All five started violently at the sound suddenly surging out of the darkness of the Labyrinth. Before any of them could speak however, it was all around them, ringing and echoing about the hall.
‘It’s Tarrian and Grayle,’ Antyr cried out, though he could scarcely hear his own voice. ‘They must have wandered in there after we left.’
Panic seized him and instinctively he reached out to them. Almost immediately he touched Tarrian’s consciousness, but even as he did, the wolf rebuffed him so strongly that, though the blow was only in his mind, the fear and the wildness in it sent him staggering backwards into Loman.
‘Are you all right?’ the smith shouted at him above the still-mounting noise.
Antyr’s panic redoubled. ‘They’re in there! Get them out!’ He tried to run towards the Labyrinth but, on seeing his intention, Loman’s grip, at first sustaining, tightened and held him firm.
‘If they’re in there and off the path there’s nothing you can do. It’ll kill you too if you go after them.’ Loman’s voice cracked with dismay as he struggled to make himself heard, but his grip on Antyr did not falter.
Then there was movement amid the clamorous columns and, flanked by the grey frenzy of Tarrian and Grayle, a figure stumbled into the hall. He had a knife in his hand. Gulda’s stick flicked out protectively with unexpected speed as Hawklan, the nearest to the man, took a rapid pace backwards. Loman released Antyr to move to help Hawklan but it was immediately apparent that the man was a threat to no one.
Indeed, he would have fallen headlong had not Hawklan stepped forward quickly and caught him. The knife clattered to the floor. Gulda’s stick swept down and knocked it deftly towards Loman who stooped and picked it up with an agility that belied his bulk.
Tarrian and Grayle left the man and ran straight to Antyr who dropped to his knees to embrace them. Both animals were frantic with excitement.
The noise from the Labyrinth fell away abruptly into a low swooping moan punctuated by what sounded like distant cries and dull percussions. Not that anyone noticed, for they were all too occupied with the cavorting wolves and the mysterious arrival.
A black shape flapped into the hall, the lanterns flickering its shadow over the walls and ceiling to add to the confusion.
‘Heard the noise, dear boys. What’s happening?’
Gavor landed awkwardly by the now supine figure of the man as Hawklan was examining him. ‘Oh dear. He doesn’t look very well, does he?’ he offered.
The man was wearing heavy boots, a jacket secured by a stout leather belt, and loose-fitting trousers. Though made from a heavy and obviously hard-wearing fabric his clothes were stained and torn and impregnated with dust that rose up in small dancing spirals each time Hawklan touched him. A sword and another knife hung from his belt. Hawklan removed it and handed it to Loman who inspected it curiously.
Of average height and build, there was nothing about the man to indicate who he might be, but his face was strained and drawn as though he had been starved or was being driven by some terrible inner demon.
‘I think he’s only unconscious,’ Hawklan said. ‘Exhausted.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Loman said. ‘Where could he have come from? His clothes and his weapons aren’t Orthlundyn – or Fyordyn for that matter. And look at this.’ He held out the knife he had retrieved. It was bloodstained. Hawklan grimaced but did not speak. ‘And how could he have come out of the Labyrinth?’ Loman went on, rubbing his hand tightly across his brow as though that might erase his confusion. He gave Antyr a questioning look but Tarrian and Grayle were still careering wildly around the Dream Finder.
‘They’re too excited,’ Antyr said. ‘I can’t reach them when they’re like this.’
‘It doesn’t matter at the moment,’ Hawklan said, gathering up the man. ‘Let’s tend to this one first.’ He paused and looked thoughtfully at the now silent Labyrinth. ‘Loman, get the Goraidin together and arrange to have a permanent guard in this place. The Labyrinth has always had a way of springing surprises on us in difficult times and I’d like both sure swords and clear-eyed witnesses here after this.’ He looked again into the gloom of the Labyrinth, then spoke quietly to Gulda. ‘Memsa, would you try to seek out the Alphraan? See if they know anything of this?’ Gulda nodded slowly, without speaking. ‘Thank you,’ Hawklan said. ‘Gavor, go with her.’
By the time the stranger had been laid on a comfortable bed in a sunlit room overlooking the Orthlundyn countryside, Gulda was trudging purposefully into the mountains, Gavor circling high above her; Yatsu and Jaldaric had lost the draw for first duty in the Labyrinth hall and Loman was pacifying the other Goraidin.
