The Lord Evison’s estate was in the north of Fyorlund, its borders disappearing vaguely into the mountains that lay between Fyorlund and Narsindal.
Occasionally, Mandroc raiding parties would ven-ture down into the bleak northerly stretches of the estate to steal cattle and sheep. It was a perennial problem for most of the northern Lords but not usually a serious one as the parties tended to be small and disorganized and would invariably scatter as soon as the villagers started unearthing their old Threshold Swords and spears. On the rare occasions that raids became too frequent or the parties too large, the High Guards would be sent to deal with them. However, there being no benefit to be gained from capturing or killing Mandrocs, they were normally allowed to escape back into the mountains.
Then, abruptly, the pattern changed. The raids grew in intensity. The Mandrocs became more persistent and even started to stand their ground and fight.
Following a bitter year in which both villagers and High Guards were killed, Lord Evison requested permission from the King to extend his High Guard in order to patrol his northern border more effectively.
Such a request was considered to be only a courtesy which the King could not reasonably refuse, but the King had refused it. Like most of the northern Lords, Evison was a traditionalist in the mould of Eldric, though somewhat more blunt. In his immediate anger, therefore, his reply to the King’s refusal was less than diplomatic. The King, in turn, cited some ancient statute and declared Evison a rebel, along with several other Lords who had made the same request.
This caused some stir but, knowing of the King’s illness, the offending Lords let the matter lie in the fairly certain knowledge that they would eventually be able to sort it out in the Geadrol. No harm would come of it. In the meantime, they had a more pressing problem to deal with that required men, so they levied their full High Guards and increased the number of reserves.
Despite the extra patrols, however, the raiding par-ties continued with increasing frequency and violence, and reluctantly Evison decided that he must mount a major operation against the Mandrocs, pursuing them back into the mountains so that he could find and perhaps even treat with their leaders or, if necessary, destroy their bases. Accordingly, he consolidated his High Guards and, on a bright summer day, set forth at the head of several thousand men to resolve the problem once and for all.
Commander Ordan, Lord Evison’s Second-in-Command, walked fitfully up and down the battlements of his Lord’s castle. His frustration at being ordered to remain behind in charge of the castle had gradually been displaced by concern. It had been too long since any message had come back from the troop. The last one had said they were entering the mountains following the trail of a large raiding party, but had contacted no Mandrocs so far. Since then, silence.
‘Riders!’
The look-out’s cry cut into his dark reverie like a ray of sunlight. Jumping up on to the wall, he looked northwards, following the look-out’s pointing hand. He felt a great relief as he saw the distant riders approach-ing and there was some cheering from others who had been keeping informal watch on the battlements.
Within minutes, however, all elation was gone, and Ordan found himself running wide-eyed and alarmed out of the main gate to greet his Lord. Bloodied by battle, and fouled with a desperate journey, Lord Evison slithered from his mount only seconds before it collapsed, foaming and steaming. The riders following him were in no better condition.
Urgently shouting orders for the care of the return-ing men and beasts, Ordan bent forward and swung his Lord’s arm around his shoulder for support.
‘My Lord,’ he said. ‘What happened?’
The old man did not answer but leaned heavily on his Second-in-Command. ‘Who’ll believe us?’ he said after a moment.
Ordan looked at him. ‘My Lord?’ But Evison’s eyes showed he was in some other place. ‘My Lord,’ Ordan said again, more urgently, above the mounting clatter of activity that was filling the courtyard.
Abruptly, Evison jerked upright and stared at him, a distant look of recognition in his eyes. Then he seized Ordan’s arm and, limping slightly, dragged him into the castle.
Unable to resist his Lord’s urgent grasp, Ordan was pulled through familiar rooms and passageways in a strange, almost nightmare silence. Their journey ended in the Hall of the Four Guardians.
