The Fyordyn had turned out to welcome the Orthlundyn army with no small enthusiasm, but that was a mere fraction of the welcome they afforded to their Queen when she returned with her baby son.
The weather was the sourest-faced guest present at her reception, choosing to assail the crowd with a cold blustery wind laced with occasional flurries of icy rain, but it could not prevail against so well entrenched an opponent as the genuine pleasure of the Fyordyn.
The city streets were alive with milling crowds, all waving flags and coloured ribbons. Weaving amongst them were lines of High Guards, once again in the formal uniforms of their Lords, and charged with the task of gently maintaining some semblance of order. From the houses and buildings hung all manner of buntings and other colourful decorations, swaying and dancing joyously in the peevish wind.
‘The City looks as if it were in the middle of the Spring Festival,’ Arinndier said, as he looked out from one of the Palace towers.
Darek joined him and stood for a moment surveying the scene. ‘It is,’ he said, smiling a little. ‘It’s the start of the rebirth of our country. The people see it more clearly than we do.’
Arinndier raised a mocking eyebrow at his stern friend’s unwonted lyricism, but Darek’s smile faded. ‘Let’s hope the coming frost is not too much for us all,’ he said.
Sylvriss herself wept unashamedly at times as she rode through the cheering crowds with Eldric at her side, and her son wrapped snug and warm in the traditional shoulder sling of the Muster women.
Her tears, however, were for the most part tears of happiness and they were shared by many others in the crowd. Only when she saw the unrepaired remains of the damage wrought by Oklar did her face become pained, yet even then her anger enhanced rather than diminished her radiance.
Your smile lights the whole city, Dilrap thought, as he stood at the Palace Gate with the official welcoming party. Looking at the noisy crowd, he remembered others that had thronged the streets over the past months; the expectant crowd waiting for Eldric to call Dan-Tor to an accounting; the appalling, near-hysterical crowds that had gathered in the smoke-stained glare of blazing torches, to roar and cheer at Dan-Tor’s bellowed lies and his violent hammering music; and, most tragic of all, the crowd that he had not seen, the crowd that had followed the Orthlundyn, Hawklan, to be crushed by the wrath of the revealed Uhriel.
And were these the same people? he thought, look-ing round at the upturned faces. The greater part of them must be, he concluded. How could it be otherwise? There were not so many people in the City that crowds of this size could be materially different. Curiosity and concern had taken the people to Eldric’s accounting; fear had goaded them to Dan-Tor’s harangues-and worse, darker, traits, he knew; had not he himself, with all his knowledge, responded to Dan-Tor’s strutting martial theatre? And finally, self-righteous anger had drawn them after Hawklan on his fateful journey.
The crowd was a fearsome creature with a strange will of its own; capable of any extremity and quite beyond the control of its members…
‘What a wonderful day, Dilrap. I’m so excited. It’ll be so marvellous to have her back-and a baby too.’
Alaynor was responsible for all the female servants and officers in the Palace and her gleeful voice cut across Dilrap’s darkening reverie. He turned to her with an indulgent smile only to find that her unbridled enthusiasm was immediately infectious and that he too was now one of the crowd.
Later, the Queen made a quieter, sadder, pilgrimage around the Palace, holding her child tight to her and facing the dreadful impact of familiar, once shared, objects and places. It was a journey she had made many times in her heart since she had fled the Palace and she wept very little, but her face was pale and drawn when at last she came into the small meeting hall.
It was ablaze with torches and colourful decora-tions, but her few guests fell silent as she entered. She looked at them in silence for a moment and then the strain eased from her face and she smiled warmly.
‘I apologize if I’m not wholly myself,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid that my return to the palace and particularly to our old rooms, was more… taxing… than I’d envisaged. The potency of even the smallest item in evoking memories is not to be underestimated.’
She motioned them all to sit down, and then placed herself in the seat that Rgoric used to occupy.
As the scraping and shuffling of chairs faded, Sylvriss became the focus of all the watching eyes. When she spoke, her voice was strong and resolute.
