit the ground, Hawklan was bowled over by the creature as it charged forward.
He was aware of rolling across the rocky floor for some way and of legs and a long torso passing over him, then the brightness faded and all that was left were the fading cries of the fleeing creature.
A circle of anxious and fearful faces formed around him, chief amongst which was a businesslike Andawyr, Gavor flapping on his shoulder.
‘Don’t move him!’ Hawklan heard Andawyr say, the voice distant, buried somewhere beneath the noise of his own breathing.
Bright eyes peered into his intently, and expert hands probed his ribs. He winced. The eyes looked again, and the hands tested his arms and legs. He recognized the technique.
‘I’m all right,’ he said, weakly, trying to rise.
Andawyr’s hand held him down. ‘You’re all right,’ he said, waving aside the patient’s own correct diagnosis as being merely fortuitous. ‘Pick him up gently and put him in the shelter.’
‘No,’ Hawklan said, with an effort. ‘Just help me up.’
Andawyr seemed inclined to dispute this, his face assuming a wearied ‘healers make bad patients’ expression.
‘Please,’ Hawklan said, holding out his hand.
Reluctantly, Andawyr’s eyes flicked their permission around the watching circle, and Hawklan was hauled gently to his feet. Gavor alighted softly on his shoulder and he reached up to touch the raven’s beak. Pausing for a moment to test his balance, he ran his hands over his ribs.
‘Just bruised?’ he said, grimacing as he looked at Andawyr.
The Cadwanwr nodded. ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘You were lucky.’
‘I’ve been luckier,’ Hawklan replied sourly as he started moving gingerly towards the shelter. He looked round at his companions. ‘Was anyone else hurt?’ he asked.
There was a general shaking of heads. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘It seems we were all lucky. Alphraan, were any of you hurt?’
‘No,’ came the disembodied reply after a brief but alarming delay. ‘We are well.’
Hawklan frowned unhappily. ‘Will you not join us, after all, Alphraan?’ he said. ‘Such as I’ve seen, you’re small and fragile, and I fear for you with such creatures about.’
A shimmer of grateful amusement twinkled through the small cavern. ‘We cannot join you, Hawklan,’ said the voice. ‘But have no fear for us. We already walk under your protection, and we are not as fragile as we were when you cleansed our Heartplace, by any means.’
Hawklan looked around the cavern for a moment until his gaze fell on Dar-volci. The felci did not speak, but his manner said, ‘Accept them as they are, healer.’
Hawklan shrugged resignedly. ‘Whatever you wish, my friends,’ he said.
Then he held out his hand to Dar-volci. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I don’t know… ’
‘Hawklan, look.’ Unusually, the interruption came from Jaldaric, and there was a note in his voice that made Hawklan stop and turn to him immediately. The Fyordyn was holding out the black sword to him, his finger pointing to its edge.
Hawklan took the sword and lifted the blade closer to his face to examine where Jaldaric was indicating. The edge had been blunted! The edge which had destroyed the Vrwystin a Kaethio at the Gretmearc, cut down Mandrocs in Orthlund, slain one of Sumeral’s ancient creatures under the mountains, done service against the Morlider, and yet would still part a falling hair without disturbing its downward, floating, progress, had been turned by a single blow against this strange dweller in this strange world.
He showed it to Andawyr.
The Cadwanwr looked shocked at first, then he grimaced and gazed around the cavern. ‘Too old,’ he muttered. ‘I never dreamt… ’ He left the sentence unfinished and turned to look at Dar-volci enigmati-cally. ‘How did your teeth cut through that creature’s bones where this blade failed?’ he asked.
Dar-volci stood on his hind legs and scratched his stomach idly, then he put a large pebble into his mouth. Various among the watchers put their hands to their ears to avoid the teeth clenching crack as he crushed it with gleeful relish.
‘It’s just a knack we have,’ he said, spitting out fragments. ‘We learnt it a long time ago.’
Andawyr looked almost angry at this response and seemed inclined to pursue the matter, but Dar-volci dropped down on to all-fours, turned away and began lolloping back towards the shelter. ‘More importantly,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I think it would be better if we all left as soon as possible, don’t you? It seems our luck is turning.’
Andawyr snorted, then nodded in reluctant agree-ment. He looked at Hawklan. ‘Do you feel up to walking?’ he said.
‘I’d rather walk than rest,’ Hawklan said. ‘I think all of us would. I’d certainly like to put some stern effort in before facing my next dreams. And I agree with Dar-volci. If there’s one thing down here that’s prepared to eat people, there may be others. I think we should leave right away.’
No one argued with this suggestion and the group stripped and packed the shelter with unprecedented speed.
When they moved off, the front and rear torches were brighter than before and each was flanked by two drawn swords.
