Hawklan watched in horror as the creature came straight and purposefully towards him.
In an instant he saw that it was thin and weak and old, but he saw also that under its long fur rippled muscles and sinews more than powerful enough to dispatch him and the others with little or no effort. And its age too seemed only to have heightened the malevo-lence that shone red and bloody in its eyes.
In the same instant he saw also that the bridge was too narrow and crowded for him to side-step and that in any event it was too late amp;mdashthe creature was too near and moving too fast.
Suddenly, without breaking its headlong charge, the creature stood up fully on its hind legs and raised a terrible clawed hand. It was a head taller than Hawklan.
Gavor leapt off Hawklan’s shoulder powerfully. Not in fear, but to leave his friend free to move. Catching the driving impetus of this movement, Hawklan stepped back and, turning, drew his sword. It swung up in a glittering black arc as he took another step, then down and up again as he turned to face the creature. The upward stroke cut a great diagonal gash across its torso.
Without pause, Hawklan stepped back again and, spinning round, brought the sword down to cut a second gash across the first one.
Despite these two desperate wounds however, the creature came relentlessly forward, carried by its own momentum and intent, but, clear now of his friends, Hawklan suddenly stepped sideways and drove the sword into the creature’s flank as it passed by him.
The impact of the blow sent the creature staggering over the low balustrade. Still screaming in rage, it twisted as it fell and the clawed hands lunged out to seize the coping of the balustrade.
So fast had Hawklan’s three blows been, that even Dacu had scarcely been able to draw his own sword before the battle was finished. He came to Hawklan’s side as the healer stepped forward, raising the black sword to deliver a final blow that would send this abomination into whatever depths lay below.
The creature’s scream had become a strange whim-per and its claws were scraping desperately across the stone coping as it struggled to save itself.
‘Kill it, man,’ Dacu said desperately, his eyes wide with horror as he looked in disbelief from the creature to Hawklan.
Then Isloman and Tirke were there, white-faced and stunned.
Hawklan looked down at the creature. He could see the two terrible wounds he had cut beginning to open and disgorge the creature’s entrails. The creature looked at him, then, releasing the coping with one hand, held it out to him, its eyes full of fear.
Hawklan watched, unable to move, as the other hand screeched across the coping and, with a brief choking mewl, the creature disappeared into the darkness without a sound.
Slowly he lowered the sword and then slithered to the floor. He was trembling. His hand involuntarily began to nurse his damaged arm again.
The balmy sounds that had been bathing them since they left the Alphraan’s Heartplace were silent, and all that could be heard was the hoarse breathing of the four men. Gavor dropped silently on to Hawklan’s shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ Hawklan said, softly, reaching up and touching his friend’s beak. Gavor did not reply.
‘What was it?’ Tirke asked shakily after a long, un-steady silence.
Hawklan lowered his head. ‘The last of its breed,’ he said quietly.
He looked at his sword, gored and steaming from his last dreadful thrust. He turned away as the smell wafted in his face.
‘Clean it in the snow,’ Dacu said, looking at the sword then at an inadequate kerchief he had pulled from his pocket.
Hawklan nodded. ‘I wonder how many other rem-nants of the First Coming are still with us?’
No one spoke.
‘The last of its breed?’ The Alphraan’s voice was soft and hesitant.
Hawklan nodded again. ‘Yes,’ he said sadly. ‘With-out doubt. No great victory there, just a pathetic end to a grim song, as you might say.’ He looked up. ‘You’ve lost another, have you?’ he asked.
‘Your guide,’ the voice replied.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hawklan said.
‘It was not your fault,’ the voice said. ‘But we will lose no more.’ There was a new note in the reply; one of determination. It continued. ‘We sink ever deeper into your debt, Hawklan. It is not possible for us to repay you in like manner, but we are with you now, utterly… ’ The voice slipped into its own language and the four men were surrounded by sounds which told them of past doubts set aside and the pledged and immutable allegiance of an entire race.
Hawklan stood up amp;mdashhe was still shaking. ‘Thank you,’ he said, simply. ‘But there is no debt, just a common need. Pledge yourself to facing that by our side.’
The guiding sound returned, its note now ringing and purposeful.
Once or twice as they followed it, Isloman thought he glimpsed a tiny figure in the distance, but none of the others saw it, and even his shadow vision did not enable him to see any detail.
Then they were at the mouth of the tunnel that had first led them into the mountain.
‘We will be with you,’ said the voice. The guiding note faded until it became the low moaning of the wind in the narrow cleft.
‘Storm’s getting worse,’ Dacu said briskly, anxious to get back to some semblance of normality and watching the light flurries of blown snow floating past them. The four men paused briefly to fasten their cloaks before stepping out of the tunnel and heading back towards their camp.