Evison walked purposefully over to an ornate cabi-net housing his family’s Festival Shrine. He stared at it for a moment, his face riven with conflicting emotions, then without warning he smashed the glass with his mailed fist. Before Ordan could speak, a second blow smashed into the shrine itself, splintering its delicate painted woodwork and sending its simple contents scattering.
Ordan stood aghast as Evison groped through the wreckage and, with an almost touching carefulness in his awkward gloved hand, picked up one of the fallen figures.
Ordan’s first thought was that his Lord had gone insane, but when he looked into his eyes, he saw cold reason underpinning pain and horror.
‘Commander,’ said the Lord, wrapping the figure in a blood-stained kerchief, ‘you understand what this is?’ He held out the small bundle. Ordan nodded and opened his mouth to speak but Evison cut him short with a wave of his hand, then taking hold of his arm began to manoeuvre him powerfully out of the hall. ‘Ask no questions, Ordan,’ he said, striding relentlessly, his face pained with the effort. ‘This is my last order to you. Every second means death for someone. Take this to Lord Eldric. He’ll believe me.’
‘My Lord… ’ Ordan protested, but Evison’s pace allowed him no pause.
‘No questions, Commander. Obey my order. Ride as you’ve never ridden. Destroy anything that stands in your way. Tell Eldric we have captives by way of proof, but… they… they’re coming after us.’ His voice faltered, and a look of disbelief washed momentarily into his eyes. ‘We’ll hold if we can,’ he said softly.
When they reached the courtyard it was choked with wounded and exhausted men, and more were straggling in through the open gate. Ordan hesitated, unable to accept what he was seeing, but Evison’s momentum propelled him forward irresistibly towards a fresh courier mount.
‘Go,’ Evison said. ‘Lord Eldric and none other.’
Still under the impetus of his Lord’s driving ur-gency, Ordan mounted the horse. For a moment he paused and looked down at Evison, hoping for some explanation, however brief. But the despair on the old man’s face would bear no interrogation. Very softly, Evison said, ‘My blessings will be with you, Ordan, but as you love and have served me, go, now.’
Then Ordan was galloping frantically through the gates and along the dusty road lined with bright sunlit flowers and filled with buzzing insects, his vision stained with the sight of the returning remnants of his companions and his ears filled with the sound of his Lord calling his quiet, ordered castle to Battle Stations.
On Yatsu’s command, the group filtered casually into the darkening streets in twos and threes. No sooner were they all out of the building, however, than there was a clatter of horses’ hooves behind them. Yatsu spun round in disbelief. He had checked the area only minutes earlier, and there were no patrols about.
The horses, however, were their own.
‘Not a bad bunch of nags,’ Serian declared to Hawk-lan patronizingly. ‘They’ll knock into shape. At least they do as they’re told.’
Hawklan looked at the powerful animal and then at the smaller mounts the Goraidin had stolen. I’ll wager they do, he thought, when you tell them. However, he kept his peace, knowing from past experience that it was unwise to become involved in debates with animals about their hierarchies.
‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Look after them, Serian. We need them.’
Yatsu was impressed and heartened. Being mounted from the start could make all the difference to their chances. ‘Have you any more surprises for us, healer?’ he asked.
Hawklan could not forbear a smile. ‘I’ve a friend in high places,’ he said, and raising his hand he signalled to Gavor circling high above. The raven glided down silently and landed on his shoulder. Yatsu started.
‘This is Yatsu, Gavor,’ said Hawklan. ‘You’ve seen what he’s done for us. I’ve accepted him as Commander, will you do the same?’
Gavor put his head on one side. ‘Very martial, aren’t we, dear boy?’ he said. ‘But whatever you say.’ Then, after pausing to give Yatsu a beady and unnerving look, he launched himself at the unsuspecting and bewildered Goraidin. Yatsu raised his hand instinctively, but Gavor avoided the manoeuvre and landed with wilful awk-wardness on his shoulder.
That, though, was the end of his clowning. Soon he was flying high above them and looking for patrols, floating down occasionally to alight on a post or low eaves from which he could speak to Yatsu without being conspicuous.
