For the first time since Hawklan had left there had been serious dissension among the Orthlundyn.
None could deny the vulnerability of their country as revealed by the visit of Dan-Tor and the subsequent slaughter of the High Guards by armed Mandrocs. And most agreed readily to the restraints placed on their ordinary lives by the need to build up sufficient skill at arms to mend this weakness. However, no small part in this agreement was played by Gulda’s organizing skills, which ensured that these restraints were modest and reasonable and that, for the most part, few had had to leave their homes and farms for any length of time.
Now, however, with the proposal for wholesale movement of almost all training into the mountains, the disruption promised to be considerable and, unexpect-edly, Loman and his colleagues found themselves spending long hours first persuading village elders of the real threat raised by the Alphraan’s action, and then helping them in their turn persuade their villagers.
‘The Riddinvolk don’t have this much trouble, I’m sure,’ Loman said one evening, slumping into his chair and gazing up at the carved ceiling. By an irony, it showed a scene of an orator skilfully swaying a great throng. Pulling a rueful face, Loman closed his eyes. ‘I must have spent half the day up at Oglin just sorting out who should tend whose fields, who should feed whose stock, who should collect whose stones from the quarry, mend this, mend that’ amp;mdashhe slapped the arms of his chair and uttered a strangled growl amp;mdash‘who should scratch whose backside… ’
Gulda looked up from the book she was reading and, surprisingly, laughed. ‘The Riddinvolk are different,’ she said. ‘They’re born to it. Their whole society pivots around the Muster and has done for generations. They have their family homes and lands, but they’re much more used to mobility and the kind of communal sharing that goes with it.’
Loman nodded. ‘I know, Memsa,’ he said more qui-etly. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’m only venting my frustration through the rafters. I’m just worried. This is taking much longer than I thought. It was hard enough changing the training schedules, but this reluctance, by people… ’
He sat up, leaving his comment unfinished.
Again surprisingly, Gulda did not seem to share his concern. ‘There’s nothing else you can do, is there?’ she said, her voice still mildly amused. ‘You can’t drag them up into the hills one at a time and make them train.’ She laid down her book and looked at him. ‘The Orthlundyn are every bit as mobile as the Riddinvolk, Loman, but in a different way.’ A long finger rose to tap her temple. ‘In here. In their minds.’
She turned her book over and gently ran her finger over its ornate binding. ‘I’ll confess, this delay is unsettling me a little as well,’ she said. ‘But it’ll be for the best in the end. Once people accept the changes freely, they’ll commit themselves to them, you’ll see. In the long run, we may thank the Alphraan for what they’ve done. They’ve shown us again how vulnerable we are to the whims of outsiders, and also made us face the problem of the social upheaval that goes with self-defence.’ She looked at him significantly. ‘An item I fear we’ve shied away from previously if the truth be told.’
‘That’s what I keep telling people,’ Loman agreed. ‘And most of them agree eventually. But it’s still heavy going.’ With a dismissive wave of his hand, he changed the subject. ‘Have you found your wedge yet?’ he asked, leaning forward and looking at her intently.
‘Oh, yes,’ Gulda replied, returning to her book. ‘I always knew what that would be. I just wanted to have a long talk with Tirilen about it first. Now she’s reasona-bly happy about it, I’m simply waiting for you to tell me everyone’s ready for the change. Then we’re off.’
‘Off?’ Loman queried suspiciously.
It was not a particularly warm day, but Loman and Athyr were perspiring freely as they trudged up the last and steepest part of the mountain where Gulda had first lured out the Alphraan with the singing of the three boys.
‘At least you’re not carrying the children today,’ Gulda said, leading the way.
Loman risked a sour look at her back and then ad-justed his pack.
‘We might as well be,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how that damned tinker carried this lot on his own.’
‘He had more than that with him when he came, father,’ Tirilen said, wilfully unhelpful. ‘And we are carrying some of it for you.’
Loman looked at the small neat pack on his daugh-ter’s shoulders. ‘I’m indebted to you, my dear,’ he said acidly. ‘There must be a good two to three bracelets in your pack.’
‘Take no notice of him, Tirilen,’ Gulda said. ‘He’s just getting old.’
With difficulty Loman remained silent. He judged he had little alternative if Gulda and Tirilen were going to conspire against him. Athyr grinned widely.
At the top, however, it was with some relish that Loman noted his daughter too was looking rather red-faced.
His glee, nevertheless, was tempered with deeper emotions. It seemed a long time since he had walked in the mountains with Tirilen, and while he, in many ways, had become younger over the past months, she had aged noticeably. Not in her appearance, but in her manner and demeanour. The quiet, slightly reserved young woman that had grown from the boisterous, almost raucous tomboy, now seemed to have developed into a much more solid, purposeful individual. He felt a strange twinge of regret.
