Dilrap walked wearily along the quiet, almost deserted corridors of the Palace’s private quarters. He looked down at his errant robe. It was grimed with dust. As were his hands. As was everything, he reflected. It would be pleasant to bathe, albeit briefly, and then rest safe in soft sheets and soft darkness even if it was only an hour or so until dawn. His fatigue overrode his fears about what kind of a day he might waken to. Whatever future lay ahead, this day was one he could take some pride in. He had helped the Lord Eldric and Jaldaric escape and been instrumental in helping the people of Vakloss recover themselves and draw some semblance of order out of the chaos that Dan-Tor had unleashed on them. Further, he had managed to take a small step away from his own destruction and into the service of Dan-Tor by a combination of his organizing skills and an unexpected confrontation with Urssain.
Head down and preoccupied, as he turned the cor-ner that would bring him to his own rooms he almost tripped over two men who were lying asleep on the floor. One was leaning against the wall, mouth agape, and holding the head of the other in his lap. They made an incongruous sight, looking to Dilrap like large, dirty children picnicking in a forest and, despite his tiredness, he smiled.
As Urssain had originally feared, a great many ‘in-truders’ had indeed entered the Palace, and were now to be found sleeping in a variety of places and postures. They were a mixture of exhausted helpers, sleeping wherever they found themselves when fatigue overtook them, and those frightened and homeless who had not yet been drawn into the gentle nets of order that Dilrap had been casting over the City.
Several times through the day, uncertain of his role in the work being undertaken, Urssain had pestered Dilrap about ‘all these people, wandering about’. Finally, in exasperation, Dilrap had hissed at him: ‘All these people, as you call them, are Fyordyn citizens, not thieves and robbers. The Palace is as safe with them as it is with some of your guards. Just make sure the Throne Room and the Ffyrst’s quarters are guarded.’ Then, very softly, ‘And wherever you’ve put the King’s body.’
For a moment he thought he had gone too far, but driving his nails into his palms, he held Urssain’s gaze, tempering the bluntness of his words with a look of pleading urgency in his eyes. It had worked, but Dilrap had reminded himself to win no more such victories for the time being. Very soon his value would become less evident and small acts of defiance such as that could then float to the surface to wreck the fragile vessel of his survival.
Looking down at the two sleeping men, it occurred to him that he should seek a very public opportunity to thank amp;mdashno, praise amp;mdashCommander Urssain and his men for their vital contribution to today’s rescue efforts. That should smooth down any ruffled pride and also assure Urssain that the Honoured Secretary knew his place. He nodded to himself. That would be something for tomorrow. Sometime perhaps when the Rede and the Guild Master and a few senior officers were present.
As Dilrap tucked the thought away, an eye cracked open in the dusty face of the man leaning against the wall. Its partner joined it almost immediately. Neither showed any sign of a confused and unexpected awaken-ing and, momentarily, Dilrap found his own taunt returning to haunt him amp;mdashthieves and robbers?
In the heightened awareness of his intense fatigue, Dilrap felt the man take in his total surroundings with a flicker of pretended bewilderment. Then the second man was awake, and both were standing. Again they showed no sign of fatigue. Dilrap stepped back uneasily. His first question was to have been, ‘Who are you?’ but instead he said, ‘I’m sorry I woke you, gentlemen. Settle down again if you can, it’s still a couple of hours to daybreak and you look as if you need the rest.’
Without speaking, but with a friendly nod, one of the men, yawning and scratching, walked into the junction of the corridors that Dilrap had just come round. He looked casually from left to right, then turning, he glanced significantly at his companion. Dilrap found his alarm mounting though neither of the men seemed to offer any particular menace.
Before he could clear his thoughts, the first man spoke. ‘Honoured Secretary, we must speak to you urgently.’