At Yatsu’s orders, some of the fragmented group were walking by their horses, some riding slowly, so that they could mingle more easily with the other traffic in the street. Such people as were abroad, however, were, for the most part, making for their homes after their day’s work, and were oblivious to other travellers. In addition, the Mathidrin uniforms, soiled though they were, tended to make passers-by avert their gaze and hurry past as quickly as they dared.
Gavor’s high-flying observations of the real Mathidrin patrols sent the group scurrying into byways several times but, on the whole, their journey was uneventful. It was not easy, however. They had a long way to go and the strain of maintaining a slow pace fatigued them almost as much as if they had been running.
‘This is loathsome,’ said Eldric. ‘Sneaking through Vakloss like thieves.’
‘Be quiet, Lord,’ said the Goraidin accompanying him, sharply. ‘Keep your eyes on the Commander.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Eldric said, genuinely. ‘An old man’s impatience.’
The Goraidin looked at him significantly. ‘Stay calm and watch, Lord,’ he said slowly and firmly.
Eventually they reached the far side of one of the great parks, and the tension eased a little.
‘There’s nothing near,’ Gavor said to Yatsu. ‘I think you should make some speed now. I’ll keep watching.’
Yatsu nodded, and swung up into his saddle. ‘Mount up,’ he said. ‘Let’s take our… scout’s… advice. There’s only one small group of houses to pass through and we’ll be in open country.’ He spurred his horse to a trot, glad to be rid of their slow progress. It was important that they be as far away as possible by dawn. Vakloss had a commanding and far-reaching view of the surrounding plain.
As they neared the houses, Gavor floated down out of the growing darkness and landed on Yatsu’s head. Bending forward he tapped his beak irreverently on the Mathidrin helmet.
‘Slow down a little, Commander,’ he said. ‘There are two cockroaches putting up a notice. They’ll be gone in a moment.’
Yatsu nodded. Gavor flapped his wings to regain his balance.
A small crowd had gathered when the group arrived. They were examining the notice to which Gavor had referred. Yatsu slowed his horse to an easy walk and led the riders quietly forward. Hawklan noticed that the light was different. Looking round, he saw the ubiqui-tous globes had been broken, and that the light was being provided by newly rigged torches similar to those he had seen in the house in Vakloss and, so long ago it seemed now, in Jaldaric’s tent. The light they emitted was less bright than that of the globes, but under it, details were more clearly visible and shadows less harsh. They enhance the darkness, he realized. He noted Isloman nodding to himself.
Yatsu followed Hawklan’s gaze. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Dan-Tor may have power but there’s been a lot of opposition in the past to many of his… improvements.’ He curled his lip in distaste as he said the word. ‘I think more will surface after the mess those burning workshops made.’
Suddenly there was an angry noise from the crowd and Hawklan looked down to see several of its members approaching purposefully towards them. Their leader, a tall rangy man, seized Yatsu’s bridle. He had the mien of a scholar rather than a warrior and, to Hawklan, his actions indicated he had been considerably provoked. Yatsu, too, was surprised but, before he could speak, this man burst out angrily.
‘Get out! Get out! Get away from here. You’re not wanted, nor any of your kind. Clear off!’
His cry was taken up by several others. Hawklan looked at the growing crowd. It was different from that which had greeted him in the border village. That had been hostile, but calm and quite curious. These people, however, were in the first flush of anger and a powerful animal sense of threat surged over him. He knew it would take very little to make them push aside the normal social restraints that controlled their dealings with others.
To his relief, however, Yatsu’s response was con-ciliatory.
‘Come now, sir,’ the Goraidin said, leaning forward slightly to stroke his horse and at the same time nudging it gently into restlessness, ‘you’re frightening my horse. We’ll be gone as soon as you let us through.’
The tall man hesitated at Yatsu’s quiet response but Hawklan sensed his rage uncoiling. Something had released a long-held anger in the man and, unleashed, it would run its course like an overflowing river, sweeping aside anything that stood in its way.
