Jaldaric’s expression grew more and more puzzled as the riders approached, but he replaced it with a smile of welcome as the two groups stopped opposite one another.
The visitors were six in number and clad in a black livery. They were grim-faced and had obviously been riding hard. One of them wore insignia which, together with his general demeanour, identified him as their leader. His face was lean and would have been hand-some had not narrowed eyes and a curl in his thin mouth given him a cunning and treacherous expression.
Jaldaric saluted, but the gesture was not returned and an uneasy silence fell between the two groups.
The leader of the new arrivals frowned. ‘You’re Jal-daric?’ he demanded, his voice harsh.
Jaldaric bridled slightly at the man’s manner, but replied pleasantly. ‘Yes I am. May I ask who you are?’
The man ignored him, and gazed around as if look-ing for someone. ‘Where is the Lord Dan-Tor?’ he asked, just as Jaldaric was about to repeat his question. His voice was a little softer, but still unpleasant, and Jaldaric’s face flushed at this further incivility.
‘The Lord Dan-Tor has returned to Fyorlund,’ he replied. ‘Now, may I ask again, to whom I am speaking and what is your concern with the Lord Dan-Tor?’ His voice was harder, and this time it was the visitor who bridled, as if unused to being spoken to thus.
‘My name’s Urssain,’ he said. ‘Captain Urssain of the… King’s High Guard.’ Then, before this could be fully registered, ‘Did the Lord Dan-Tor receive a messenger from Commander Aelang before he left?’
Jaldaric’s innate politeness overcame his immediate surprise. ‘We’ve had no messengers from anyone… Captain,’ he said. ‘But that’s hardly of any relevance. What’s more to the point is why are you, Fyordyn, marching armed and liveried in Orthlund, inquiring about the Lord Dan-Tor and calling yourselves, of all things, a King’s High Guard?’
Urssain seemed disconcerted by the news that Dan-Tor had not received Aelang’s message and, for a moment, his face showed his uncertainty. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward in his saddle radiating arrogance. ‘It’s unfortunate that neither we nor our messenger met the Lord Dan-Tor, though it’s under-standable enough in this benighted country. However, it changes nothing and, in answer to your question, we’re here on the King’s orders to arrest you. I must therefore ask you to surrender your sword immediately.’
The suddenness of this reply as much as its content made Jaldaric jerk back in his saddle and for a moment he seemed almost inclined to laugh. It was anger, however, that dominated his reply.
‘Captain Urssain,’ he said. ‘Even a child knows that the King can have no High Guard.’ He paused, and his eyes narrowed. ‘I have no idea from where you come, or what I’m supposed to make of your rambling-nor have I any intention of wasting my time trying to find out-but your very presence here constitutes a considerable offence in itself, and it’s not I who will be surrendering to you, but you to me.’
He made a discreet gesture and his patrol quietly spread itself across the road. Urssain watched the manoeuvre with disdain.
‘A larger patrol is close behind us, Jaldaric,’ he said. ‘Our various messages may have gone astray but I can at least give you the opportunity of surrendering with dignity. If you offer me violence while I’m on the King’s business then it’ll go much worse for you.’
Jaldaric ignored the comment, but his jaw stiffened. ‘Enough, Urssain,’ he said angrily. ‘Your sword.’
Urssain made no move. ‘Jaldaric,’ he said, almost conciliatory in tone. ‘Understand. We are the King’s High Guard, whatever you might think about it. We were formed in secret because of the treachery of some of the Lords. You’re to be arrested at the King’s express command, because your father, the Lord Eldric, was at its heart. He and his co-conspirators are now in prison in Vakloss awaiting trial.’
Jaldaric put his hand to his head. ‘This is nonsense,’ he said uncertainly.
Hawklan looked round at the faces of Jaldaric’s patrol. Esselt’s eyes were gleaming, as were those of his friends, but all the others seemed to be as shocked and disorientated as their Captain.
Jaldaric shook his head as if to waken himself. ‘No,’ he said. ‘This isn’t nonsense. It’s madness. My father’s no traitor. With whom would he conspire and for what? He’s an old man and a respected member of the Geadrol.’
‘The Geadrol was a sink of conspiracy. It no longer exists. The King has suspended it,’ said Urssain contemptuously.
A babble of voices broke out at this, and Jaldaric’s patrol surged forward almost involuntarily to gather around their leader. Esselt and his friends, however, though also surprised, stayed aloof and watchful. Isloman indicated their response to Hawklan with his eyes, and Hawklan acknowledged with a slight nod.
Jaldaric called out for silence. ‘I can make nothing of this. The King cannot have High Guards. The Geadrol cannot be suspended. And how can I be arrested without charge or authority? What crimes have I committed?’
‘The King can do all things,’ came Urssain’s reply, ‘and this uniform is authority enough for your arrest. I’m just a Captain obeying orders. I know nothing about your crimes except those you’re committing just by arguing with me. I’ve told you once, surrender now or it’ll go much worse for you later.’
For a moment Jaldaric seemed inclined to draw his sword and lay about him, but other counsels prevailed and when he spoke his voice was hard and coldly purposeful.
