Two days after leaving the village, Hawklan was well into the mountains. As Loman had teased, it was further than he had ever been before, but he felt he was being urged forward rather than being drawn back, which was the feeling he had had in the past whenever he travelled any distance from the Castle.
He was on the line of the River Road, which passed through the village and went straight into the moun-tains. It had ceased to be a road as such, many miles back, and was now only a rough track, though still well formed and quite easy walking.
Coming to the top of a long steep incline, he paused for a moment, and took off his pack. Looking for a suitable place to sit, he turned round and saw spread before him the rolling farmlands and forests of Orthlund. It was an impressive and beautiful sight when seen from Anderras Darion, but here he was much higher and the air was wonderfully clear from a rainstorm earlier in the day.
He had been plodding relentlessly uphill for some considerable time and had not once looked behind. The sudden sight overwhelmed him and the Great Song of Orthlund, rich in spring harmonies, flowed up the valleys and filled him with such joy that tears ran down his sweat-stained face. From somewhere deep inside came the thought that he would fight again to defend such a land, such a people, such a balance and harmony.
The thought was so alien to him, and such a para-dox, that his head drooped and tilted to one side as if he were trying to hear from where it had come. Without realizing it he rested his left hand on the pommel of the black sword. His forehead wrinkled in puzzlement as he mouthed the words, ‘fight again?’
Then he shook himself and wiped his hands over his face, transforming tears and sweat into grimy streaks. He sat down on a rock to look again at the view. He saw from the line of the path ahead that it was unlikely he would see such a view again as he went deeper into the mountains. Idly he took out the black sword and examined it. He knew the sword must be his, and that it must have come from a time before he had wakened so abruptly to find himself walking in the mountains twenty years earlier. But no memory came to prompt him. Not the faintest flicker.
The black blade and hilt shone brilliantly in the bright sunlight, and when he held it up, the device in the hilt flickered and twinkled endlessly. It was so familiar and yet so strange. And what was in its making that rendered the bluff and hearty mason almost speechless and made his taciturn brother eloquent?
Somewhere deep inside he felt an unease-a distant roaring darkness-but it slipped from him as he searched for it. The loss seemed to numb him in some way and he sat unthinking for a long time in the quiet sunlight. Then, slowly, his mood lightened and he stood up and carefully sheathed the sword.
Swinging his pack onto his back he turned away from the view and strode out along the path, which, he noted thankfully, was relatively level for some way. Looking ahead, the snow-covered mountains dominated the scene and he was glad of the advice he had received from Isloman about the route he should take, and how to keep warm should he find himself having to travel at or near the snowline.
Village legend had it that the mountains had been formed when a great god of the earth had driven one country into another to trap a terrible and foul foe. The Orthlundyn took no great interest in old tales, but they had a fund of them to tell their children: tales of heroes and gods battling with great demons and powers of evil. And around their firesides, especially at festival times, for all they were a rational people, they would talk mysteriously about the strange creatures that still existed in the mountains; remnants of times long gone.
Certainly the mountains made at once a heroic and mysterious sight, solid and deep-rooted, and gleaming white in the spring light. Food enough for the dullest imagination, thought Hawklan. Then he remembered Gavor’s remarks about animals, and wondered what he would do if he met one to whom he could not in fact talk-or one that would not listen. His confidence was not now as great as it had been back at the Castle.
Suddenly there was a scuffle and a raucous cry from the rocks to his right. The noise startled him, coming as it did after such a thought and after several hours of almost complete silence.
A small brown bird flew rapidly out of a gap be-tween two yellow-lichened rocks, and with whirring wings hurtled straight towards the mountains. Momen-tarily shaken, Hawklan watched it until it disappeared from sight and then turned to look again at the place from where it had come. A familiar, fruity voice intoned an oath, and Gavor stalked into view on top of the rock.
He looked down at Hawklan.
‘Dear boy,’ he said, in feigned surprise. ‘Do forgive the intrusion, but I was just passing. Got a friend in the area, you know.’
‘Gavor!’ exclaimed Hawklan with some menace in his voice.
Gavor ignored the tone and peered purposefully in the direction the brown bird had flown.
‘I say. Little beggar’s got a fair turn of speed, hasn’t he?’
‘Gavor, I told you to stay at the castle. I have to make this journey alone,’ said Hawklan, though not very convincingly. He had already begun to miss his old friend’s irreverent chatter.
‘Nonsense, dear boy, nonsense. You’re too innocent for the world yet. You need Gavor’s more experienced eye to guide you round its pitfalls.’
‘Jaundiced is the word I’d have used, rather than experienced,’ replied Hawklan.
Gavor snorted and, unfolding his great black wings, glided down to land on Hawklan’s shoulder. He winked at him as he landed. Then his tone became more serious.
‘I’ll watch your back for you, dear boy,’ he said.
Hawklan started to walk along the path again. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘What I say, dear boy, what I say. I’ll watch your back. In fact I’ve been watching it for some time already.’
Hawklan turned his head and looked at him.
Gavor continued. ‘Did you know that that little brown… bundle of feathers with the ghastly eyes has been following and watching you?’
Hawklan’s face showed disbelief, but he did not speak.
‘Well it has,’ said Gavor. ‘And I’ve never seen a bird like it until that tinker came.’
‘I don’t understand you,’ Hawklan said. ‘It looked like a perfectly ordinary little bird to me.’
The affectation left Gavor’s voice.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No normal bird can fly that fast, or has eyes like that. There were two or three of them nosing around the village while the tinker was there, but I didn’t think much about it. But when he went, they went. They’ve all gone. Not a trace. Until I saw you, and there was one of them skulking behind the rocks and watching you.’
Hawklan slowed his stride as the path rose up a small incline.
‘How can you be sure it was watching me?’ he asked. ‘There are all manner of birds and animals up here.’
‘No there aren’t,’ said Gavor categorically. ‘Not this high. I watched it for an hour. It kept pace with you all the time. And not once did it pause to eat or drink anything-not once. Distinctly unnatural.’
Hawklan did not speak, and for a while they moved on in silence. He was disconcerted by this strange revelation, if only because of the way it had affected Gavor.
‘What did you do to it?’ he asked eventually.
‘Nothing, regretfully,’ said Gavor irritably. ‘Little beggar heard me gliding in before I was anywhere near it. I don’t understand it. I’m known for my subtle approach.’
‘What would it want?’ asked Hawklan, ignoring the last remark. ‘Why should a bird follow me?’
‘I’ve no idea, dear boy, no idea. But I’d risk a guess that it’s a messenger. Someone wants to know where you are and what you’re doing. I’m glad I came now, in spite of your rather churlish greeting.’
Hawklan knew that, in spite of Gavor’s news, he could only go forward. His mind pushed Gavor’s strange reasoning to one side.
‘I’m glad you’ve come too, Gavor,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed your company. And I’ll feel much happier indeed with you at my back after what you’ve just said.’
‘Dear boy,’ came the reply. ‘You’re just too kind.’
High above, on a narrow pointed spur, two small brown birds sat and watched the two travellers through blank yellow eyes. Nearby, a succulent insect chewed its way luxuriously through a leaf, unhindered and unthreatened.