‘We’ve much to do, my friends, so I’ll remove one obstacle immediately if you’ll allow,’ she said. Then, without waiting for this permission, ‘I know of your feelings for my husband. But I’ll not have any of you burdened with my special grief for him. It’s an emotion you’ve all experienced in your time and it’s one that must run its course, as you know. Over the coming days and weeks, I shall be easing your burdens by attending to many matters of state, both in connection with the rebuilding of Fyorlund and the prosecution of the war against the architect of this horror. My husband’s name will occur frequently as will reminders of his more misguided deeds.’ She looked round the table. ‘I’d rather you discussed such matters simply and openly than have you dithering about uneasily in misplaced concern for my feelings. There is neither the need nor the time for such amongst friends.’ She looked across at Loman and Gulda. ‘And I count you both among my friends even though we’ve only met this day.’
Both of them nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Now,’ she went on. ‘To business… ’
Loman chuckled as, later, he and Gulda walked out into the chilly night and through the partly rebuilt archway of the Palace gate. ‘I do believe you were impressed, Memsa,’ he said.
Without breaking her relentless stride, Gulda gave him a sideways look.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘She reminds me of someone I once knew-a long time ago.’
As was not infrequently the case, her tone prevented any further questioning.
‘She’s clever, capable, and savagely vengeful,’ Gulda went on.
Loman turned sharply. ‘Vengeful?’ he said disbeliev-ingly. ‘Never! Even without having heard Isloman eulogizing her I can tell she hasn’t got a vengeful bone in her body. Besides, vengeance isn’t a woman’s way.’
Gulda stopped abruptly and her stick swung up to block Loman’s path. He lurched forward a little over this seemingly immovable obstacle, and looked at her apprehensively. However, her face bore an expression that betrayed emotions far deeper than petulant annoyance, and there was no hint of any reproach against him.
‘Neither you nor any man can have the slightest notion of Sylvriss’s pain,’ she said. ‘True, you can probably understand her hatred for her husband’s murderers. Perhaps you can even understand the pain of her grinding impotence at having to stand idly by for almost all her adult life while her lover was slowly degraded and destroyed. But such emotions are nothing against her real hatred. What has fired Sylvriss is her silent defiance of the Uhriel, Oklar. It has given her a sight she does not even know of, but which guides her every act.’
Loman’s eyes narrowed. Was there a hint of uncer-tainty in Gulda’s voice? He remembered how Sylvriss had stared searchingly at her when they had first met, and how Gulda had failed to hold the gentle brown-eyed gaze.
‘It’s the same with Dilrap,’ Gulda went on. Suddenly, her eyes became distant and reflective. ‘As it is with any who’ve stood too near to Hi… ’ She stopped in the middle of the word.
Then the moment was gone and her eyes returned to Loman again. ‘Such people have seen into His true, awful intent, and they know the fate that will befall all of Ethriss’s creatures if He is not destroyed. And now, to sharpen the edge of her own intent far beyond any man’s understanding, Sylvriss has a child!’
She punctuated each of her final words with power-ful jabs of her stick in Loman’s stomach. Somewhat to his surprise, he found himself unbalanced; the old Gulda had returned.
‘Listen and learn from such as Sylvriss, smith,’ she concluded. ‘Listen and learn.’
Then she turned and stumped off out into the still crowded Vakloss street.
As he ran to catch up with her, the memory of Gulda and Sylvriss’s first meeting merged with that of their parting of a few moments ago.
The Lords were now familiar with Gulda’s ways and merely bade her a polite farewell as she prepared to walk back to the Orthlundyn camp; but Sylvriss, concerned at such seeming discourtesy, had offered her a horse.
‘I can find you one with a pleasant disposition,’ she said.
The Lords held their breaths in wide-eyed alarm, but Gulda had merely smiled strangely, and said, ‘A horse will be found when need arises, Majesty.’