He shook his head in self-reproach at this unex-pected emotion, then gratefully lowered his pack on to the ground, and flexed his arms and shoulders. Athyr did the same. Gulda plumped herself down on a rock nearby and folded her hands over the top of her stick, though Loman noticed that, as previously, she seemed to be quite unaffected by the climb.
Tirilen, however, did not sit down immediately, but walked to the edge of the cliff that fell sharply away from the far side of the summit. There, she stood motionless except for her head moving gently from side to side as she gazed around the valleys and lesser peaks spread out below. The wind, strong and cold at this height, buffeted her and blew her hair awry, and eventually she pulled her cloak tight about her. It was a calm, unhurried movement, however, quite free from the hunched and hasty clutching that many others might have shown. Tirilen embraced the winter-presaging wind as readily as she would embrace the warm summer sun.
Loman watched her, his face impassive.
Unexpectedly, Gulda reached up and took his hand. He looked down and met her gaze. ‘They have to leave, Loman,’ she said softly. ‘One way or another. Just as we left our… ’ She faltered. ‘… parents, and they left theirs. The only way you’ll keep her is to let her go.’
‘I know,’ Loman said. ‘I understand.’ Uncharacteris-tically, he sighed. ‘I think I’m used to the idea of letting her go amp;mdashbut not my need to protect and care for her. It’s difficult. And I get so frightened for the future.’
Gulda squeezed his hand. The caring and affection amp;mdashor need for it? amp;mdashin the contact were suddenly almost unbearable. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That need I can’t help you with. Take heart that Tirilen’s well founded in her life. She’s as ready to face and cope with its problems as she is to savour its joys. As for the future,’ amp;mdashshe shrugged amp;mdash‘sight of that is denied to us all, thank Ethriss. But at least your people aren’t such innocents any more, Loman. They’ve been given the opportunity to think and prepare for some of the grimmer futures that might come to pass, and they’ve seen it and acted on it in a manner that barely fouls the present.’ She looked pensive. ‘In fact, I think it may even be enriching it.’
‘Not for the people we’ve lost,’ Loman said.
Gulda squeezed his hand again, ‘You know what I mean,’ she said. Then, releasing him, she clapped her hand on her knee to signal the end of the debate. She stood up and, for an instant, Loman felt himself again in the presence of a younger, immensely powerful, almost frightening woman.
‘Anyway,’ Gulda said grimly. ‘You know well enough that the preparations themselves might prevent the very future they’re intended to meet. No Mandrocs amp;mdashor anyone amp;mdashcould march through Orthlund now and be slowed only by fatigue, could they?’
Loman nodded. ‘Probably not,’ he said. ‘But… ’ He waved his arm around the mountains. They had returned to the reason for their journey. Their lack of weapons.
Gulda flicked a long finger at the two packs they had brought. ‘Tip that lot out over there,’ she said.
Loman and Athyr did as they were bidden. Out on to the grassy knoll tumbled the decaying remnants of the wares that Dan-Tor had brought to the village in the spring. Tirilen turned at the sound, her face uncertain.
She walked over to the knoll and, opening her own pack, added its contents to the pile. All four looked at the results with distaste. Metal objects were pitted black and red, fabrics were frayed and mouldering, and wood was cracked and split with unpleasant damp and gaping fissures. The whole, even the children’s toys, exuded an almost tangible unhealthiness.
Unthinkingly touching the slight blemish on her throat, Tirilen crouched down and carefully picked up individual items. ‘They’re still getting better,’ she said after a while. ‘But it’s painful.’ She looked up at Gulda questioningly. ‘Are you sure this is necessary? she asked.
Gulda raised her eyebrows. ‘No, I’m not,’ she said. ‘But it’s all I’ve been able to think of.’ She looked around at the mountains. ‘It’s an obscenity to bring these things here, but some, perhaps most, of the Alphraan don’t seem inclined to listen, so they’ll have to see for themselves. That plus our new training exercises might make them think a little.’
Tirilen nodded reluctantly. ‘Before we leave, I’ll do what I can to make sure they don’t harm anything amp;mdashor anyone amp;mdashthat happens on them by chance,’ she said. ‘But I’d rather have them by the Leaving Stone where we can all see them. It’s bad enough that they foul one patch of ground.’
Gulda laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘You can do no more,’ she said gently. ‘That’s why I asked you to come. That, and the fact that you need the mountains for your healing skills.’