As they moved along the narrow cleft, the wind strengthened and its low moaning changed gradually into a buffeting, echoing reflection of the storm raging outside.
Eventually they found themselves walking through drifting snow and then at the foot of the rocks that had sealed the cleft. Hawklan bent down and cleaned the blade of the black sword with handfuls of snow. It gleamed in the torchlight, but Hawklan looked in distaste at the despoiled snow lying at his feet.
Dacu pulled them all together.
‘Turn your torches up and hold on to one another tightly,’ he shouted, struggling to make himself heard above the noise. ‘It’s not far to the shelter and its beacon’s lit, but we can still miss it in this weather. I don’t particularly want to spend the rest of the night huddled behind a rock in a snow shelter. And be careful where you tread,’ he emphasized. ‘The rocks on the far side will be well covered by now.’
His comment proved timely as they rose up over the top of the rocks; hooded figures, eerie in the flowing torchlight, stumbling awkwardly through the screaming wind, and whitening rapidly in the driving snow.
Gavor thrust his head out from Hawklan’s cloak, muttered, ‘Good grief!’ and withdrew quickly.
Feeling cautiously for each foothold, the group slowly struggled down the slope.
When they were all safely down, Dacu peered into the snow-streaked gloom beyond the torchlight.
‘Douse your torches,’ he said after a moment. ‘And don’t move, whatever you do.’
The blackness closed around them, leaving each alone and isolated in the screaming wind, clinging to Dacu’s last command and trying to set aside the memory of the creature that had surged out of the darkness to be slain by Hawklan scarcely an hour past.
Gradually a faint unfocussed glow began to form, at some indeterminate, swirling distance. It was the beacon torch on their shelter.
As soon as they were back inside, Isloman struck the radiant stones and the four men sat in a strange unreal silence until the warmth and the familiarity of their surroundings seeped into their unease.
‘There’s precious little left of the night,’ Dacu said eventually. ‘But I suggest we get what sleep we can. We’ve still got to get over this mountain.’
Tirke pulled a sour face. ‘Why can’t we go through the tunnels like the Alphraan suggested?’ he asked.
Dacu was conspicuously patient with him. ‘You heard, Tirke,’ he said. ‘We need a surface route that anyone can travel. Not one that needs others to guide them through underground chambers and passage-ways.’
Tirke looked unconvinced.
‘We may have to bring an army into Fyorlund this way,’ Dacu went on, irritated slightly. ‘Can you see thousands of men, women, horses, tramping along those tunnels? Over those bridges, walkways… whatever they were? Not to mention pack animals, supply wagons, all the equipment that’s needed. I doubt the Alphraan would be our friends for long then.’
Tirke ran his hand down his face wearily and lay down. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’
‘Go to sleep,’ Dacu said, repenting his hasty tone. ‘You’re entitled not to think after a night like tonight.’
Tirke stared up at the roof of the shelter, moving as the wind shook it.
‘I don’t think I can go to sleep,’ he said. ‘And to be honest, I’m not sure I want to.’
Hawklan looked at him. ‘Talk about it, then,’ he said encouragingly.
‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ Tirke said. ‘Every time I shut my eyes, I see that amp;mdashthing amp;mdashroaring and screaming out of the blackness. I see myself paralysed amp;mdashwith surprise as much as fear. And you amp;mdashtwisting, turning amp;mdashno effort, no hesitation, as if it were all just part of… of… a Festival dance… ’
He lifted himself up and rested on one elbow. His eyes opened wide, surprised, and his words seemed to force themselves out as if against his will. ‘I don’t know which was the most frightening. It, or you,’ he said.
Dacu and Isloman turned abruptly to look at the young man and then at Hawklan. Dacu caught Hawk-lan’s eye and raised his eyebrows appreciatively. Hawklan nodded.
Tirke suddenly looked stricken, realizing what he had said. He began to stammer out an apology. Hawklan raised his hand to stop him. ‘No, Tirke,’ he said. ‘I understand. It was a perceptive remark. Trust me, you’ve no need to fear your dreams while you see that clearly.’
He lay back, nursing his still painful arm, and Gavor took up sentry duty by his head. ‘I did what I did because I’d no alternative,’ Hawklan said. ‘And I did what I did in great terror, but nevertheless wilfully and thoughtfully, to halt its attack as quickly as possible. It was old and demented, but even a passing blow from one of those hands would have killed. I had no alterna-tive,’ he repeated. ‘However, for what it’s worth, Tirke, it was no effortless ballet.’ He sat up slowly. ‘I remember years and years of relentless training to attain the understanding that would enable me amp;mdashmy body amp;mdashto face such a foe and to move thus.’