Sylvriss had looked at her with an odd expression; surprise and… realization… as if suddenly glimpsing something profoundly secret yet blindingly obvious. Then she too had smiled, and inclined her head in a graceful acceptance of this refusal.
The clear light of the newly restored street torches glistened up from the damp, well-worn stones, as Loman fell in beside Gulda’s stooped black silhouette.
Listen and learn, he thought.
He had however, little opportunity for consciously doing either over the following days, as they were filled with a frenzy of activity. Somehow, the arrival of the Queen had been like the dropping into place of the keystone of an arch, and everything seemed now to be whole and stable.
One problem she dealt with before it arose was the matter of the command of the combined Orthlundyn and Fyordyn armies. It was a subject that hitherto had been tacitly, if uneasily, avoided by the principals involved, they being quite happy to immerse themselves in accommodating the many practical, operational, differences between the two forces.
‘The army is mine,’ Sylvriss declared without pre-amble. ‘I rule the Fyordyn, and it is the Fyordyn who were charged by Ethriss with the watching of Narsindal and the protection of Orthlund.’
‘That is certainly the Law, Majesty,’ Darek volun-teered hastily, ready to defend his Queen with learned argument should need arise.
But Sylvriss needed no such aid.
‘There is no Law for a people who go to war, Lord,’ she said quietly. ‘Except survival.’
A grim silence spread through the listeners sitting around the table. Coming as it did from the Queen, this pronouncement had a chilling starkness that no warlord could have invested it with.
‘However,’ she continued. ‘Our Law enshrines much wisdom, and imposes few restraints that an honest person would deem unnecessary or wish to see slack-ened and, while we’re able, we will carry it with us. Being under arms makes for some cruel necessities, but it allows no licence.’
She looked at her audience, though apparently more to ensure that they were listening than to invite questions. Then she bowed her head briefly. Her face was pained when she looked up. ‘At least then at some future time we can account to ourselves as we might to some other authority.’
The atmosphere in the room eased. ‘As for my command, have no fear,’ she went on. ‘I shall command as I intend to rule; with the consent, and after hearing the advice, of my various friends.’
She turned to Loman. ‘Loman, you will be my sec-ond in command. You shall have all my authority save that you will obey me, and you will have the true responsibility for waging this war.’ She smiled. ‘I’m an untried horse trooper, not a tactician.’
A small cry interrupted the proceedings. Sylvriss reached out and gently rocked the nearby crib.
‘Lord Eldric, you shall be the next in command,’ she went on. ‘Beyond that you may determine for your-selves.’
Both Loman and Eldric opened their mouths to speak, but Sylvriss released the crib and raised her hand for silence.
‘Loman, you’d affect to be just a shoer of horses from a quiet Orthlundyn village,’ she said. ‘But we haven’t the time for such protestations. You’re Goraidin; you led the Orthlundyn successfully against the Morlider; and you forged the arrow that struck down my husband’s tormentor. These are qualifications enough, but one more, above all, leaves you with no other road to travel; you are Hawklan’s choice, and he would have commanded all without question had he so chosen.’
Before Loman could reply, Sylvriss turned to Eldric. ‘Lord, does my decision offend you?’ she asked.
Eldric, taken aback by the sudden question, an-swered frankly, ‘Being honest, Majesty, I suppose it offends my… vanity… a little,’ he said after a brief hesitation.
Sylvriss laughed softly. ‘I find it heartening that you still possess such a young man’s trait, Lord Eldric,’ she said. ‘I trust you have others. Rest assured, I want no surly elders about me.’
Her easy laughter spread around the meeting table like a ripple across a pond, and washed away much of the uneasiness. Eldric cleared his throat gruffly, went a little pink, and did his best to accept the compliment graciously. ‘My vanity will survive the blow, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Especially if it’s to be a requirement of my continued service to you.’
Only Loman seemed to be having difficulty respond-ing to the lightened atmosphere. He leaned back in his chair and stared downwards bleakly.