They walked in silence for some time, the only sounds being the rustle of clothing, the muffled padding of footsteps and the heavy breathing as they laboured up the steep incline.
Eventually the slope became less severe and Hawk-lan moved next to Andawyr. ‘Was that one of His creatures?’ he asked. ‘From the First Coming?’
The Cadwanwr shook his head. ‘No,’ he said defi-nitely. ‘I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t one of His, I’m sure. Had it been, the Sword would have cleaved it in half. As it was, only the sunlight from the torch and Dar-volci’s teeth affected it.’
‘I was hardly on balance,’ Hawklan said thought-fully. ‘Perhaps it was a bad strike.’
Andawyr was shaking his head again even as Hawk-lan spoke. ‘The blow was sound enough, Hawklan, and the creature felt it, but… ’
‘But what?’ Hawklan prompted.
‘Look at the grip of the sword,’ Andawyr said.
Hawklan drew the sword and examined the grip. The twisting threads that ran through it, and the strange distant universe of twinkling stars that permeated it, were dull and flaccid, reduced to a clever patterning that might be found on any well-made sword.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked.
Andawyr looked distressed. ‘This place is… ’ He hesitated and his voice fell as if he did not wish to speak the words. ‘This place is… from before the Great Searing. It’s from a time before time.’
‘What do you mean?’ Hawklan asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Andawyr replied, as if he was pro-foundly fearful of the question. ‘We thought that such depths might exist. We’ve even, perhaps unknowingly, touched upon them in our own searchings. But we never in our wildest conjectures imagined… ’ His voice fell even lower. ‘… living creatures… ’
He seemed desperately reluctant to continue.
‘Are the felci from here, then?’ Hawklan pressed. ‘Dar-volci knew about the sphrite.’
Andawyr did not answer for some time, then, in a resigned voice, he said again, ‘I don’t know. These questions have taxed and fretted us through genera-tions, Hawklan. It’s no good asking Dar either, you’ll get no sense from him. Nor any of them. They just laugh and run away if you ask them about such matters-as if we were children.’
He shook his head as if to rid himself of the prob-lem. ‘It’s a matter for another time, Hawklan,’ he said brusquely. ‘But I fear even then it’ll be utterly beyond our understanding. It serves no purpose here, other than to cloud our judgement with needless… academic… concerns.’
Hawklan looked down at the little man, bent slightly as he walked up the incline. He had never seen him so lost and hesitant.
‘It affects your faith in the Old Power,’ he said softly, with sudden realization.
Andawyr turned away from him as if an icy breeze had blown in his face. ‘Faith is nothing without doubt,’ he said bleakly, then he waved his hand to end the discussion finally.
Hawklan’s every inclination was to pursue the ques-tion. Something important lay there, he felt, but he feared the consequences of the inner distress that it was patently causing Andawyr. He nodded and fell silent to allow the Cadwanwr to recover his composure. Tenta-tively he tested his ribs again.
‘Are you breathing all right?’ Andawyr asked, as Hawklan winced, his voice louder than necessary and reflecting his anxiety to return to matters of the moment.
‘Yes,’ Hawklan replied. ‘It hurts a little, but there’s nothing broken and time will ease it. I’ll be better walking than resting.’
‘If you’re certain,’ Andawyr said.
Catching Andawyr’s solicitous tone, Gavor leaned forward. ‘I’m still getting the odd twinge from my wing, dear boy,’ he said. ‘My sprained pectoral, you know. Certain parties have been really quite off-hand about it. And I think I’ve bruised my beak on that thing, as well.’
Andawyr gave him a sidelong look. ‘Rest is what you need for a beak injury,’ he said. ‘Keep it closed. Less food, less talking.’
Gavor looked at him beadily for a moment and then, with an injured snort, returned to his sentry vigil, peering into the darkness ahead.
They came across no more strange creatures as they marched steadily on through the remainder of the night, though occasional cries reached them, and the walls and floors of the various tunnels and chambers they passed through were scratched and scarred.
There was little conversation as each individual concentrated on putting both distance and time between the present and the frightening events that had come in such rapid succession to disrupt their journey.
Eventually, Isloman and Andawyr looked at one another and stopped.
‘Dawn,’ they said simultaneously. ‘Let’s rest and eat.’
No one disputed the command, but as they settled themselves down on the hard floor and began delving into their various packs, Tirke said, ‘I don’t believe this double act of yours, you know. Dawn, sunset, etc. My stomach says we’re at least six meals behind.’
Gavor agreed.
Andawyr shook his head in a leisurely manner. ‘That’s because you’re young and hasty, Tirke,’ he said.