Isloman looked at Hawklan intently, and Gavor inclined his head.
‘You remember?’ Isloman said softly, his voice al-most awed.
Hawklan turned to him. ‘Yes,’ he said. Then, with a slight shrug, ‘No faces, names, places amp;mdashbut the toil? Yes, I remember that.’
Isloman was tempted to press the matter, but real-ized it would avail him nothing. Hawklan had told him all he could.
Dacu, on the other hand, seemed relieved that such a skill could be acquired by effort rather than the mysterious intervention of some ancient force. ‘I was going to ask you where you learned to use a sword like that,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen some fine swordsmanship but never the like of that. Perhaps when we reach Anderras Darion you’ll instruct me?’
Hawklan laughed a little at Dacu’s straightforward bluntness then bowed an acknowledgement. ‘I’d be honoured, Goraidin.’ He turned back to Tirke and said, ‘I’ll instruct you, too.’
Gavor chuckled ominously.
The following day Dacu, as usual, awoke first. There was an odd quality about the light, and the shelter was very warm even though Isloman had extinguished the radiant stones before they had all finally retired.
He muttered softly to himself then opened the en-trance a little to confirm his diagnosis. Then he started to wake the others. He had intended to do this gently, but each in turn sat up rapidly at his touch, familiar by now with his normal method of rousing the camp.
‘It sounds as though the wind has dropped,’ he said. ‘But we’re buried amp;mdashat least in part.’
Isloman’s eyes narrowed with a brief spasm of anxi-ety while Tirke’s widened in frank alarm. Dacu was reassuring. ‘It shouldn’t be too bad,’ he said. ‘We were well sheltered. It’s probably just some eddying, but we’ll have to dig our way out slowly and cautiously.’
He looked at each of the others in turn. ‘Everything is slow and cautious in these conditions,’ he empha-sized. ‘Not only will the terrain be disguised completely, but if you go rushing around you’ll sweat, your sweat will freeze on you and we’ll be heading for some real problems then. Just remember we’ve still a long way to go.’
It took them only a little time to dig their way out of the shelter and they emerged to be greeted by a soft misty snowscape. Everywhere was silent and still and large parts of the stern mountain scenery had been transformed by a swaddling whiteness. The sky to the east was a dull red, but to the north and west dark heavy clouds hung expectantly, and the peak of the mountain they stood on was still lost in the mist.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Tirke, his breath steaming.
‘It is,’ Dacu agreed. Without speaking, Gavor flapped off into the cold silence, black and clear against the misty haziness.
Hawklan took Tirke’s arm. ‘Come and help me feed the horses,’ he said. ‘Then we can eat.’
The horses had fared better than the shelter, Dacu having taken greater pains to place them well in the lee of the rocks. They were standing quietly together, scarcely touched by the snow that had eddied round and buried the shelter.
Hawklan examined each of them briefly and then consulted Serian.
‘They’re all right,’ the horse said. ‘But we should move soon. The weather’s liable to change again quickly and this is not good country for us.’
Hawklan smiled when Dacu subsequently offered him the same opinion.
‘This weather’s unseasonable,’ Dacu said. ‘It seems to be confined to the high peaks, but I wouldn’t like to say it was temporary. It could be the beginning of a very bad winter.’
He shrugged and set the grim thought aside. ‘Any-way, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find the gully in these conditions, but we must use every moment to look for it. I don’t want to spend another night here if it can be avoided. Amongst other things, we haven’t enough supplies for the horses to be away from grazing for too long.’
Thus, after a brief meal, the party struck out again.
Dacu was pleased as he looked at the small hum-mocks in the snow which marked the positions of the cairns they had made the previous day. It had been a useful day’s work after all, even though it now seemed a very long time ago.
He did not spend much time in reflection, however. The heavy clouds that dominated the horizon, domi-nated his thoughts also. Today was a day for being completely in the present. Each step must be taken with the right balance of speed and caution if progress was to be made. Both too slow and too fast would present equally serious problems.
‘This way,’ he said, pointing up and across the slope in the opposite direction to the previous day’s search. ‘We’ll make for that skyline there. We should be able to get a better view of the area than here.’
Dwarfed by the massive bulk of the mountain, the four tiny figures and their tiny horses began their painstaking way up its broad flank. High above, soaring in the cold winter air, Gavor watched their slow but relentless progress. The sun was beginning to appear, red over the eastern peaks, but to the north, great snow clouds still lowered and he could see swirling squalls in some of the distant valleys.
With typical thoroughness, Gulda had divided the region around the central camp into sectors and sub-sectors. Now, with equal thoroughness, the Orthlundyn were surveying them; painstakingly amp;mdashruthlessly, even amp;mdashin an atmosphere that could only be described as alarmingly disorienting: a bizarre mixture of battle frenzy and children’s game.