Having assured himself that although his patient was bruised, scratched and probably undernourished, he was indeed only unconscious, Hawklan sat down beside him and prepared to wait. Nertha was sitting on the opposite side of the bed. Antyr had sought out Vredech and she had come with him. Intrigued by Hawklan’s healing skills since she had first met him, she had watched him intently as he examined the man and had asked many questions. Andawyr and Dar-volci were by the window, the one leaning on the sill, the other stretched out luxuriously affecting a studied indifference to this strange happening. Vredech and Antyr were in an adjacent room with Tarrian and Grayle talking urgently. The rumbling tones of their conversation drifted into the otherwise silent room.
After a little while, the man stirred and opened his eyes. They widened as he looked around. He cried out and made to sit up. Nertha laid a restraining hand on him.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ she said. ‘You’re safe here.’
The man tried to push the hand aside. Hawklan moved to intervene, but it was unnecessary. The man was no match for either Nertha’s experience or her determination. Hawklan smiled as he caught the glint of resolute compassion in the physician’s eyes. ‘You’re safe. And uninjured,’ Nertha insisted with gentle forcefulness. ‘My name’s Nertha, this is Hawklan and that’s Andawyr. The felci pretending to be asleep on the windowsill is Dar-volci. This place you’re in, in case you don’t know, is Anderras Darion and you just arrived in a most unusual fashion from what I hear. Lie still for a few minutes while you gather your wits. Is there anything you want immediately? Food, drink?’
The man glanced from Nertha to Hawklan and back, his eyes fearful and doubting.
‘Do you want anything?’ Nertha asked again.
‘Water,’ came the reply after another unsteady inspection of the room and its occupants.
‘I’ll get it,’ Andawyr volunteered.
The man closed his eyes, then slowly opened them as if to reassure himself that what he was seeing was actually there. ‘I’m all right,’ he said after a while, slowly pushing himself upright. ‘At least, I think I am.’
Andawyr returned with a glass of water which the man drank greedily before handing the glass back with a guilty, almost fearful look.
‘There’s plenty more,’ Andawyr reassured him with a laugh.
The man was running his hands over himself as if testing the reality of what he was seeing. ‘Has it all just been a dream?’ he said to no one in particular. ‘A nightmare?’ He looked at the window, then hesitantly swung off the bed and walked over to it. ‘The sun,’ he said softly as he gazed out. ‘It’s back.’ For a moment it seemed as though he were about to break down in tears. ‘I never thought I’d see it again. This is a dream, isn’t it?’
Hawklan and Nertha both frowned in response to his obvious pain but Andawyr’s expression was one of bewilderment at what he was saying. The man turned sharply. ‘Or am I dead? Did they catch me – kill me? They were close – very close. I felt them, right behind me. Is this some kind of afterlife?’ He put his hand to his head.
‘You’re not dreaming and you’re certainly not dead,’ Hawklan said. ‘I think you’ll find you’ve got as many cuts and bruises now as when you left wherever it was you left. And we’ve got as many questions to ask of you as you have of us. Nertha told you our names; what’s yours?’
The man hesitated before replying, still very uncertain.
‘I’m Gentren, Gentren Marson,’ he said eventually. ‘My father’s Andeeren Marsyn. He’s… hewas… the Protector of the Land of…’ He faltered, then gave a short bitter laugh. ‘Of nowhere now, not now there’s nothing but desert, tortured land and tainted skies.’ He turned back to the window. ‘Where is this place?’
‘Anderras Darion. The land you see out there is Orthlund. And you came here by some means that we’d dearly like to know about. Can you tell us about it? And who they are, the people who were pursuing you?’
‘The Riders, who else? The three Riders.’ Gentren’s voice was a mixture of surprise and irritation, as if he were dealing with foolish children, though it softened almost immediately as he continued looking through the window. ‘I’ve never heard of Orthlund and I’d no idea there was anywhere like this still left. I thought we were the last.’ He turned back to Hawklan. ‘And I don’t know how I came here. None of this makes any sense.’
Andawyr gave a wry shrug. ‘That’s becoming a very familiar remark,’ he said, dropping into a chair and swinging his legs up on to the end of the bed. It was a deliberately casual movement that had the effect of easing much of the tension in the room. He motioned Gentren towards the bed. ‘Sit down and relax. I think it would be a good idea if you told us about yourself. So far, we’re as mystified by you as you are by us. Tell us about these Riders.’