‘As opposed to being old and greedy, like Gavor,’ someone said. Gavor looked up from his food indig-nantly, but was unable to identify the offender amongst the laughing faces before his appetite drew him back again.
‘What you have to understand, Tirke,’ Andawyr went on as the laughter died down, ‘is that older people such as Isloman and I are naturally far wiser than callow youths such as yourself. Not only that, we have greater self-discipline, superior powers of concern… ’
His eulogy ended abruptly as several large gloves and other articles of clothing arced towards him through the torchlight, in a spontaneous, noisy, and widely supported rebellion.
The torches seemed to flare up at the renewed laughter as it carried away much of the tension that had accumulated in the group since they had been attacked by the sphrite.
When they had eaten, they rested for some time. Hawklan examined Yrain’s finger and as he did so, Dar-volci clambered over the sprawled bodies and curled up beside her. She put her other arm around him.
Pronouncing himself satisfied with the wound, Hawklan re-dressed it and then leaned back against the tunnel wall. It gave him great solace to be a healer again.
The conversation fell to their position and their progress.
Andawyr announced that he felt they were now past the deepest part of their journey, but necessarily he could give no clear indication about where they were.
‘I think we’re beyond the Pass, however,’ he said, to exclamations of considerable surprise. ‘I think we’re somewhere under the southern border mountains.’
‘We must head upwards as soon as possible, then,’ Dacu said. ‘Too far west might bring us within sight of the seeing stones at Narsindalvak.’
‘I know,’ Andawyr said, a little shortly. ‘But we’re searching now not just for a way out, but for the Vrwystin a Goleg if you remember. With that free, any appearance on the surface is liable to be seen.’
The reminder of the reason for their hasty departure from the Caves of Cadwanen, dampened the spirits of the group a little.
‘What kind of a creature is it that lies in one place and has its eyes everywhere?’ Dacu said, frowning. ‘How can such a thing be?’
‘More to the point, how can we find it in this endless maze?’ Tybek added. ‘And if we do find it, how do we know we’ll fare any better than we did against those… things… down there?’
Andawyr looked at Dacu. ‘It’s His creature, Goraidin, an abomination, and like all his creatures, it does what it does at some great cost-either to someone or something, or both. Destroying it will do far greater good than just protecting us.’
He turned to Tybek. ‘And we’ll find it through knowledge,’ he said.
Tybek looked at him owlishly.
‘No, but I know about it,’ Andawyr said, answering his unspoken question. ‘I’ve faced it, wrestled with it, and made it know fear. For a timeless blink of the eye, I was it, and it, me. My knowledge of our needs will bring me to it just as they’ve brought us through these caves.’
‘I won’t pretend to understand,’ Tybek said. ‘But I’ve followed you blindly so far and I suppose I’ll continue to do so.’ He pounded his leg in emphasis. ‘But this thing could be anywhere.’
Andawyr smiled. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Not anywhere. It will be deep below ground. Bedded to a certain kind of rock. A rock that I fear you carvers will feel before I do. And thus it can only be in these southern mountains. As for destroying it, well, rest assured, we’ll have a greater chance than we had against the sphrite and the other denizens of these caves we’ve met.’
Hawklan looked at Tybek and the others. They were none of them wholly satisfied by what Andawyr had said, but the brief exchange had made them easier simply by voicing their hidden fears.
After they had rested a little longer, the consensus was to move on and make camp at such a time as the ‘elders’ declared it was evening.
Thus they set off once again, following Andawyr into the darkness. They moved steadily through the day, meeting no animals, nor coming upon any vast open spaces, though the tunnels and caverns through which they passed still had an eerie aura about them, the more so as the walls were not infrequently riddled with numerous smaller openings.
The route they followed was generally upwards. Indeed, some of the inclines they encountered were both rugged and steep, though the relief at moving dramati-cally nearer the surface far outweighed the discomfort of the effort involved.
When finally they camped, it was in a wide cavern through which a small stream tumbled noisily. Its water was bitterly cold, but it was pronounced fresh and, after everyone had refilled their water bags, the hardier amongst them endeavoured to remove the excess grime that had accumulated on their journey.
Isloman caused no small stir by stripping to the waist and then both scrubbing and drying himself with rolling handfuls of small pebbles that he had gleefully spotted on the bed of the stream. Having witnessed such a sight many times before Hawklan laughed openly at the discomfiture of the others. When he had finished, Isloman was glowing. Beaming, he held out two great handfuls of the pebbles to the gaping watchers, a look of invitation in his eyes, but the curious circle widened suddenly with much head shaking, and, with a loud chuckle and an oddly gentle movement, Isloman returned the pebbles back to the stream.