Loman was in charge of the most northerly of the three groups.
The strange warning note that had greeted their departure from the camp had stayed with them for some time, rising and falling monotonously, then it had stopped abruptly, only to be followed by some form of attack, as various riders suddenly began to suffer headaches, others began to hallucinate, and, inevitably, tempers began to fray for no apparent reason.
Gulda’s words to the departing force, however, had been unequivocal.
‘If anything untoward happens, it is their doing, and theirs alone. Remember that it is an influence from outside, just like the sun and the wind, and just knowing that will help you find a way to protect yourself from it. And remember above all that the Orthlundyn do not fight one another, nor ever have.’ She spelled out her last words very slowly and with great emphasis as if dinning it into her audience in such a manner that it could do no other than remain in the forefront of their minds.
Thus Loman had ridden straight to the group first affected and repeated Gulda’s words. ‘It’s them,’ he said earnestly. ‘You have no headache except what they’ve given you… ’
‘… If you use your carver’s vision you’ll see the truth of what you think you’re seeing… ’
‘… They’re frightened of us. We must show them our friendship even though they’ve hurt us. Our real enemy lies elsewhere… ’
It had not been easy, but as others joined in with Loman’s gentle chiding, the unseen assault had gradually abated, and the predominant atmosphere slowly became one of laughter and pleasantness.
Similar attacks had, however, continued intermit-tently throughout that day, passing in waves through the ranks of the riders. But they were mercilessly chivvied by Loman and everyone else who was unaf-fected, until Loman allowed himself a brief note of triumph. ‘They can’t cope with the numbers, after all,’ he said. ‘We have them.’
‘No,’ said a voice very close to him. ‘We are with-holding our power because of our concern for your people.’
Loman looked at Jenna, but she appeared not to have heard anything.
The voice spoke again: ‘We will do this if we have to,’ and an ear-splitting shriek filled Loman’s mind. He jerked backward, his face grimacing with pain and his hands clamped to his ears.
Jenna started at this violent and unexpected move-ment. ‘What’s the matter?’ she cried out in alarm.
The noise left Loman as suddenly as it had come and, white-faced, he lurched forward in reaction to his previous movement. Jenna reached out and took his arm to steady him. ‘What’s the matter?’ she repeated urgently.
Loman did not reply immediately. Instead he fum-bled inside a pouch on his belt and eventually retrieved a metal bracelet. For a little while he looked at it intently. It was a delicate, intricately woven piece of work that he had made many years ago for his wife and which he had subsequently given to Tirilen. He had done far better work since, but it contained such youthful intensity and so many memories that it never failed to move him.
‘They’re learning,’ he replied eventually, carefully replacing the bracelet. ‘Using one of the Goraidin’s tactics amp;mdashattacking the enemy’s leaders.’ He described what had happened.
Jenna frowned. ‘I heard nothing,’ she said.
Loman nodded. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, thought-fully. ‘I think they made a mistake. There was a sense of great effort in the sound amp;mdashdesperation, almost. I’ve a feeling that it hurt the sender as much as it hurt me. I don’t think it’s something they do either lightly or easily.’
And so it had proved. While the disturbances con-tinued to come and go, neither Loman nor anyone else again experienced such a violent, direct attack.
Despite this, however, the search for the Alphraan themselves, or the entrances to their caves, seemed to be proving fruitless. Various caves were discovered, but they were all shallow and empty.
Loman was openly puzzled. ‘We have our shadow vision and we have seeing stones. We’ve been methodi-cal and thorough. How can we have missed anything?’
He could almost hear Gulda’s voice ringing in his ears. ‘You haven’t been thorough enough,’ she would say.
He reined his horse to a halt and, dismounting, called the various section leaders to him.
‘Perhaps they don’t come out above ground after all… ’
‘Perhaps they’re smaller than we thought, and need only tiny openings… ’
‘We can’t be fast and thorough… ’
‘Perhaps there just aren’t any entrances around here… ’
Loman nodded as suggestions were put to him, but he could not avoid the feeling that he was missing something.
‘Pass me the map,’ he said eventually.
Jenna retrieved the document from his horse and spread it out on a nearby rock. Loman stared at it pensively, running his finger slowly along the route they had taken. It stopped a little way from the bright red dot that marked the location of the central camp.
‘This is where we had our first… difficulty, isn’t it?’ he said. There was general agreement. He continued. ‘Let’s mark on here where each of the others occurred.’
This took some time and considerable debate but eventually Loman found himself looking at four distinct and separate clusters of dots. He smiled. ‘I think we’ll go back a little way,’ he said, resting his finger on the nearest of the clusters to their present position. ‘We’ll go back, and we’ll search this area very thoroughly.’