‘The longer we stay away from Fyorlund, the more strange questions accumulate for answering. I’m about to continue my journey to Vakloss, Urssain, together with my guests from Orthlund.’ He indicated Hawklan and Isloman. ‘You’ll accompany us, either peacefully or bound, that choice is yours. When we’re there we’ll all stand before the Geadrol and, if necessary, the King himself, and you can spin your babbling fancies to your heart’s content.’
Urssain cast a quick glance at the two Orthlundyn, then turned away with an insolent shrug. ‘As you wish. The rest of my patrol is nearby. I’ll complete my orders when they arrive.’
Jaldaric’s eyes blazed momentarily, but he walked his horse forward quietly until he was by the side of the black-liveried Captain. Then, turning swiftly, he drew his sword and placed the point against Urssain’s throat.
‘Listen carefully, Urssain,’ he said very softly, ‘who-ever you are, and whoever’s bidding you’re doing. You wear a livery unknown to us, you defame the King, you bring arms into Orthlund, then you threaten us, the Lord Dan-Tor’s personal escort, and finally you defame both my father and myself. As far as I’m concerned you’re just a criminal. I’ve no doubt you’ve got friends lurking in ambush somewhere along the road, but be under no illusions as to who’ll die first if we’re offered violence by anyone.’
Urssain looked uneasily down the length of Jalda-ric’s sword, and then at the bows the Guards were carrying. His arrogance faltered. Jaldaric smiled grimly.
‘We’ll dispense with the formalities,’ Jaldaric con-cluded grimly. ‘You may keep your sword, for what good it’ll do you. I guarantee you’ll have no time to draw it.’
Then, without apparent instructions, Jaldaric’s pa-trol moved forward and surrounded Urssain’s group. Jaldaric rode across to Hawklan and Isloman.
‘I don’t know what’s happening,’ he said, his round face incongruously furrowed. ‘Either these people are quite insane or something terrible’s happened at home while we’ve been away.’
Hawklan looked at him without replying.
‘I fear it’s probably the latter,’ continued Jaldaric. ‘I can’t see six men coming against fifteen of us with that attitude without some resource behind them. We need to get back quickly.’
‘I agree with you,’ said Hawklan. ‘But take care. Whatever’s happened in Fyorlund, that man expected his livery alone to command absolute obedience.’
Worry clouded Jaldaric’s face. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘it’s none of your affair. I can only recommend you head back for home. It looks as if I may not even be able to escort you as far as the border safely, let alone Vakloss. I’m sorry.’
Hawklan stretched his legs lazily and nodded. ‘Thank you for your advice, Jaldaric,’ he said. ‘It’s sound. But Isloman and I are very anxious to speak to your Lord Dan-Tor and we’ll be heading for Vakloss no matter what happens. For what it’s worth I suspect our questions and whatever political upheavals have been occurring may well be related.’
Jaldaric shrugged and let out a resigned breath. ‘If we run into trouble I’ll try and talk us through it, but if it comes to a fight I may not be able to protect you,’ he said.
Hawklan smiled reassuringly and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘We understand,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll make our own judgement about when and who to fight. You look to yourself and your men.’ He laughed gently. ‘We absolve you from your duties as host.’
Jaldaric smiled unhappily but could find no reply. Shrugging his shoulders nervously again he turned back to his men. Hawklan signalled to Gavor who was listening in a nearby tree, and the bird took off silently towards the north. Echoing this action, Jaldaric sent two men out into the adjacent fields to scout the road ahead. The remainder of the patrol restarted their leisurely progress.
‘You’re getting very bold, healer,’ said Isloman anx-iously, riding alongside Hawklan. ‘Smiling and joking in the face of a possible battle against Fyorlund High Guards.’
‘Well,’ said Hawklan, ‘the lad needed reassurance. He really doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going at the moment. I don’t want him worrying about us. Anyway, I told him no more than the truth. Whatever happens, you and I go north, don’t we?’
Isloman rubbed his hand and nodded.
The patrol moved steadily forward for some time until, passing through a wooded stretch of road, they emerged to find themselves at the top of a rise which gave them a commanding view of the countryside for many miles around. Straight ahead of them, fringing the distant horizon, Hawklan could just make out the white peaks that formed the southern border of Fyorlund.
Jaldaric’s face creased in distress when he too saw the mountains. So much had changed since he had been chosen to lead the Lord Dan-Tor’s escort into Orthlund and thence to lands further south. Now it seemed that every step they took led them into more and more confusion and difficulty, not to say danger. The sooner he could reach Vakloss and hand this whole mess over to his superiors, the sooner he could see his father and settle back into his ordinary life.
Unnecessarily he stood up in his stirrups and peered into the distance. The road twisted and wound through fields and woods, disappearing from sight for long stretches.
‘I see no sign of your patrol, Urssain,’ he said.
‘You will soon enough,’ replied the man, certainty filling his surly reply.