Sylvriss laid her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry, Lo-man,’ she said. ‘Truly. We will help you bear your burden, but none of us can remove it, as, I fear, you’re aware. That you didn’t seek the leadership of the army and now would be free of it, is a measure of the correctness of my decision.’
There was an unexpected murmur of agreement at this remark that made Loman look up. As he did so, Eldric nodded approvingly and all the Fyordyn began slapping the table rhythmically. It was an acclamation.
Loman crushed his reluctance and turned again to face the task that he knew had been his ever since Hawklan asked him to prepare the Orthlundyn for war. He looked at the Queen and sought solace in practical matters.
‘What about the command of the Muster, lady?’ he said.
Sylvriss smiled. ‘First, let’s ensure they reach us safely,’ she replied. ‘Then leave my father to me.’
After that, attention turned to the final preparations for the assault on Narsindalvak.
Any form of surprise attack had been discounted at the outset. ‘Nothing for days around can hide from Narsindalvak’s seeing stones,’ Eldric told Loman. ‘Especially along the valley. They’ll know our entire strength before we even see the tower.’
But Loman’s main concern soon turned to Dan-Tor himself. ‘From what I’ve heard and seen of the damage to your city, to be caught in a valley would not even leave us the dubious defence of dispersion against such a weapon.’
He looked at Gulda, who nodded.
‘He was bound in some way when he faced us last… ’ Eldric said, though uncertainly.
Loman was blunt. ‘Times change, Lord,’ he said. ‘I was a smith, now I’m something else.’
He turned questioningly to Ryath, the most senior of the Cadwanwr who had returned with the Orthlundyn from Riddin.
‘We held the sea that Creost’s Power had sent against the Riddinvolk,’ the Cadwanwr said. ‘And Atelon here learned much from helping Andawyr in direct conflict against Creost. We can give you protection against Oklar.’
‘Are you certain?’ Loman pressed.
‘Of being able to oppose him, yes,’ Ryath continued. ‘Of victory, of course not. But like you, we’ve survived one battle and learned from it, and our doubts are only the same as yours about your own army; straightfor-ward and honest and not such as will corrode and impede.’
Loman acknowledged Ryath’s openness.
Thus, within days, the people who had turned out joyfully to greet their Queen were thronging the streets once more. This time, however, their mood was more sombre as they bade farewell to the first companies of the allied army of High Guards and Orthlundyn leaving to reinforce the regiments already guarding the boundaries of Dan-Tor’s northern estates.
Reluctantly, Sylvriss remained at the Palace. Despite her promise to stay and help with the rebuilding of the country, her immediate intention had been to sling her son about her neck and ride off with the troops. However, after a stormy clash of wills, Hylland had prevailed.
‘You, madam, can go to Narsindal in a handcart for all I care,’ he proclaimed furiously at the height of the fray. ‘But your son came too early. He is stronger than he ought to be, by rights, but he needs both you and a quiet, civilized existence for a while. The last thing he needs is to be bounced up and down on horseback for hours, and then to spend the rest of his time roughing it in an army camp. Especially in this weather.’ He flung his arm towards the rain-streaked window.
Sylvriss’s eyes narrowed for a final counter-attack, but Hylland moved in to massacre his weakening opponent. ‘I’m well aware of what the Muster women used to do, traditionally, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Drop their child behind a bush and then mount up and ride on! But I’ll wager it’s some time since any of them actually did it. And in any case, you’re no tough old Muster wife with… ’
‘Thank you, healer,’ Sylvriss said coldly and finally, through clenched teeth. ‘We have weighed your advice and have decided to remain in the palace for a little while, for our son’s sake. You are dismissed for the moment.’
Hylland bowed stiffly and retreated, victorious but battered and in some considerable disorder.
The army had fewer problems than the Queen’s healer as it made its way across Dan-Tor’s old estates. The new Goraidin that Yatsu and the other veterans had trained, had been reporting a marked lack of activity for some time, and as the army advanced it found only deserted campsites and abandoned villages.