No sooner had he spoken than angry voices rang out from somewhere within the ranks of the waiting crowd. One of the section leaders jumped up on to a rock to locate the source of the problem, then, scowling angrily, jumped down and made to run towards it.
Loman caught his arm in a powerful grip. ‘Gently,’ he said. ‘Very gently. If you go rushing in you know what might happen.’
The man stared at him angrily for a moment, then lowered his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I just forgot.’
Loman indicated two of the others. ‘Go with him,’ he said. ‘The rest of you, get back to your people and tell them what we’ve found and what we’re going to do. And tell them to be particularly alert. I think we might have trodden on some toes at last and things might start getting very peevish. Jenna, send a signal to the other two groups telling them to do the same as we’ve done.’
Loman was correct about the response of the Al-phraan. The return journey proved to be eventful, with spasms of anger and disorder rippling through the riders far more frequently and severely than before.
Loman smiled, however, as he struggled on his roll-ing mount to mark these incidents on the map. They were completely random now.
Too late, little people, he thought, too late. You’ve given yourselves away.
He passed his new information to the section lead-ers immediately, together with his interpretation. The more everyone knew about what was happening, the better able they would be to withstand what must surely become increasingly virulent and desperate attacks.
Finally, though not without some minor injuries, they came to the point which lay at the centre of the small cluster of dots on Loman’s map. He looked up at the peak that dominated the scene, then dismounted and climbed up onto a jutting rock.
The Orthlundyn gathered round him, drawn to this powerful solid figure like a myriad planets around a small but massive sun. Loman pointed up to the mountain.
‘Our friends are up there,’ he shouted, his voice echoing. Some jeers and cheers rose up from the crowd. Loman focused on it. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t being ironic. These people have lived peacefully as our neighbours for generations. For all they’ve troubled us lately amp;mdashimposed on us, in fact, and worse amp;mdashthey’re our friends. Friends we’re having a disagreement with at the moment, to be sure, but friends nonetheless.’
Some of the jeering turned to outrage. ‘They’ve killed our people, Loman. What kind of friends do that?’ someone shouted. There was a considerable chorus of agreement.
Loman gestured an acknowledgement of this, then strode forward to the very edge of the rock and looked straight at his inquisitor.
‘Friends who’re frightened, confused and can’t un-derstand what’s going on,’ he said.
‘It’s not through want of telling,’ someone else said angrily. ‘They just don’t want to listen.’
Loman turned to him. ‘I can’t excuse what they’ve done, you know that,’ he replied. ‘But do all your friends at your Guild meetings listen when you try to tell them something? Are there none who take a deal of persuad-ing on certain matters?’ It was an apt and homely point and took the edge off the crowd’s response to the man’s angry denunciation.
Loman spoke again before anyone else could inter-rupt. ‘And take care with your anger, all of you,’ he said. ‘It has no part to play in today’s proceedings, you know that too. Our anger is their most potent and dangerous weapon. Be what you are, Orthlundyn amp;mdashcarvers, craftsmen and artists, who see truth. Ask yourselves what anger can possibly achieve here?’ He allowed a brief pause, then continued almost savagely. ‘What do you want to do? Drag them from their holes and kill them? One for one?’
The crowd was silent under his reproach.
Loman turned to look up at the mountain. ‘Al-phraan, we know you can hear and see us,’ he said. ‘And we know your homes amp;mdashor the entrances to them amp;mdashare on this hill, and on others nearby. We come in opposi-tion to you, but in peace. We will do you no harm, but we will find your homes and deny them to you, as you have denied our Armoury to us. And we shall possess more and more of your property until you release the Armoury and agree to interfere with us no further.’
‘We will prevent you,’ said a voice.
Without turning, Loman held out his hand to qui-eten an angry murmur that this comment brought from the crowd.
‘I beg of you, please don’t,’ he said. ‘You know you can’t control a host this size. At the best you’ll simply cause more deaths and injuries before we find you. You, who purport to be doing this to prevent death and injury. And do you really want these people surging into your domain, raging and demented, their darker natures unfettered by you yourselves?’
‘Be warned, human,’ the voice said, after a pause. ‘Do not threaten us.’
‘You’re wasting your time, Loman,’ said someone behind him.
Loman raised his hand again, requesting a little further patience.
‘Voice,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how you speak to us in this manner, or how you hear what we say. But I dispute your authority to speak for the Alphraan. I cannot see that any rational people would be so stupid as to allow this tragic farce to continue in the light of our conduct and of our reasoning.’ He turned round suddenly and looked at the assembled Orthlundyn. ‘Do I speak for you, here?’ he shouted. There was a brief pause, then a great roar went up that rang around the mountains.