Gentren looked at him suspiciously. ‘How can you not have heard of them?’ he said, his voice suddenly full of both anger and despair. ‘They’ve swept across the entire world, destroyed almost every living thing, transformed land and sea into vast, dead obscenities, blotted out the sun, fouled the air itself. Hardly any of us are left – people, animals, birds – all dead – or dying.’
The power in his voice seemed to darken the room and it was a few moments before Hawklan said, very gently, ‘There was a war here several years ago but nothing such as you describe. Nor has any remotely like it happened. Wherever you come from…’ He hesitated. ‘Doesn’t seem to be any part of this world.’
Gentren looked at each of them in turn, then seemed to wilt. He took Andawyr’s advice and sat down on the edge of the bed.
‘Not part of this world,’ he echoed to himself. He ran his hand idly over the embroidered sheets. ‘Is it really possible?’
‘We believe so.’
‘Believe so,’ Gentren echoed softly to himself as he looked at Hawklan. He leaned forward. ‘Before the Riders came, some of my father’s advisers – his savants, his sages, his learned men – believed so. Or rather, conjectured so – that other worlds might exist at the same time and in the same place as our own.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘It was an interesting notion with apparently much to commend it in the way both of reasoned argument and observation, I believe, though it was all beyond me. And it wasn’t particularly important, was it? An academic matter – sufficient in itself. An elegant idea, apparently – exciting, even – a newer understanding.’ A haunted look came into his face and he became agitated. ‘Then some of them were suddenly concerned. They began telling a tale that might’ve come from times when blind superstition had to suffice for knowledge. A disaster was coming – the end of the world, no less. A deep flaw had somehow been made in the heart of things long ago – an imbalance. The least of things in itself, at the very limits of what could be measured. But it had grown for generations and was growing ever faster. Now the consequences of it were no longer small. A terrible alignment was about to happen – these many separate worlds would come together.’ He threw up his hands. ‘Or something like that. I couldn’t make anything of it – and it was all theoretical enough to be dismissed as a bookish storm in a wine glass, wasn’t it? Until it became real, that is.’ His searching hands patted his midriff urgently. ‘Where’s my sword?’
Hawklan reached out and took the belt and sword that were leaning against the wall. ‘Here,’ he said, putting them on the bed beside him. ‘Though I doubt you’ll be needing a sword here. Or this.’ He handed him the bloodstained knife.
Gentren took it and stared at it. His face was unreadable. ‘I attacked one of them with this,’ he said, his voice full of vicious self-mockery. ‘A dismal piece of iron. Against the power that they had. I suppose if I was insane enough to do that then I could still be mad, couldn’t I?’
‘You could be,’ Hawklan agreed. ‘But you neither look nor sound mad to me, and, in my experience, mad people rarely ask that question. Besides, it seems from what you’ve said so far that, figments of your imagination or not, we’re preferable to the company you’ve just left. Finish your story before you ponder your sanity. What did your father do about this advice he was receiving?’
Gentren gave a slight shrug. ‘What could he do? He was concerned. These men were capable and highly respected. But they offered him no advice about what he should do. Their researches told them nothing except that this… alignment… was coming, and coming soon and that it would bring great destruction – possibly the destruction of the entire world. Concerned or not, he was a practical man. How could he prepare for a disaster whose nature was completely unknown to him? There was nothing he could do but politely ignore them – hope that it was just an error in their theories… their measurements. It wasn’t an unreasonable hope, they weren’t unanimous in their thinking. And it was all so improbable, so fantastic – the end of the world – I ask you – it had to be nonsense, didn’t it? Despite the credentials of his advisers it wasn’t something a busy Protector could pay serious attention to, was it?’ He fell silent.
‘Then?’ Hawklan prompted.
Gentren began trembling. He wrapped his arms about himself in an unsuccessful attempt to stop it. ‘Then, suddenly, they were there. No one knew how or when they came, still less from where. They were just there. Three Riders. No great armies – no worlds crashing into us, tearing the sky open, splitting the earth apart. Just three people on horseback! But what they could do – what they did! – was beyond belief. They rode effortlessly about our world, destroying all they came near to with seemingly nothing more than a wave of the hand. Towns fell, cities fell – literally fell – flattened – razed. There were no sieges, no battles, no parleying, no demands, nothing. No one knew what they wanted. They just swept places and people aside with no more thought than a man might give to scalding out an ants’ nest. Some people tried to fight, some sent heralds to speak to them, most just fled – the country, the sea, everywhere was alive with panic-stricken people. But all to no avail. Those that they saw, they slaughtered out of hand with the same ease and indifference that they used on buildings and city walls.’