The man shook the bridle violently and the horse reared its head up in alarm. ‘Curse you and all your kind,’ he said through clenched teeth. The small act of misdirected violence seemed to calm him a little and, still glowering at Yatsu, he stroked the horse’s cheek, regretful of any small hurt he might have done the animal. ‘Damn you all. You make us all like yourselves,’ he muttered.
Yatsu waited uncertainly. Like Hawklan, he too understood the nature of the man’s anger and knew that it was neither fully expended nor yet controlled. There was no saying what he might do next. He looked like a teacher; a man unused to violence and, as such, unused to its control. That made him unpredictable and very dangerous, both to himself and to anyone else who got in the way. Yatsu wished he were somewhere else.
He let out a long low breath. ‘Please let go of my horse,’ he said gently, bending forward and looking directly into the man’s eyes. ‘We’re off duty. Look, some of us aren’t in uniform. We just want to get back to our billets. And I’ve two injured men here. Let us pass. We mean you no harm.’
For a moment the two stared at one another. Yatsu’s quiet reason and his unseen but implacable will stood like a cliff face before the surge of the man’s anger. Subtly it offered both unmoving resistance and a way out.
The flood abated and the man released the bridle. ‘Get out,’ he said again, quietly and viciously, striking his clenched fist impotently against his own leg. ‘Get out.’
‘No,’ cried another voice as Yatsu prepared to urge his horse forward. ‘No, wait. Keep hold of him, Mendar.’
A figure pushed determinedly through the crowd until it was by Lord Eldric’s horse. Eldric looked down into the round earnest face of a middle-aged man. It was familiar, and his memory immediately started tracking back and forth to identify it.
‘By Ethriss, it is,’ said the man. ‘The Lord Eldric. I thought my eyes were deceiving me. Too long under that brown streak’s globes.’ Then he stepped back and saluted smartly.
Eldric’s memory arrived at the face, not without some pride. ‘At ease, Sirshiant Astrom,’ he said, returning the salute and then leaning forward, hand extended. ‘Good to see you again, man,’ he went on, smiling. ‘It’s some years since we last met, isn’t it? Not as trim as you used to be, I see, but just as unforgetta-ble.’
Impressive, thought the cold part of Hawklan’s mind.
‘Indeed, Lord,’ said the man, beaming and patting his stomach in mock regret. Then, urgently, ‘My Lord. I don’t know what’s going on, but we none of us believe those rumours about you. Just give me the signal and we’ll have these cockroaches down and we’ll march with you to the Palace to free your son.’
Yatsu interrupted quickly. ‘Lord, if this man’s known to you, have him ask these people to let us through. Time’s against us.’
Eldric raised his hand to silence him and leaned further forward towards Astrom. ‘Free my son, Astrom. What do you mean?’ he said.
Yatsu looked at Hawklan almost desperately. ‘Lord,’ he said urgently.
‘A moment, Commander,’ Eldric said firmly. ‘My son, Astrom?’
Someone thrust a crumpled paper into Astrom’s hand and he handed it to the Lord. Eldric pressed out the creases and held up the paper to read it. He became very still.
When he had finished, he handed it to Darek and turned to Yatsu. ‘You knew of this, Commander?’ he said stonily.
Yatsu met his gaze unwaveringly. ‘Yes, Lord,’ he replied.
‘And you’d have led me from the City without telling me?’
‘Yes, Lord.’
‘You took a heavy responsibility on your shoulders. Did you think I didn’t know my duty?’
Yatsu’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘That’s unjust, Lord,’ he said. ‘You’re human. I took the decision, as I’ve taken all the others. You were rescued because of your value to the people and I put that value before your feelings for your son, and before your son’s life. I took nothing but pain in doing it, but it was right, and I’d have accounted for it to you in due course, as you know.’