The journey through the long, claustrophobic pass towards Narsindalvak was similarly uneventful, though they moved carefully and fortified their night camps for fear of ambush. On several occasions also, progress was slowed by the need to contend with areas that were still blocked by snow.
Eventually, however, the top of the great tower for-tress began to make fitful appearances through the mountain clouds.
Loman sought out Ryath and Atelon. ‘You’d better prepare your people,’ he said. ‘Presumably where Oklar can see, he can act.’
The two Cadwanwr looked at one another and smiled. ‘No,’ Ryath said, shaking his head. ‘It’ll be easier for him, true, but he could have acted against us already had he wished. We’ve been prepared for him for some time now.’
Loman bowed apologetically.
Nevertheless, despite this reassurance, he found it difficult to prevent his gaze from drifting towards the watching fortress as they drew nearer.
‘Why’ve they made no effort to harry us?’ he pon-dered during one of his nightly conferences with the Lords. Their continuing easy progress had been concerning him increasingly. ‘The terrain’s ideal for it. Small parties raiding at night, or good archers high along the valley sides. They could do a lot of damage in spite of our defences.’
Eldric shrugged. ‘Presumably he doesn’t want to risk his precious Mathidrin,’ he offered unconvincingly.
‘Perhaps he hopes to meet us in force nearer the tower?’ Arinndier offered.
‘The Goraidin have reported no preparations being made,’ Loman replied, shaking his head.
There were one or two further, tentative, sugges-tions then the meeting fell silent.
‘Perhaps they’ve already moved against the Muster?’ Hreldar said quietly.
It was a dark thought. Loman closed his eyes briefly. Hreldar, he had heard, had once been fat and jolly. Now, though still heavy, he was solid and hard, and the change had etched lines in his face that gave him a grim aspect, though it vanished like mist in the sunshine when he chose to smile. Loman had already learned that though Hreldar did not speak a great deal, when he did it was usually to some purpose.
‘I fear you may be right, Lord,’ he said, after a thoughtful pause. ‘It’s certainly the most likely alterna-tive.’ He slapped his knees. ‘Unless you’ve any objections, my friends, I propose we break camp early tomorrow, with a view to moving as soon as the light permits. We can leave a guard with the baggage train and the rest of us can proceed at forced pace. If Dan-Tor has gone to meet the Muster, then the reduced garrison at the tower can be easily contained and we can move to attack his army from the rear. If he’s still in the tower, then we can prevent him leaving and keep the pass open for both ourselves and the Muster.’
After the meeting had broken up, Loman turned to Gulda. ‘You’re very quiet,’ he said. ‘You’ve scarcely spoken a word at any of these meetings.’
Gulda smiled. ‘I’m only a teacher, young Loman,’ she said. ‘And there’s little more I have to teach any of you now; I suspect I’ll become even quieter as our campaign progresses.
Loman looked at her silently, his eyes narrowing distrustfully. ‘I don’t know who or what you are, Memsa Gulda, bane and terror of my enterprising childhood, but you’re certainly not just a teacher.’ He tapped his fingers on his chest. ‘I may not have the vision of those who’ve stood next to the Uhriel, but I know that even as I look at you I’m not seeing you truly. Nor ever have.’
Unexpectedly, Gulda’s smile opened out into a laugh. It was a happy sound and it filled the simple tent with its rich echoing enjoyment. For an instant, Loman saw again the proud and handsome-no, beautiful-face he had glimpsed when he had burst in upon her at Anderras Darion, his mind whirling with terror and dismay after the labyrinth had rejected him. He found he was lifting his hand almost as if to protect himself from the sight, but it was gone, vanished in some timeless moment, as strangely as it had appeared. He shook his head as if to recapture it.
Gulda’s laughter faded, and she stood up. ‘Forgive me, Loman,’ she said, laying an affectionate hand on his arm. ‘I’m afraid my circumstances obliged me to develop a… way… with men, I make them stand in their own light for their own good.’ The residue of her laughter bubbled out as a throaty chuckle.