‘Yes,’ Tirilen said softly, looking round and smiling. ‘I do. I hadn’t realized.’
Gulda gave a satisfied grunt and stumped over to the cliff edge where she stood for some time like an angry black cloud.
‘Alphraan,’ she shouted into the blustering wind. ‘We came to you before with a gift and a message. You took the one and ignored the other. Now we bring you another gift, and the same message. You’re divided amongst yourselves, that much we heard in your song, but the debate is not yours alone. Know the truth. Sumeral is awake and we must all amp;mdashall amp;mdashof us prepare to face Him. Know too that He cannot be hidden from. He will seek us out, each in our turn, when His strength is sufficient. And this may be soon. Nothing can prevent this and nothing can protect you except your willing-ness to protect yourselves.’ She levelled her stick at the pile. ‘Here’s our gift,’ she continued. ‘It’s what His agent brought to Orthlund. And far worse followed in its wake, which we’ll tell of when you want to listen. But for now, study these corrupted wares well. If in the face of these, the ignorant and foolish among you still prevail, then so be it. You would not be the first in history to turn your backs to the knife.’
Her voice suddenly became more powerful. ‘But you cannot oblige others to do the same. You must release the weapons of Anderras Darion; the weapons of the Orthlundyn; Ethriss’s weapons. The Orthlundyn are a free people. They have made their decision and they accept its responsibilities. You have no right to do what you’ve done unless you are prepared to carry the burden of protecting them when His hordes come!’
Her voice seemed to echo round the surrounding crags, but as it faded no other sound could be heard apart from the wind swirling around the peak where they stood.
‘Not so talkative today,’ Loman said. ‘Do you think they heard?’
Gulda chuckled. ‘They heard well enough,’ she said. ‘Every word. And watched our every action.’
‘We’re leaving now,’ she shouted abruptly. ‘Tirilen’s healing will protect you and anything else from the random harms that might come from this… ’ She pointed again to the pile. ‘And have no fear. In time we’ll return and take it back to the village. The people of Pedhavin know it was to their shame that they didn’t see these things for what they were, and they’ll both bear that odium and learn from it. But until we return, feast your senses upon what you find here, sound carvers. See what songs it inspires.’
Still there was no reply.
Gulda nodded to herself and turned away. Then, as if it were an afterthought, she turned back again. ‘Our people will be returning to the mountains soon,’ she said. ‘To continue practicing the skills amp;mdashthe awful skills amp;mdashthat must be acquired to face Him. Skills which may yet be used in time to protect you. They will carry no weapons, but you must watch and listen, and learn. And do not seek to harm those who are prepared to face the evils you would turn away from.’
Loman looked at Gulda sharply. Her whole speech had been delivered with what was tantamount to angry scorn, but the nuances in her voice during this last statement were strange and he was unable to tell whether it was a plea or a threat.
Before he could comment however, she turned away purposefully and signalled to him and Athyr to pick up the packs and prepare to leave.
Throughout their journey back to the Castle they heard no sound other than those of the mountains.
Immediately on their return to Anderras Darion, Loman ordered the commencement of the new training exercises and, within days, large groups of Orthlundyn began making their way into the mountains to establish a series of temporary camps.
‘At least, I hope they’re temporary,’ Loman said to Gulda as they walked up the steep road to the Castle from the village. ‘It’s been a hard struggle to persuade everyone that it’s necessary, and there’re still some reluctant souls out there.’
Gulda stopped and turned round to look down at the village with its solid houses scattered about the slopes below. To the north, the sky just above the horizon looked grey and misty, but a pleasant sun shone on the village, cutting sharp shadows through its maze of streets.
‘Always different, always the same,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Poor Orthlundyn. Preparing for war again.’
She turned back and began marching towards the Castle. ‘They should be temporary,’ she said. ‘I can’t see the Alphraan taking kindly either to what I said, or to Dan-Tor’s wares.’
‘You were quite forceful,’ Loman said cautiously. Gulda’s speech and its blistering delivery had concerned him since they had come down from the peak, but he had found no suitable opportunity to comment on it.
Gulda chuckled. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I told them the truth and I told them in a manner that they couldn’t ignore.’
Loman looked at her. ‘With our people going out there, was it wise to risk making the Alphraan angry?’ he asked.
Gulda returned his gaze and pointed towards the distant path leading up from the village into the mountains. ‘There’s only one way the Alphraan could prove to be a permanent danger to us,’ she said.
Loman raised his eyebrows enquiringly.
‘By doing nothing,’ Gulda replied emphatically. ‘By just sitting quiet in their little holes and doing nothing.’