Jaldaric looked at him and then frowned. ‘Dismount and rest,’ he said. ‘We may as well take advantage of the high ground and the trees while we’re here. Our Captain here seems convinced his friends will come looking for him.’
Taking their horses with them, the men dispersed skilfully into the surrounding trees and foliage so that they could both rest and watch the countryside ahead of them.
Hawklan caught Isloman’s look of approval. The men were well trained, without doubt. He dismounted and Serian wandered off into the trees with Isloman’s mount.
Hawklan lowered himself on to a grassy bank and stretched out luxuriously. Isloman sat down heavily beside him and drew his sword. He looked critically along its gleaming edge and fumbled in his pocket to retrieve a small slab of stone. He twisted the sword round repeatedly and, hefting the stone, offered it to the blade several times indecisively. Then he returned his sword to its scabbard and the stone to his pocket.
‘Just nerves,’ he said apologetically. ‘There’s no way a stone crusher like me can improve on an edge that Loman’s made.’
Hawklan smiled then sat up suddenly and cocked his head on one side. Abruptly, Gavor was on them. He was jumping up and down with agitation, his eyes wild and distant, and his black spurs twitching and glinting ominously in the sunlight.
He was jabbering.
‘I can’t understand you, Gavor,’ said Hawklan frowning. ‘Speak normally.’
But Gavor continued with the noise and Hawklan shook his head despairingly. Finally the bird let out a raucous cry and flew off up into the sky where he circled, crying out strangely every few seconds. Hawklan stood up and watched him.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Isloman asked.
Hawklan put his hands to his head almost desper-ately. ‘I don’t know. He’s speaking a language I’ve never heard him use before. I can’t understand it, but it sounds like something very old.’
He shouted to Jaldaric and the young man ran across to him. Hawklan took him by the arm.
‘Prepare your men. Gavor’s seen something that’s either frightened the wits out of him, or made him angry beyond belief; I can’t tell which. But something terrible is coming.’
Jaldaric signalled to his men, and such as could be seen disappeared from view. The six black-liveried men sat dolefully by the side of the road, though Urssain still affected an arrogant indifference. Nervously loosening his sword in its scabbard, Jaldaric took up a position opposite them so that he could see the road ahead and also be seen by anyone travelling along it.
Hawklan cast a glance up at Gavor who was gliding round and round in a wide circle above the scene, crying raucously. Hawklan still could not determine whether the sound was one of rage or fear, but he suspected the former as it was undeniably alarming. Shaking his head and gesturing to Isloman, the two of them faded into the undergrowth.
Then followed an eerie, silent and timeless interval in which everyone seemed to be held in reality only by Gavor’s persistent cry growing fainter and fainter as he rose ever higher in a great spiral.
A muffled whisper came out of the undergrowth, and Jaldaric screwed up his eyes to peer into the distance. A long line of men began to emerge from one of the many dips that took the road out of sight. Jaldaric frowned.
‘Your patrol’s on foot?’ he asked Urssain. The man did not reply.
‘They’re running,’ whispered Isloman to Hawklan.
Hawklan nodded. Somewhere from within came the knowledge that they could run for miles and miles and still fight a battle, but who ‘they’ were was denied him. Again he felt a momentary detachment. A brief flash of another place and another time. Darkness and horror, a vast and malevolent roaring, and a fearful unsteadiness under his feet. Then it was gone, and his gaze focused again on the approaching patrol. It was too far away to make out any detail, but it was large, and travelling quickly. Four horsemen were leading it.
Then it too was gone, hidden behind the green con-tours of the Orthlund countryside. Hawklan breathed out nervously and leaned back against a tree. The next time the patrol would appear it would be coming round the bend in the road barely a stone’s throw ahead of them, and it would be on them.
‘Your men will be in no state to do battle when they’ve climbed this far,’ said Jaldaric to Urssain without looking at him.
‘They outnumber you, will outrun you, and will outfight you, Jaldaric,’ came the reply with a chilling certainty. ‘They’re used to mountains. This hill is nothing to them. If you surrender now, none of your patrol will be hurt, and you’ll be taken safely back to Vakloss for trial. If you fight, you’ll all die. Die without note and at little cost.’ Adding, almost as if by rote, ‘As will all Fyorlund’s enemies.’
Jaldaric shot him an angry glance. ‘If there’s fighting it’ll be of their starting, not mine,’ he said.
Urssain shrugged.
Inexorably the sound of the patrol grew louder; the sound of running feet filling the air like sinister drumbeats underscoring Gavor’s grim cries from high above.
Then it appeared. Isloman seized Hawklan’s arm, but Hawklan did not respond. His face was strained as if he were trying to remember something. Silently, however, he drew his sword. There was a quality in the action that chilled Isloman more even than the grim sight now slowing to a walk behind its mounted escort.
Here was the Mathidrin’s deep penetration patrol so unthinkingly launched by King Rgoric into Orthlund. Isloman was aware of gasps from the concealed High Guards as he took in the long, dog-like snouts, the evil eyes set close in fur-fringed faces, and that most distinctive and terrifying feature from the nightmares of all Fyordyn children-huge curved canine teeth.