‘Who are you, woman?’ Loman said, very quietly and very seriously.
The hand squeezed his arm powerfully. ‘Someone who’s either reaching the end of a long, long journey, or who’s about to begin another one, smith,’ she replied. ‘I’ll know which only when we reach Derras Ustramel.’
‘No riddles, Memsa,’ Loman said, almost plaintively.
Gulda looked at him again. ‘What you choose to see is what I am, young Loman. Truly I can tell you no more than that.’
And then she was walking out of the tent before Loman could question her further.
For a moment, he considered going after her, but rejected the idea almost immediately. She would be doing some necessary work somewhere and if he pursued her she would either chase him away ignomini-ously or let him trail after her like an uncertain puppy until tiredness got the better of him.
It came to him suddenly that the next time he saw her, he should say, ‘Thank you.’
That thought however, was the furthest thing from his mind the following day when Gulda’s stick poked him out of his leaden sleep.
‘Come on, commander,’ said a wilfully malevolent voice. ‘Time to set a good example.’
When Loman emerged from his tent it was to a chilly, misty darkness filled with the clamour of the waking camp and the mixed smells of damp mountains and cooking.
With the brief vividness that only a scent can bring, Loman was back in the mountains of Orthlund with Isloman, on one of their youthful camping expeditions, full of ridiculous laughter in an infinitely larger world, and long before they became men and were both drawn to the same blonde tresses and blue eyes; long before they quarrelled and were reconciled; and longer still before the coming of Hawklan and the opening of Anderras Darion…
‘There’ve been no incidents overnight.’ Arinndier’s voice scattered the memory, though it left a pleasant warmth in its wake. Whatever the future, there was little wrong with the present, and the past had been good.
‘Good,’ he said, speaking his thought to serve as a reply to Arinndier. ‘Just remind everyone to be espe-cially vigilant today. The faster we move, the more careful we must be.’
It proved to be a needless injunction, however. Lo-man sent the Goraidin and the Helyadin ahead of the column in force, not with any pretensions of making a surreptitious assault on the fortress, but to secure the rocky flanks of the valley from ambush. They encoun-tered nothing, however, and within hours signalled back the message that Narsindalvak itself seemed to be deserted.
‘Tell them not to go any nearer,’ Ryath said urgently. ‘We can’t protect them from here if they’re attacked by Oklar.’
Loman nodded, then ordered the leading companies of infantry forward at the double, with himself and some of the Cadwanwr riding vanguard with the cavalry.
Thus, well before the day was through, the first contingents of the army approached Narsindalvak. Loman stared up at the great Fyordyn watch tower. Its broad, sprawling roots seemed, like Anderras Darion, to grow straight from the rocks before curving gradually into the body of the tower itself and soaring high above the neighbouring mountains. At the top, the walls flared out again to form the base of the high-domed Watch Hall. All around the tower, at every level, rings of windows stared out blankly, ominously, over the mountains. It was a dizzying spectacle and Loman found himself leaning backwards in his saddle as he looked at it.
Fyndal, one of the Helyadin, emerged from behind a tumbled mass of rocks.
‘It looks empty,’ he said. ‘We’ve seen no movement of any kind since we arrived.’
Loman turned to Ryath.
The Cadwanwr sniffed, then half-closed his eyes as he looked up at the tower. ‘I can feel no presence,’ he said. ‘Oklar isn’t here.’
Loman looked at him intently. ‘He’s not here,’ the Cadwanwr confirmed positively.
Loman grimaced. If Oklar was gone, then he could even now be leading the Mathidrin against the Muster. Could Oslang fend off the Uhriel on his own? Could Urthryn deploy his cavalry effectively in the unknown and mountainous countryside? Unanswerable and urgent questions, yet he could not gallop off in search of the answers until he had answered the other question-how many men remained in this seemingly empty fortress? He gazed up at it again; it could contain thousands, ready to surge out and cut his passing army in two, or fall on their rear as they marched to the relief of the Muster.