He stopped, his face taut and his fists clenched. The images he had conjured hung in the stillness, the more terrible for his quiet telling.
‘Then they stopped. We thought they’d wearied of their… work… or perhaps taken all they’d wanted. There was a strange quietness over everything, as though all of us who were left were holding our breath. I think it was shock – sheer disbelief – as much as anything. How was it possible that so much could have come about so quickly? How was it that so many peoples could be destroyed and cowed so easily? A civilization, aeons old, smashed as though it were no more than a flimsy toy in the hands of a reckless child. But whatever we were thinking, it didn’t matter. The destruction they’d wrought before was nothing compared to what began next.’ He turned towards the window. ‘I don’t know what it was they did but they started changing the land itself. Fleeing survivors told us of mountains rising up from nothing – blue and jagged – and of seas retreating. We might have disbelieved them but, even where we were, we could feel the ground shaking under our feet, faint but quite definite – and very frightening.’ He shuddered violently, startling his listeners. ‘Then a deep blue haze began to fill the sky. It dimmed the sun – threw everywhere into a ghastly half-night.’ He closed his eyes. ‘The air became acrid and foul – burning the throat. No rain came after that.’ He looked at the glass that Andawyr was holding.
‘If this is troubling you too much we can talk later,’ Hawklan said, resting a hand on his arm.
‘There’s precious little left to tell,’ Gentren replied. ‘For a while they were occupied with whatever they were doing, then they were moving out again, destroying new land as relentlessly as ever. This time we tried to oppose them. My father had managed to rally some semblance of an army. But, as before, it was futile.’ He flicked his hand in an airy gesture. ‘They just swept that aside as they’d done everything else.’ His mouth curled in anger. ‘We wereless than ants to them. We couldn’t even bite them before we died.’
‘And what happened to you?’ Hawklan asked.
‘What indeed?’ Gentren said bitterly. ‘In the end, I did what everyone else did. The only thing I could do. I ran.’ He looked around the room.
‘How did you come here, then?’
Gentren frowned. ‘I told you, I don’t know. They were getting nearer. Everyone I knew was gone – family, friends. I was fleeing into the hills with some vague idea of hiding somewhere – just hoping I wouldn’t be found. I remember I hadn’t enough nails to shoe my horse properly and it lost a shoe and brought me down. But I kept on running until I fell into a ditch.’
His manner became calmer but more intense.
‘I must have fallen asleep. I remember dreaming – dreaming about a plough tearing open the ground – three huge horses pulling it – and seagulls screaming and flapping behind it – bickering and fighting the way they do. They were all around me. I was trying to beat them off when I awoke, staring up from the bottom of the ditch through the dead grasses and reeds at that awful tainted blue sky. But the gulls were still screaming. Except that the sounds they were making weren’t sounds any gull could make – or any natural creature. It was – dreadful. It reached right inside me, tore at me.’ Gentren’s eyes widened as he relived the scene. ‘And suddenly I knew who was making it. It was them. Everything they were was in that noise.’ His face contorted and his hand reached out, claw-like, as if to crush something. ‘All of a sudden, every part of me was alive with anger – so powerful – I’d no control over it. They were here! These creatures who’d brought all this horror and destruction were here – probably only a few paces from where I was lying. Part of me wanted to leap out of the ditch and cut them down – slash and hack at them until no part of them would even be recognizable.’ His hand tightened, then relaxed, and he gave a sour smile, full of self-contempt. ‘I didn’t, of course. I grabbed my knife…’ He mimicked the action, then paused, looking at the knife in front of him. ‘But just doing that – feeling that familiar handle in my hand – feeling reality – told me I wasn’t going to do anything. The anger was still there – but I didn’t want to die. So I just held my breath – lay still, very still – willing them to go away. But they didn’t. They stayed there – screeching at one another – to and fro – endlessly.’ He put his hands to his ears. ‘Then one of them was right above me. His horse kicked in part of the edge of the ditch making me jump – I thought it was going to fall on me. I must have made a noise because the next thing, the horse was craning round, looking into the ditch. Except that it wasn’t like any horse I’d ever seen before.’
‘Long bony head, malevolent eyes, and a strange way of moving – like a snake.’ The voice was Vredech’s, standing in the doorway with Antyr.
‘Yes,’ Gentren exclaimed. ‘How did you know?’