Loman frowned uncertainly. Gulda took his arm. ‘If they do nothing, Loman, what can we do?’ She did not wait for an answer. ‘Also nothing. We’ll be left with an Armoury we can’t get into, no way of getting weapons in any quantity, and no way of reaching the people who’re causing the problem.’
For all its brevity it was an apt summary of the grim outcome that could ensue from simple inaction by the Alphraan. It was an idea that had not occurred to Loman and it chilled him. He made no effort to reply.
Gulda continued. ‘Fortunately they’ve already shown themselves willing to make contact with us, just by interfering, so it’s important that we respond, and respond vigorously, to provoke response in return. We must keep them moving. Each time they respond we’ll learn more about them.’
Loman was torn. ‘And if their responses involve hurting some of our people… our friends?’ he asked.
‘People are getting hurt all the time,’ Gulda replied brusquely. ‘You can’t learn what’s got to be learnt and not get hurt at some time or another. You’ve been hurt often enough before now and come out none the worse for it.’
Loman looked angry. ‘It’s not the same,’ he said. ‘We’re using other people to… ’ amp;mdashhe searched for a phrase amp;mdash‘… to test the heat of the furnace. And we’ve no idea what’s going to happen to them. You’ll forgive me if I feel for them a little?’
Gulda’s tone became hard. ‘It’s exactly the same, Loman,’ she said. ‘They’re all going of their own free will. They’ve all been told as much as we know… ’
‘They were persuaded.’
‘They were told the truth,’ Gulda snapped back. Then, more softly, ‘School yourself to this kind of pain, Loman. There’ll be more, and worse, to come. Your concern does you credit. But there are times when you can’t allow yourself to feel for individuals too much, it’ll mar your judgement, and you’ll make mistakes that’ll plunge everyone into the furnace with a vengeance. You need balance in your compassion.’
Loman stopped walking. ‘That’s not balance, that’s callousness,’ he replied bluntly. ‘Training and organiz-ing is one thing, but this… I’m not sure I can do it.’
Gulda tapped her stick on the hard ground, an omi-nous tattoo. ‘You can’t not do it, Loman,’ she said. ‘If you want to preserve all this.’ She swung her stick round in a sweeping arc to encompass the Castle, the moun-tains and the rolling landscape. ‘And all your friends. You’re Orthlundyn. You’ve enough shadow skill in you to know how a change in perspective changes a scene. Your perspective is changed now. You have a broader vision. You can’t see everything. No one can. But you can see more than many. Just play your part and think yourself lucky you’ve got plenty of good, sensible, capable, people around you to support you.’
Loman looked at her, his eyes penetrating. ‘Where did you learn all these things, Memsa?’ he asked abruptly.
Gulda turned away from him sharply, almost as if she had been struck, and started off up the road again without replying.
‘You’re right,’ she said, as he caught up with her. ‘It is callousness. But I’m right as well. We’ve no alterna-tive.’ She turned and looked at him, her face unreadable. ‘No alternative that we can live with. The few have always fallen for the benefit of the many,’ she said stonily. ‘Always. Our pain is to accept that; to honour our own lives when we’ve helped deny them theirs. And our task is to make that few as small as possible. What that costs us personally is irrelevant.’
Without speaking, Loman walked off the road and across a small area of short springy turf sprinkled with bright flowers, to a jagged rocky outcrop. Standing on it, he could see the stream that bubbled out of Anderras Darion, cascading white and silver towards the river below. Beyond lay the village and the familiar country-side, small patches now scarred brown where fallow areas had been used for cavalry and infantry training.
Gulda had told him nothing he did not already know, but the speaking of it had changed it in some subtle way. He was at once profoundly free and profoundly pinioned.
He looked to the north and the habitual thought came amp;mdashwhere are you, Hawklan? Isloman? What are you doing? When are you coming back? But even as the thought occurred he knew that their return would make no difference to his burden. Indeed it might well presage events that could make that burden worse. No, his greatest solace would lie in Gulda’s last statement. ‘Our task is to make that few as small as possible.’ As small as possible! That was a practical problem and would have practical solutions. That, he could apply his every resource to willingly.
He turned away from the scene and returned to the road. Gulda had gone on ahead, leaving him to his reverie, and she was now a tiny black insignificance moving along at the foot of the towering splendour of Anderras Darion.
For several days, nothing untoward was reported from the mountains. The various camps were established without any serious difficulties, and training began almost immediately.
Visiting the central camp, Loman found Athyr well pleased. It seemed that an atmosphere almost of Festival had sprung up in the more spartan conditions of the camps, and training was being pursued more energeti-cally than ever. The Orthlundyn were tackling with some relish the problems of using infantry phalanxes and cavalry in the difficult terrain, and were proving inventive in the development of techniques for ambush and unarmed fighting skills.