‘We’ll have to purge this place before we can move on, Lord,’ he said to Eldric. ‘And as quickly as we can.’
Eldric nodded and took charge. ‘That’s the main entrance,’ he said, pointing to a wide ramp that swept up to a large double door. ‘But it can only be opened from the inside. Seal the ramp with a shield line and archers, with pikes at the rear, then we’ll send the Goraidin in through those two smaller doors at the side. We have the keys to those and they’re the only other entrances.’
‘I’ll go with them,’ Atelon said, his eyes widening excitedly, then, more seriously, ‘There might be traps laid there that your men can’t see.’
Eldric looked at Ryath who, albeit rather disapprov-ingly, nodded.
Eldric conceded suspiciously. ‘This is no game, Cadwanwr,’ he said sternly. ‘Those are hard, tough fighters, who’ll have to put themselves at risk to protect you. You can go if you’re needed, but do exactly as you’re told. And be alert.’
Loman watched the exchange in silence. He was well content to leave the whole operation to the Fyordyn; it was their fortress and they knew its layout.
Soon the archers were crouching behind their shields in anticipation of the double doors crashing open and some wild enemy charging out in force.
The Goraidin flitted to the side doors.
There was a sudden silence and then, at their own signal, the Goraidin threw open the two doors and charged inside.
Loman watched as they disappeared from view; he could see them moving left and right alternately as they passed through the doors, shields raised defensively. He saw Atelon stumble and an unkind hand drag him brutally upright again.
Some shouting could be heard inside, then there was another silence. Loman became aware for the first time of the sound of the wind moaning about the great tower. His horse shifted a little, its feet clattering on the rocky ground.
Then, slowly, the double doors began to swing open. The archers prepared to fire and a ripple went through the waiting pikes, but a solitary figure appeared in the widening gap. It was one of the Goraidin. He raised his shield in a beckoning gesture and shouted something. Only the word ‘… empty… ’ reached Loman.
The archers however, cheered and began moving forward.
Loman gazed around in admiration as he rode with the others into the huge ante-chamber that was served by the doors. Great ribbed walls arched high above him, wrapped by several tiers of balconies, and the space seemed to reduce the entering army to echoing insignificance.
A raucous cry above made Loman start suddenly, but it was only the Goraidin working their way methodi-cally through the balconies and their adjoining corridors.
When the rest of the army arrived, the lower part of the tower had been searched and found to be empty, and the Goraidin, accompanied now by the Helyadin, were moving rapidly up through the many floors of the great building.
Finally they reached the Watch Hall itself and found it, too, deserted. Their relief at finding this, however, was marred by what they found there.
In the barracks and offices occupying the lower floors of the tower, the only sign of the previous occupants was the squalor and filth they had left. But in the Watch Hall they had made a determined effort to destroy everything that could be destroyed.
Many of the smaller seeing stones had been smashed, together with their ornate supporting frames, and the larger ones had been cracked and damaged.
Eldric walked around the Hall, his face ablaze with rage.
‘We’re blind,’ he said bitterly. ‘We haven’t the craftsmen to repair these things. And we’ll have to tie up men and resources in look-out chains now.’
Loman looked at him anxiously, then at the other Fyordyn, wandering aimlessly around the Hall. The wanton destruction seemed to be disturbing them all profoundly.
Abruptly, Eldric bent down, picked up a heavy fragment of a seeing stone, and hurled it violently at a temporarily rigged globe nearby. ‘And get those damned things out of here!’ he roared. ‘Every one!’
The globe burst noisily, discharging a small cloud of unpleasant smelling smoke and sending glittering shards tinkling across the floor. For a moment it sparked angrily, then with a splutter it fell silent.