Eldric seemed to shrink a little. He looked at Hawk-lan. ‘And you. Did you know?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ replied Hawklan quietly.
‘And you’ve met my son?’
Hawklan lowered his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I liked him. But Yatsu was Commander. He knew you, and the people, and all your needs far better than I.’
Eldric sat up stiffly and gazed into the sky. Hawklan could feel the struggle within him. An old conflict. That between duty to the people who looked to him for leadership and duty to his family.
Finally Eldric let out a deep breath. ‘Yatsu, I and my family absolve you from blame,’ he said. ‘And I apologize for my reproach. It was just an old man’s reaction to sudden pain. You were, and still are, Commander here. You’ve done well.’
Yatsu’s face creased in pain and he bowed.
Eldric reached out for the notice, which had been passed around his companions. He read through it again, lips pursed.
‘The Lord Dan-Tor’s demanding that we four return to the Palace and throw ourselves on the mercy of the King. Not the Law, you’ll note.’ He looked at Darek. ‘But the King’s mercy. Which means, of course, Dan-Tor’s. The nature of which can be determined from the statement that my son-my son,’ he emphasized, ‘"having been found an enemy of Fyorlund by the King’s Special Court sitting in closed session", will be publicly executed if we don’t return within two days.’
He paused for a moment and bowed his head to hide his face from the watching people. Unconsciously he screwed up the notice. ‘This is an abomination,’ he said unsteadily, almost to himself. ‘Secret trials. Public executions, for Ethriss’s sake. I begin to dread the very passing of time. Each second seems to sink our poor country further and further into some bottomless mire.’
He was silent for some time, his hands fidgeting idly with the crumpled paper. Then he looked up and raised and lowered his shoulders as if he were adjusting a great burden.
‘Still,’ he said, his voice almost matter-of-fact. ‘It’s good to know the lad’s alive.’ Then, very purposefully, ‘Commander Yatsu, here are your orders. Go with the Lords to my stronghold in the hills as fast as you can. Commander Varak’s in charge there. Find out what’s happened to the estates and High Guards of the Lords Arinndier, Hreldar and Darek. Then raise the old hands, the veterans, and start work on recruitment and training. We have to forge a weapon large and strong enough to face Dan-Tor and his Mathidrin and… ’ He caught Hawklan’s eye, and the terrible image of the armed Mandroc patrol and all it implied appeared before him. ‘… and whatever other forces he may have.’
Turning to his friends, he held up the crumpled notice. ‘This alone shows the rightness of Commander Yatsu’s actions and of the conclusions we ourselves have reached. No further debate is necessary except on the strategy and tactics of how we rid ourselves of Dan-Tor. Do you agree?’ The three Lords nodded without speaking.
Eldric turned to Hawklan and Isloman. ‘You’re bound to neither me nor my country by any oath or tie, but will you help us further?’
‘We’ve a common foe, Lord Eldric,’ Hawklan replied, taking his hand. ‘You’ll have our help and probably that of all Orthlund should the need arise, though in what manner time alone will tell.’ He looked at the old man. ‘But what are you going to do?’
Eldric, satisfied, turned to the crowd. He held up the notice again and addressed them all. ‘According to this, my son’s to be executed if we four don’t surrender. Executed! After a secret trial! No man’s been executed in Fyorlund for three generations.’ He paused and looked intently at the crowd momentarily silenced by his passion. Then he continued more quietly, ‘I can’t begin to understand what Dan-Tor wants of us. However, it behoves us to remember that he’s a man of great cunning and deviousness. A man who turns all eventu-alities to his own ends. A man capable of anything. I can only imagine that he wants the City rent by riots again, for surely few Fyordyn could let such infamy pass unhindered.’
Some of the crowd shouted their approval, but El-dric waved them to silence, and then pointed to Yatsu and the others. ‘These men are not what they seem. They’re High Guards and it’s due to their courage that we four are free today. You all heard the orders I gave them. Publicly and openly announced, in the Fyordyn manner, for all to hear. I’ll offer no one violence but I fear that superior force will be the only way this man’s hand can be stayed.’