Loman turned back to the mountain. ‘Voice, would your people speak thus for you?’ he said quietly.
There was no reply.
‘I thought not,’ Loman said. ‘Anyone who would intimidate a free people wouldn’t scruple to intimidate his own kind.’ An angry hissing filled the air. ‘Do not judge us, human,’ said the voice. ‘Our ways are not your ways.’
Loman turned back to the Orthlundyn. ‘Ponder your ways then, leader of the Alphraan,’ he said dismissively, over his shoulder. Then, to the crowd. ‘Section leaders to me for a planning meeting. The rest of you’ amp;mdashhe smiled amp;mdash‘rest. While you can. We’ve got some stiff walking ahead of us shortly.’
It took little time to plan out the proposed search of the mountain and, within the hour, the first parties set out. Loman stayed in the valley, watching intently, as the tiny lines of figures moved painfully slowly across the lower slopes of the mountain.
He turned to Jenna. ‘This must be the strangest army in all history,’ he said, almost jovially. ‘Military intention, military tactics, and yet everyone obliged to treat it as some kind of Festival picnic.’
Jenna smiled nervously. She was finding the am-bivalence of the venture less easy to accommodate than Loman seemed to be. ‘It’s impossible,’ she said reluc-tantly.
‘No,’ said Loman easily. ‘Just slow, and, I hope, very boring. But we’ll stay here until every stone and every blade of grass on this mountain has been examined at least twice. It’ll… ’
‘Signal.’ The interruption came from a young man standing nearby, watching the same scene through a seeing stone.
Loman held his breath.
‘First sector cleared,’ said the young man.
Loman looked both relieved and disappointed. ‘Send the next group up to cover the same area,’ he said.
Jenna looked up at the sky. The watery sun had disappeared, as the clouds had thickened through the day. She frowned a little. ‘That’s a wintry sky,’ she said. ‘And the sky to the north’s been looking very heavy for days.’
Loman did not reply, but the mention of the north brought his brother and Hawklan to mind. Almost without realizing what he was doing, he looked up, half expecting to see Gavor soaring black against the dull grey sky. With difficulty, he set the thoughts aside. Time alone could answer the questions that they posed.
Gradually the light faded and Loman called a halt to the search. ‘Camp where you are,’ was his signal. ‘Relax and rest, and look forward to a good day’s shadow hunting tomorrow.’
As the darkness deepened, unrelieved even by star-light, the mountain slowly disappeared from view except for a twisted skein of camp lights twinkling like a carelessly thrown necklace. Loman leaned against a rock and stared up at the lights. Distant voices floated down to him through the stillness, enlivened occasionally by splashes of laughter. He smiled.
‘Listen, Alphraan,’ he said softly. ‘Listen to the sounds of the people you persecute.’
There was no reply.
The following day was again overcast but visibility was still good and there was no wind to disturb the searchers other than a light breeze.
No trouble was reported as the morning progressed and Loman eventually became weary of just watching and waiting.
‘I think I’ll go up and see how morale is,’ he an-nounced eventually.
‘Yes. I don’t want to sit here all day either,’ Jenna said acidly. ‘I’ll come with you.’
Loman cleared his throat self-consciously.
They were able to ride part of the way but had to leave their horses as the terrain grew steeper. The mountainside was alive with people, searching, making notes, laying out markers, moving equipment in anticipation of another night’s stay on the mountain. Briefly, Loman felt a qualm when he realized that this considerable effort was being undertaken at his behest and on his whim.
No, he thought sternly. Definitely not a whim. It was a reasoned judgement based on the clear actions of the Alphraan and confirmed by the changes in their responses subsequently. In any case, even if he were wrong, future searches would definitely be necessary and much would be learnt from this exercise. The qualm was crushed.
It did occur to him that the Alphraan could be de-liberately misleading him, but he doubted it. They’re on the run, part of him said, with almost hand-rubbing glee. He crushed that too; if they were panicking, then they’d be particularly dangerous as the necklace began to tighten.
When he and Jenna finally reached the highest of the search lines, the terrain that could be walked over was predominantly rock. They had decided at the outset that the scree slopes and rock faces of the mountain were to be left for the time being. Climbers were far too vulnerable.
Loman looked out across the valley. The base camp could be seen, toy-like, far below. Neighbouring peaks sat solid and patient like wise old women pretending to sleep while in reality watching the antics of the giddy young folk around them. It was a calming sight, a sight to correct the perspective, and Loman stood looking at it contentedly for several minutes.
Eventually he turned and looked at the tumbled landscape immediately around him. He much preferred scrambling over rocks such as these to plodding up relentlessly steep grass slopes. However, it could not be denied that the huge jumbled masses of boulders offered far more nooks and crannies in which to conceal cave entrances.