Eldric caught Loman’s eye. He waved an angry arm around the scene, then the rage seemed to leave him abruptly and he slumped a little. ‘I’m sorry, Loman,’ he said. ‘A childish outburst. But this place lies at the heart of our neglected duties. And this destruction is a measure of it even more than the damaged heart of Vakloss. If only we’d seen Dan-Tor’s hand in the abandoning of the Watch. If only we’d opposed those who wanted this place closed and forgotten. If, if, if… ’ He picked up another piece of broken stone but this time he turned it over in his hand tenderly. ‘It’s as if we’d done all this ourselves.’
Loman did not attempt to console him. He knew that he could not truly understand the Fyordyn’s distress. Instead, he ignored it and turned to a large wall bracket which had been badly bent out of shape. Wrapping his powerful hands around it he gave it one slow, twisting heave, and restored it almost exactly to its original shape and position.
Then he did the same to its partner and stood back to examine his work with a narrow critical eye. Eldric watched him, his immediate grief being slowly set aside by amazement at this display of both strength and skill.
As he moved to repair other pieces of damaged metalwork, Loman threw a piece of seeing stone to Fyndal, standing nearby. ‘I’m no hand as a rock judge, Fyn,’ he said. ‘But we should be able to do something about all this. Show that to some of the senior Guild members and get them up here quickly.’
‘We might be able to help with those, too,’ said Ate-lon, still breathless and flushed from his rampage through the building with the Goraidin.
With a grunt, Loman straightened another support. ‘Your own smiths can attend to most of this work, Eldric,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, we command the heights and we have our Orthlundyn shadow vision and our own simple seeing stones. Set men to plain, old-fashioned watching and let’s get the Goraidin and the Helyadin out looking for which way Dan-Tor has gone before we lose the light. If this place is empty then it means he’s launched his full army against the Muster: Mathidrin, militia, and your renegade Lords with their High Guards.’
Loman’s blunt summary brought Eldric and the others out of their preoccupation, and within the hour the Watch Hall was busy with stone and metal workers striving to undo the Mathidrin’s orgy of destruction. At the large windows stood some of the keener eyed Orthlundyn, peering through seeing stones into the gathering Narsindal gloom.
Outside, standing on a high, rocky outcrop, Loman waited for the return of the scouting patrol that had gone out in search of Dan-Tor’s army.
He found it hard to be patient and kept slapping his hands together and pacing up and down. Now that his caution in moving along the valley had proved to be unnecessary, he began to reproach himself for the delay and to fret about the harm that the Muster might be suffering at the hands of Dan-Tor’s army.
That he could have done nothing other offered him little consolation, though a small voice kept repeating it to him, adding, ‘And you’re too tired to think straight now.’
I should have stayed at my forge, came a counter-blast.
He kicked a small stone. Where was that patrol, he thought, yet again. It shouldn’t have taken them this long to find the trail of an army. What were they playing at? Had they perhaps fallen into an ambush?
He shook his head. No, not those troops, it wasn’t possible. But hard on the heels of this came an even darker thought: was perhaps this whole venture no more than an elaborate ruse by Dan-Tor to lure the allied army into Narsindalvak and trap them there?
He stopped pacing and his stomach turned over. It was a thought that had not occurred to him before. Just as he had been prepared to seal up Dan-Tor’s army, so also could Dan-Tor seal up his! That would leave him free to attack the Muster and to maintain command of the valley for a future invasion into Fyorlund.
Below him, he could see the almost chaotic activity swirling around the foot of the great tower as the army moved into its new barracks. His eye drifted upwards past the many windows, now lit and shining out brightly into the fading light. They also were bustling with activity.
The army was dispersed throughout the building and around the approaches to it. It was in no position to respond quickly to a surprise attack.
A determined charge up the valley would scatter most of those outside and drive the remainder inside.
Loman grimaced. He’d not been that careless, surely? He’d placed sentries and look-outs on such of the neighbouring crags as could reasonably be reached, but…?
Distant shouts began to break into his tumbling thoughts.
Look-outs!
Their message reached him.
‘Armed column approaching, fast!’