More shouts of agreement came from the crowd.
Eldric continued. ‘But there must be no rioting. No random, ill-judged violence. We must not hand this man weapons to strike us down with. While my one hand arms itself, I’ll offer the other in peace, if not friendship. Two days hence, on the day set for my son’s… execution, I shall present myself before the Palace and demand a public Accounting of my accuser, according to the Law. I ask you all to accompany me to witness this.’
The crowd fell suddenly silent, and then began to shout and applaud.
Hawklan looked at Darek in puzzlement. ‘What does this mean?’ he asked.
The lean-faced Lord seemed to be deeply moved. Quietly, he said, ‘Under the Law, any accused person has the right to demand a public Accounting of his accuser. It’s the very heart of our Law, Hawklan.’
Hawklan nodded. ‘But surely if he appears in public he’ll simply be taken by the Mathidrin?’
‘Not now,’ said Darek. ‘The word will fly around the City. His very openness will protect him until the Accounting. More than any other act, if Dan-Tor were to breach his right of Accounting it would unite the City against him to a man. It’s not merely deep in the Law, it’s deep in the people.’
Hawklan frowned. ‘And after this Accounting?’ he asked.
Darek looked at him, his face unusually pale. ‘Who can say?’ he replied. ‘Eldric’s fulfilled his duty to the country by publicly ordering us to unite and arm, presumably he sees the Accounting as his duty to his family.’
‘The Accounting’s his duty to everyone.’ It was Hreldar. ‘It’ll expose Dan-Tor to the real scrutiny of the people for the first time. They’ll start realizing they must choose. He’s providing himself as a focus for the people. He’s trying to lance the boil that’s been festering in our society ever since that… man… arrived.’ He looked at Eldric, now in earnest conversation with Astrom. ‘He’s also bought us time,’ he said slowly.
Later, the party rested some way outside the City so that Hawklan could tend to Arinndier and Dacu. Everyone sat motionless and silent in the starry darkness. Eldric’s decision dominated all their thoughts, but no one spoke of it. Time enough later.
Hawklan stood leaning against a tree looking back at the City. Streaked with the bright lights of the globes lining its streets, it looked like some great phosphores-cent animal that at any time might waken and come seeking them in the night.
Free now of the immediate dangers of the last few days he felt again the strange unease he had noticed when he first approached Vakloss. It was like a low rumbling note deep within him. What was this place when I was last here? he asked himself. ‘You’ll ruin your shadow vision staring at those lights.’ Isloman’s voice interrupted his reverie.
Hawklan nodded. ‘I’d not have thought it possible that anyone could use light so destructively,’ he said.
‘Consider yourself fortunate to be as shadow blind as you are rock-blind, Hawklan,’ Isloman replied, his voice strangely solemn. ‘Those lights of Dan-Tor’s are the stuff of nightmares. More corrupt by far than anything he brought to Pedhavin. He has some terrible, fascinating knowledge.’
Hawklan looked at his friend. ‘Fascinating? Take care, Carver,’ he said.
Isloman nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Dan-Tor’s a man of deep and subtle traps. I wonder how many good men have unwrapped his evil, layer by layer, only to be trapped at its heart by those very wrappings?’
‘Does it frighten you?’ Hawklan asked.
‘A little,’ said Isloman after a moment’s pause. Then, ‘No. It frightens me a lot. He’s powerful beyond my understanding, old friend. I think he could destroy us with the blink of an eye if he so wished. Still, perhaps I’ve known that ever since we left the village. It doesn’t alter the fact that we have to face him and all he offers. If we don’t, we’ll die with him at our backs.’
Hawklan laid his hand on Isloman’s shoulder and turned away from the City to rest his eyes in the deep purple distance.
‘Mount up, gentlemen.’ Yatsu’s soft order came out of the darkness. ‘We’ve some hard riding ahead.’