One of the section leaders waved a greeting and, coming forward, echoed his thoughts. ‘It’s going to be much slower now, Loman,’ he said. ‘It’d be a help if we knew how big a hole these people need for access.’
Loman looked at the man. ‘We will, soon,’ he said. ‘Take your time. Don’t let anybody rush. Any doubts amp;mdashcheck again.’ He smiled. ‘We’re going to have to look Gulda in the eye and tell her we searched this mountain thoroughly,’ he added significantly.
Jenna looked up towards the rocky skyline that obscured the summit of the mountain. ‘This is going to take at least two more days,’ she said.
Loman followed her gaze. ‘Probably more,’ he cor-rected.
The woman’s eyes flickered around the neighbour-ing peaks involuntarily.
‘You’re thinking it’s impossible again, aren’t you?’ Loman asked.
Jenna shook her head and mouthed a definite ‘No’ while allowing her eyes and face to say ‘Yes.’
Loman laughed.
Suddenly a cry rang out, one of fear and pain. The section leader spun round looking along the ragged line of searchers for the source of the cry.
‘There!’ cried Loman, pointing. Over to their left, the line had broken and people were converging on a man who was staggering dangerously across the rocks. Loman and Jenna joined the movement, but as he strode out, Loman felt a twinge of anger at this interruption to the search.
Then the man fell, heavily, and his cry became one of anger. Loman stopped suddenly and reached out to stop Jenna and the section leader. For a moment he watched the small, concerned crowd growing around the fallen man and felt the swirl of anger in him struggling to grow similarly.
‘It’s a trap,’ he said, forcing a calmness into his voice which was radically at odds with the turmoil he felt inside. ‘Go back and stop anyone rushing into this,’ he said to the section leader. ‘Get as many people as you can. Tell them what’s happening and remind them to walk here as calmly and quietly as they can manage. Tell them to look at the scenery… talk about their carving amp;mdashanything. Just so that they’re quiet in their minds when they get here.’
‘But the man might be hurt,’ the section leader pro-tested, trying to move forward.
Loman took his elbow and gently turned him round, away from the scene. ‘He probably is,’ he said. ‘But there’ll be worse if we don’t stop this before it starts. Can’t you feel the anger in yourself already?’
The man looked at him uneasily for a moment, breathing unsteadily. Then he moved to intercept others who were running almost compulsively towards the stricken man.
Loman forced down his irritation again and looked into the valley. Down there they had all been together; a large crowd and, for the most part, happy. There they had successfully withstood the Alphraan’s assaults. But here, they were spread out. Without the great stabilizing reservoir of people around them, individuals could be attacked and used as a focus to draw more and more people into an ever greater conflict.
Loman actually felt it happening as he heard in-creasingly angry voices coming from the group around the fallen man.
‘Call out to them, Jenna,’ he said softly. ‘Tell them they’re under attack and to stay as calm as they can until we get more people there.’
Jenna did as she was bidden. At the sound of her voice, several members of the group around the stricken man turned angrily, confirming Loman’s analysis.
Jenna’s voice started to rise in pitch until Loman took her arm gently. ‘They don’t mean it, remember?’ he said. ‘It’s the Alphraan. Tell them the same. Tell them the obvious. We can attend to whoever’s been hurt when everything’s calmed down.’
Loman glanced around. People were gathering be-hind him. He felt afraid. How many could the Alphraan affect at once? They’d wrought havoc in camp six. How effective would the Orthlundyn’s own awareness of the nature of the attack be as a defence against it? If this crowd slipped out of control… up here! He forced the thoughts aside. It was up to him to see that this did not happen.
‘We’re being attacked,’ he said to them quietly. ‘Just remember that we dealt very successfully with many such assaults when we were in the valley yesterday and, by staying calm, we’ll deal with this one too. We must be getting very near to their… homes… now, so this will probably be the first of many attempts to drive us away.’ He looked at the crowd intently. ‘Set aside any feelings of anger you have, no matter how justified they seem. Remember that we’re dealing with a frightened people now, and that calmness and gentleness are our only weapons.’
Angry voices came again from the group around the fallen man. Loman felt his own anger begin to rise in response to the sound, then, unexpectedly, it slipped from him.
He started to move forward. ‘Are you going to per-sist in this, Alphraan?’ he asked. ‘Are you not going to cease until more terrible deeds have been done? Until more people have been killed?’
‘We will not allow you your weapons, human.’ The Alphraan’s voice was fraught and vicious. ‘We will not allow you to scar the world with your evil and treacher-ous ways again.’