Dilrap was flustered. ‘If it’s about working parties… ’ he began, gesticulating vaguely in the direction he had just come. The man shook his head and, taking Dilrap’s arm, gently ushered him towards his room. He spoke again, softly and calmly, but very clearly and urgently. ‘Honoured Secretary, we’re Goraidin in the service of Lord Eldric. We know you’re to be trusted and we need your help.’
Despite himself, Dilrap twitched and hitched up his gown, his fatigue and the shock of the man’s words making him feel disorientated. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘What are you talking about?’
There was a brief flash of impatience in the man’s eyes, and the grip on Dilrap’s arm became more urgent. ‘Honoured Secretary. We’ve no time for niceties. Suffice it to say that we were with the group that released Lord Eldric and the others from the Westerclave and got them to Lord Eldric’s estate. It was the Queen herself who told our commander that you’d been her great support and were to be trusted.’ Dilrap’s mouth went dry. This was a trap! He had been betrayed! But no sooner had the thoughts occurred than he dismissed them. Neither Dan-Tor nor Urssain would now need to use such subtle tactics to expose his help to the Queen and the Lords.
They reached the door to his rooms and, opening it, he ushered the two men in. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said as he closed the door and gently threw the bolt. ‘Who’s sent you? What do you want?’ Then, as one of them started silently opening the other doors in the room, and peering through them, he added, ‘There’s no one else here.’
The man nodded and completed his search.
The first waker looked at Dilrap searchingly, causing him to remember that one of the functions of the Goraidin was the assassination of the enemy’s senior officers. Again however, he dismissed the thought. What would killing him gain for anyone? Certainly nothing that valuable soldiers such as the Goraidin would be risked for. No, these were brave men, and in need. They were no threat to him and he must help them if he could.
Another sinister memory came to him, and he waved his hand anxiously as if to erase his questions. ‘No, no. Don’t tell me anything about yourselves,’ he said. ‘I won’t be able to keep any secrets from the creature that Dan-Tor has become if he seeks to look for them.’
The two Goraidin exchanged glances; the remark both surprised and impressed them. ‘Very well,’ said the first. ‘No names, nor any reasons why we came here originally, but now, after what’s happened, we have to get everyone away while we can.’
‘Everyone?’ Dilrap interrupted.
‘The King, the Queen, the Lord Eldric. Perhaps his son, perhaps you,’ said the Goraidin without pause.
Dilrap put his hand to his head. This was the second time these people had struck into the very heart of Dan-Tor’s domain to do him hurt. They were like water running through a mailed fist. There was so much hope in such people and such deeds. Another small inspira-tion to help him through darker days.
‘Events are moving too quickly for you, Goraidin,’ he said sadly, then briefly he told them the events of the day, his voice relentless and matter-of-fact to prevent their interrupting and to cover his own emotions. ‘You’ve done all you can do here,’ he concluded. ‘Take this news back to the Lords, and delay for nothing.’
As the tale unfolded, the men became increasingly agitated although they remained silent. When it was finished however, one of them burst out, ‘It can’t be true.’
Dilrap rounded on him angrily before he could continue. The reliving of the day had harrowed him. ‘Take the message, Goraidin,’ he said, glaring at his doubter. ‘Let others judge its worth. I saw what I saw. Why should I lie about such things? What was Dan-Tor is now Oklar, the worst of Sumeral’s Uhriel. Our King rose up whole and sound to oppose him, and was cut down for his pains.’ His face distorted as the emotion of the events started to overcome his fatigue. ‘Damn you both. I’m frightened enough as it is without having to argue with those I’m trying to help. The man is Oklar. I know it’s against all reason. I know these are children’s tales, but our King named him in his death throes, and I’ve looked into his eyes.’ He struck his chest in emphasis then, angry again, he pointed in the general direction of the destruction at the front of the Palace. ‘And could a man have done such a thing to our city?’
One of the Goraidin laid a hand gently on his shoul-der. ‘We don’t doubt you, Honoured Secretary,’ he said. ‘Other things have happened elsewhere that confirm what you say. It’s just that your news was a shock amp;mdasha terrible shock. We understand what you say and we’ll carry your message faithfully, don’t worry about that. Just tell me what the King said again. It made no sense.’