Loman recalled Gulda’s comment that they might indeed be grateful to the Alphraan in the end. However, he detected a small note of reserve in Athyr’s report. ‘That’s far better than we could have hoped for,’ he said, when Athyr had finished talking. ‘But what’s bothering you? Injuries?’
Athyr shook his head. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Only a few cuts and bruises among the more boisterous. Nothing that needs any special attention.’
‘What then?’ Loman asked.
Athyr bent down and picked up a small rounded stone. ‘We made sure that no weapons were brought up here,’ he said hesitantly. ‘But… everyone’s suddenly practicing stone throwing and slinging.’ He raised his hands in premature denial. ‘Not my idea,’ he said, shaking his head.
Loman rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then the new spirit pervading the camp swept over him. ‘Good,’ he said, laughing. ‘Encourage it. It’s as effective as bowmanship in its place, and, round here at least, you’re not going to run out of ammunition.’
Athyr looked heartened by this response, but cast his eyes around the surrounding peaks significantly.
‘We told them we’d bring no weapons,’ he said.
‘We haven’t,’ Loman said. ‘Nor will we. We told them we were coming here to continue learning the skills we need.’ He waved his hand around the busy camp. ‘These people made this decision for themselves. Let the Alphraan see where these skills derive from amp;mdashfrom the hearts of ordinary people prepared to defend what they value. And let them realize truly what a weapon really is.’ Then he laughed again. ‘And you’d better start practicing yourself. As I remember, slinging’s not exactly your strong point.’
Loman was still in high spirits as he prepared to leave the camp, but he had only just mounted his horse when a distant but powerful whistle made him look up. It was followed immediately by a cry from someone in the camp.
‘Message.’
Athyr cast about for a moment and then directed Loman’s gaze to a crag high above them. There a figure was waving two signal flags frantically.
Loman narrowed his eyes in concentration as he read the signal. It was brief and to the point. ‘Fighting. Camp three,’ it said. Then, ‘Serious.’ The routine noise and clatter of the camp had stopped at the first cry. Now it was replaced by a buzz of concern.
Athyr ran towards a small platform that had been built at the centre of the camp. Loman swung down from his horse and handing it to a young woman nearby, ran after him.
Before he reached him however, Athyr was already on the platform and banging an alarm bell. Loman suddenly found himself part of a general convergence on the platform, and when he reached it he had to push his way through a growing crowd before he could clamber up to join Athyr.
Athyr was looking up at the signaller again, but the man was peering intently through his seeing stone.
‘The message is confirmed,’ said a young man, who was already on the platform. He was pointing towards a second signaller on a more distant hill. Athyr nodded. ‘Keep watching,’ he said. ‘Interrupt me if you see anything else.’
Then he spoke to the crowd. His voice was stilted because he duplicated his words in a version of the High Guards’ hand language. He was not proficient in it, nor were his audience, but it was adequate. Loman had ensured that the hand language was taught to everyone as part of their routine training, though it had never been popular. Now, however, in the mountains, with the risk that sounds could be used to mislead and deceive, he had insisted that it be used as much as possible, particularly for urgent orders.
Gulda had made a similar contribution by unearth-ing the flag language for signalling. Initially, for some reason, it had caused intense amusement among the Orthlundyn, and Loman took some delight in remarking that it was the first time he had ever seen Gulda looking bewildered. However, it had been learnt diligently enough and like the hand language its value was abundantly clear now.
‘Be alert, all of you,’ Athyr said. ‘Reinforcements for the signallers, up there straight away. Duty patrol, mount up, Loman and I will ride with you to camp three.’ He turned to the young man, ‘Send a signal to all camps. Tell them what we’re doing. They’re to reinforce their signallers and they’re to wait until they hear from us. No one,’ he emphasized, ‘No one, is to leave any of the camps until we find out what’s happening.’
The young man picked up a pair of signalling flags but before he could begin his message, another whistle was heard. He looked up. ‘Fighting at camp six, also,’ he repeated slowly after a brief pause.
Athyr looked at Loman and then turned back to the now tense crowd. ‘First reserve patrol, mount up. I’ll come with you to camp six, Loman will go to camp three. Signaller, you send that as before. The rest of you amp;mdashbe alert,’ he repeated. He slapped his hands signifi-cantly. ‘And hand language,’ he gestured.
Loman looked at the uncertain and concerned faces surrounding the platform, and felt very cold. We must keep the few as small as possible, he thought. Their needs come before mine.