Loman looked surprised. He had not expected an answer to his question. ‘We?’ he said ironically, still continuing forward. ‘I still don’t believe you speak for your people, voice, but let that pass. I won’t debate the rights and wrongs of our actions with you further. You’ve heard enough to appreciate them fully, even though you seem to prefer not to listen. And you’ve heard and seen enough to know that, as promised, no matter what the cost, we will protect ourselves and we will move ever into your domain until you release the Armoury and agree to leave us alone.’ A wisp of anger floated into his voice, but it was his own and he used it. ‘We are preparing to fight against the monstrous will of Sumeral Himself. Did you think that we would yield so easily to your petty tyranny?’
A sound formed in the air that might have been the beginning of a reply, but Loman dismissed it with a wave of his arm.
With the Orthlundyn walking silently behind him, Loman reached the fallen man. The group around the man had fallen silent at his approach, and Loman looked at each in turn. ‘Well done,’ he said encourag-ingly. ‘Their will is failing, just as ours is growing in strength. All will be well soon.’
Then he bent down and examined the injured man. He’s got a nasty gash on his head, but I think he’s just unconscious,’ he said after a moment. ‘Take him down to base camp, gently.’
As the man was carried away, Loman turned to the silent, watching people around him. ‘Somewhere around here is one of the entrances to the Alphraan’s… our neighbours’ domain,’ he said. ‘Look for it, carvers.’
Before anyone could move, a terrible screech rent the air. ‘Never, human!’ screamed a voice amp;mdashmany voices amp;mdashcracked with rage.
Loman staggered back under the impact of the ap-palling sound, his hands to his ears. Only instinct enabled him to keep his balance on the uneven boulders. He cried out in pain.
Around him he could see the crowd was similarly affected, people staggering and stumbling on the unforgiving rocks. They were his responsibility, but all he wanted to do was flee this place amp;mdashto run and run until he was free of this dreadful pain. Yet his feet would not respond and, oddly, there was a quality in the sound which encouraged him to stand and oppose.
But there was also desperation. This was a last ef-fort.
Here, smith, you are re-forged or marred forever, he thought.
Then the quality of the sound changed. It lapped around him, mocking, taunting, tearing at him. It unearthed old and fearful memories which rose up and threatened to send him fleeing blindly across the mountainside until he crashed to his death over some unseen cliff.
But it woke another memory. A memory of trials faced and survived.
Loman stood up straight and took his ineffectual hands from his ears. ‘No, Alphraan,’ he said, though he could not hear his own words. ‘You may destroy me, but I will not die whimpering. I will not die dishonouring all those who have made me what I am.’ He opened his arms as if to receive the assault. ‘I have walked the labyrinth, and its ancient power had judged me no enemy. I am not afraid of your petty malice.’
Then, as if moving against a powerful wind, but without bowing, he began to move slowly forward. The sounds filling him became unbearable, and he felt consciousness slipping from him.
‘If I fail, others will follow,’ he said. ‘They will follow always, until you have released what you have unlaw-fully bound.’
He took another step forward, somehow still manag-ing to keep his balance on the uneven rocks.
‘Tirilen… ’ he thought as he felt his last ties break-ing under the terrible onslaught.
But the sound changed again. Abruptly it became loud and shrill, though, Loman realized, it had moved from him. The blackness receded and he was standing again amongst his friends surrounded by a deafening, but harmless clamour.
He looked around. The crowd had been scattered somewhat, but all were now motionless, listening spellbound to the noise rising and falling about them. For even though no coherent language could be heard it was patently a furious argument.
Loman grimaced as he felt anger, frustration and resentment all around him, mingling with regret, fear and denunciation. It seemed to go on interminably, then, as if cut by a sword stroke, it stopped suddenly and for a moment there was silence. Loman stared around in disbelief, thinking briefly that the sound had destroyed his hearing. But before he could speak the noise swelled up again.
This time however, it was profoundly different. This time it was full of disbelief; a disbelief that turned gradually to wonder and joy. Despite his recent ordeal, Loman felt a lump in his throat as he found himself the inadvertent witness to a great rejoining: the coming together again of a family that had been so long apart that each half had thought the other to be perhaps no more than a mere myth.
The poignancy was almost unbearable, and, feeling intrusive, Loman turned to walk away. As he did so, however, other sounds began to impinge on him. A frantic whistling from all sides.
Loman felt again the weight of the mantle of respon-sibility settling on his shoulders. He looked down into the valley.
Sound signals! What are they playing at? he thought.
Then the content of their messages impinged.
‘Hawklan is coming,’ they said. ‘Hawklan and Islo-man, from the north, with two riders.’
Loman looked north, fumbling in his pouch for his seeing stone. As he did so a familiar voice spoke behind him.
‘Well, well, dear boy,’ it said. ‘You do look trim. Been exercising?’