Dilrap repeated the King’s last words.
‘Nothing shall end the reign of your Master?’ said the Goraidin, echoing Dilrap’s words and shaking his head. ‘That’s a grim prophecy for us all if it was some vision of the future. What did he mean?’
Dilrap shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘He did say his words weren’t what they seemed. And there was no despair in his voice. Just a kind of… bitter… dark amusement. And he was laughing even as he died, and that creature was powerless under his gaze… it couldn’t move.’ He frowned. ‘It’s beyond me. I’ve told you, leave it to others. Just tell the tale as I’ve told you. Tell everything as I’ve told you. Now go while you can.’
His tone was final and the men were still for a mo-ment, uncertain. Then they moved to the door.
‘Shall we take you with us?’ said the first man, turn-ing back to Dilrap.
‘No,’ said the Secretary shaking his head slowly. ‘I promised the King I’d stay. I can do more here than anywhere else. Besides, this is all I know. Find me again when you need me. I’ll do what harm I can here and I’ll tell you whatever I learn.’ Then, looking into the man’s eyes, ‘But tell me nothing that would endanger others if you can avoid it. I don’t know how much time I have.’
Distress showed on the Goraidin’s face. Dilrap looked at him. ‘Tell the Queen about Rgoric gently,’ he said. ‘And tell her her husband died his true self. Quite free of his old foe, and fighting him to the end. Mocking him, in fact.’
Then the Goraidin were gone and Dilrap was alone in the silence of his room. Fatigue closed in on him again to damp down the exhilaration that he felt at this contact with the forces who would oppose Dan-Tor.
Turning, he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and shied away from the sight. Though no lover of his own image at the best of times, the bleary-eyed vision that he had glimpsed seemed to be an unnecessarily cruel caricature and he shook his head in a momentary surge of self-pity. His robe slipped awkwardly from his shoulder and resignedly he hitched it up.
‘Shall I do something with that robe of yours, Dil-rap?’ Alaynor had said to him, only a few hours previously when a hasty gesture on his part had swept a table clear of plans and papers. The remark had been made quietly and gently and was sincerely meant. At the time, he had fobbed it off with a friendly gesture. Now it seemed to be more significant for some reason. He slipped his robe off and, holding it at arm’s length, examined it critically. It was a traditional garment and wholly inappropriate for his portly figure, indeed it had been the bane of his life since he came to office. However, to continue to wear it would be to show that threads of the old ways persisted while still showing him to be the same old harmless Dilrap. But would that serve his needs? The threads of the old ways would surely be ruthlessly cut as time passed, and would there be a place for harmless ditherers in the New Order? Probably not, he decided. Chillingly, he realized that part of his worth in the future would lie in the assessment of how troublesome and inconvenient his removal would be.
For the first time in his life, he looked at the robe with affection. Then, laying it down on a table, he folded it carefully. The duty of the King’s Secretary lies in his heart not in his clothes, he thought. He would give it to Alaynor, to ‘do something with’, then he would lay it aside until it could be worn with renewed dignity and honour at some future time.
Isloman stood very still. The two arrows still quivering slightly in the nearby tree were sufficiently close together to show that the archer knew his craft. Although he had no idea where the man was, he might have risked a sudden dive for cover had he been alone, but with the Queen and Hawklan in his charge, that was out of the question.
Gavor moved discreetly into his line of sight and, cocking his head on one side, raised his spur-clad wooden leg in a gesture both incongruous and menac-ing. Isloman shook his head almost imperceptibly and mouthed, ‘Not yet.’ Not until he knew more precisely what they were dealing with. Gavor retreated and Isloman caught a glimpse of his black shadow rising up through the trees beyond.
Slowly and carefully he raised his hands in the air. ‘Muster lady,’ he whispered, very softly. ‘Do you know these cockroaches? Can you talk us out of this?’