‘Go on,’ Hawklan pressed, frowning at Vredech’s interruption.
‘It saw me. Looked right at me.’ Gentren took a deep breath. ‘Then the rider was turning towards me. I’ve never been so afraid, ever. I had to get away. I don’t know what possessed me. I jumped up, drove my knife into his leg, then ran!’
This time it was Andawyr who interrupted. ‘Youstabbed him?’ he said, eyes wide with incredulity.
‘Yes,’ Gentren confirmed, as if surprised at Andawyr’s surprise. The Cadwanwr gaped. ‘I didn’t think about it – I just did it.’
Hawklan motioned Gentren to continue. ‘I can’t remember much after that. I was running like I’d never run before. Dodging and weaving across the hillside. I could hear the Riders behind me, but I didn’t look back. It wasn’t me running, really. Something inside me had taken charge and was hurling me along. I did things I know I couldn’t possibly do – jumping from rock to rock – crashing through undergrowth. I do remember their screams, though – they were different – more human, somehow. It didn’t sound like any language I’d ever heard but I could understand it well enough… it was full of anger and hate. I knew they weren’t going to reach out and kill me with that power they had, like they’d done to entire armies. I knew they were going to capture me. I could feel the pain of the one I’d injured.’ He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. His brow furrowed with concentration. ‘The rest is vague – just the sound of my heart and my breathing filling everywhere. I seem to remember turning towards a light. And I remember the tone of their screeching changed – it became desperate, frantic. Then, very suddenly, it was fading away – dwindling into the distance like an insect whine. And I was… falling… I think… yes, falling – tumbling through something I can’t begin to describe – strange lights – strange sounds, all around me – sounds that became a howling. I remember thinking, “They’ve killed me. This is what dying is like.” Yet I was wondering what the howling was. And I remember thinking how strange it was I should be curious at such a time. Then the howling seemed to be leading me – keeping me safe somehow. And I was on hard ground – running again – running blindly through a darkness filled with a terrible roaring – but the howling was still guiding and protecting me. And now I’m here – wherever here is, with its open and clear sky – and sunlight – talking to you… whoever you are, with your strange names and… your kindness.’ He laid down the knife and looked at Hawklan as if for a conclusive answer. ‘Am I dead?’ he asked plaintively. ‘Or mad?’
‘Neither,’ Hawklan replied bluntly and without hesitation. ‘There are far stranger things in this universe than death and madness. Far stranger.’ He turned to Andawyr. ‘More hard information for you?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Andawyr replied grimly. ‘Too hard for the kind of comfort I’d prefer. I’ll tell the others straight away.’ He spoke to Gentren. ‘There’s nothing I can say that will ease the pain you must have suffered. To be honest, I can’t begin to imagine how you feel after what’s happened to your world – indeed, I don’t want to imagine the kind of desolation you must feel. I’d like to tell you that you’re safe here but that wouldn’t be entirely true. We know – we think we know – the creatures you called the Riders. We’ve dealt with their kind before. We know they’re striving to reach us in this world, presumably with the intention of doing to it what they did to yours. In some ways we’re better placed than you were to deal with them, but I fear we’re looking towards a desperate and bitter struggle – one we may well lose.’ Hawklan’s eyes moved uneasily from Andawyr to Gentren and he raised a hand to intervene in this harsh verdict. But Andawyr waved him aside and while the gesture was gentle his words were unyielding. ‘Your world has gone, but you may perhaps have an opportunity for vengeance in this one, if you wish. We could use your help if you’re prepared to give it.’ Gentren stared at him in silence. He was trembling again. Andawyr’s manner softened. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘This is all too much, too quickly, isn’t it? Don’t worry, there’s no immediate danger, for sure. Rest here as long as you wish.’ He pointed towards the door. ‘When you’re ready – when you’ve satisfied yourself that Hawklan’s right – you’re neither dead nor mad – you can go anywhere you wish about this place – this land. Speak to whoever you wish, ask whatever questions you wish. Vredech and Antyr will go with you. It was Antyr’s Companions who guided you through the Labyrinth.’
Nertha coughed conspicuously. ‘And Nertha will go with you, too,’ he added hastily.
‘How do you know about the Riders?’ Gentren asked, seizing his arm abruptly.
‘Later,’ Andawyr replied. ‘There’s a lot to tell. And there’s a lot more we can still learn from you, I’m sure. Rest now.’
A little way to the east of Anderras Darion, in the mountains, a strange encounter was taking place.