As the small commotion died away, Hawklan’s gaze fell on Yrain. She was drying her hands and looking at them closely: the bandaged finger, shorter than the others, the split and broken nails, the calluses and roughened skin that gloves had failed to prevent, the dirt which the cold stream water could not move. They were like those of a man who had been toiling long in the field. Quietly she walked away from the camp and sat on a rock with her head bowed.
After a while, Hawklan went over to her. She looked up as he approached; her face was tear-stained. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, streaking the tears across her face with the back of her hand.
‘Don’t be,’ he replied simply. ‘Do you want to talk about anything… your hand?’
Yrain held out her injured hand and turned it over once or twice, her face set. ‘I’d rather be doing almost anything in the world than this,’ she said, though her voice was quiet and calm.
Hawklan bowed his head. Yrain continued examin-ing her hands.
‘They cut that girl from Wosod Heath to pieces, didn’t they?’ she went on after a long silence, gently, curiously almost, massaging the end of her mutilated finger.
Hawklan frowned for a moment, until the memory of the fallen skirmisher charging alone against the enraged Morlider came back to him. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I don’t want that to happen to me,’ Yrain said.
Hawklan could not find the words to answer her. ‘She was dead when it happened,’ he offered.
Yrain’s eyes pivoted up to his though her head did not move. They were dark with scorn and anger. For a moment Hawklan felt a seething anger of his own rise in response, but he forced it down, and as he did so, Yrain’s own expression changed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I suppose I’m in shock, aren’t I?’
‘A little, maybe,’ Hawklan replied. ‘But mainly you’re just facing up to feeling lost and frightened. You’ll be the stronger for it.’ She looked doubtful, and Hawklan sat down beside her. ‘Look at Isloman and Dacu, over there,’ he said. The big carver, dressed now, but still apparently aglow, was wandering about with the Goraidin, showing him different rocks and talking earnestly. ‘They seem so strong-they are strong-because they face their fears all the time, and they know that only fear of fear is the real enemy. They value everything and cling to nothing.’
Yrain watched the two men for a moment, then she turned to him, ‘And you, Hawklan?’ she said.
‘And me, I hope,’ Hawklan said, with a faint smile. ‘Like you, I’d rather be doing almost anything in the world than this.’ He looked at her and sensed her easing away from her pain a little. ‘But like them, I won’t let that desire burden me.’ He stood up and looked down at her. ‘Nor will you, Yrain; you know that. Or when they move to cut you to pieces, they’ll succeed, won’t they?’
She grimaced as she nodded, then pulled her gloves on determinedly. ‘Andawyr wants you,’ she said, standing up and nodding her head towards the Cadwanwr who was gesticulating vigorously from one end of the chamber.
Hawklan looked at her for a moment.
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘I’m all right now. It was just a little tiredness.’ She held up her gloved hand. ‘Look, five fingers,’ she said, smiling ruefully.
As Hawklan walked over to Andawyr, he saw that the little man was signalling Isloman also.
‘What is it?’ Hawklan said, as both he and Isloman reached him.
‘This way,’ Andawyr said. ‘See what you think.’
Turning up his torch he led them away from the camp and around a rocky outcrop. Beyond it lay another chamber about the same size as the one they were camped in.
‘Here,’ he said, moving up a small slope along one side.
As the two men followed him, the shadows gave way to reveal a series of openings in the wall.
‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘Which way?’
The two men looked at him uncertainly. Apart from the Alphraan at the depths of their journey, not once had Andawyr asked for advice on the choice of route, and these openings seemed no different from countless others that he had chosen between previously.
‘Well…?’ he pressed.
Hawklan was about to protest his ignorance when Isloman stepped past him and walked to one of the openings. He stood there for a moment then stepped inside and, without turning, beckoned Hawklan.
As he walked forward, Hawklan faltered. Faintly, he felt something; something repellent. Then it was gone, like a distant cry carried by a powerful wind.
Isloman too was leaning forward, his face intent, as if trying to catch an elusive sound or scent.
Hawklan became aware of Andawyr by his side, expectant, but silent.
Isloman turned to the Cadwanwr. ‘This is the rock that this creature lives in?’ he asked.
Andawyr nodded.
Isloman blew out an anxious breath. ‘It sings a bad song. If we must go this way we mustn’t linger.’
Andawyr did not reply. ‘Hawklan,’ he said. ‘What do you feel here?’
Hawklan walked slowly along the tunnel for a little way. The sensations came and went, still evading his full perception tantalizingly, but nevertheless, they were unmistakable. Here was the corruption he had seen jigging a demented marionette on a tinker’s hand at Pedhavin; the corruption he had seen in the aura that surrounded Oklar at Vakloss, and Creost and Dar Hastuin on the battlefield in Riddin.
‘Him,’ he said softly.