‘I’m their Commander-in-Chief, for what it’s worth,’ came an uncertain reply from behind him. ‘But I don’t know how I can explain our being here. They’ll almost certainly want to escort us back to Vakloss.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Isloman said. ‘Just pull rank and keep talking. We’ll see what turns up.’
‘Don’t shoot,’ he shouted. ‘We’re lost. We mean no harm, and we’ve nothing worth stealing.’
There was a brief pause, then, ‘Put your club down and walk towards my voice, slowly.’
‘What about the horses?’ Isloman shouted. ‘We’ve an injured man here.’
‘Let the other fellow lead the horses,’ came the reply. ‘You keep well to the front, and keep your hands up.’
Slowly and conspicuously Isloman replaced his club in his belt, at the same time surreptitiously loosening his sword. Without comment, the Queen took Serian’s reins from him.
Isloman soon saw their attacker. His brow wrinkled slightly. The man’s position was worrying. To anyone without the sight of an Orthlundyn carver, he was well hidden; part way up a tree, but securely balanced, with a good field of fire, and yet able to abandon his position at speed if need arose. And his ability to shoot straight and with discretion was already proved. If the others in this patrol were as well trained, it would be difficult to find opportunities for escape.
As they drew nearer, Isloman affected to look around for him, and he feigned great surprise when the man jumped down lightly several paces in front of him, bow raised. For all the sureness of his challenge, he seemed young and nervous. ‘You startled me,’ Isloman said, stepping back and smiling.
The Mathidrin, however, did not respond to this pleasantry. ‘Keep your distance, and follow me,’ he said tersely. Isloman nodded. ‘Well, I see from your uniform you’re not a robber anyway… ’ he began.
‘Be quiet, and keep walking,’ said the man.
Very soon, Isloman saw the Mathidrin camp through the undergrowth. Like the sentry, it was well hidden, and implied a degree of training that he would not have imagined the Mathidrin capable of. He frowned again.
‘Ho, the camp,’ shouted the sentry.
There was no reply.
The man glanced quickly over his shoulder. ‘Ho, the camp,’ he shouted, more loudly, an excess of rasping anger in his voice further betraying both his youth and his nervousness. ‘Prisoners coming in.’
This time there was a response. A tousled head ap-peared out of the makeshift shelter and cast a weary glance upwards into the rain. ‘Very funny, Crooper,’ it said sarcastically. ‘Very funny. It’s not our fault you drew last watch. You didn’t have to wake us all up in the middle of the night.’
‘It’s nearer the middle of the morning, Criach,’ the young man snapped back. ‘You should’ve relieved me an hour ago, but let that pass. Get your idle behind out here, right now, we’ve got visitors.’
The party came in full sight of the shelter, and the head, startled, disappeared. After a small commotion, Criach reappeared in a state of barely modest undress: a cloak thrown loosely over his head and shoulders. He shivered slightly in the morning rain.
Isloman was about to smile vacantly again when the Queen swept past him, hood thrown right back, and cloak opened a little to reveal in part her Muster uniform. ‘Well done, men,’ she said authoritatively. ‘You keep an excellent guard considering you’re so far from the City. I’ll see that your vigilance is mentioned to your superior officers.’
Crooper’s bow wavered uncertainly and his face showed he was struggling to identify this suddenly transformed ‘other fellow’. Criach reacted more quickly, hissing something to him urgently and stepping in front of his raised bow as the Queen approached. He saluted as well as he was able with one hand clutching his cloak. The Queen returned the salute. ‘Wake your Sirshiant please, trooper,’ she said. ‘We’ve an injured man here and we’ve lost our way. We need your help urgently.’
‘Majesty, there’s no Sirshiant with us,’ Criach said, hesitantly. ‘We’re on a special initiative exercise. But how can we help you, ma’am?’
Sylvriss raised her eyebrows. ‘No Sirshiant, trooper?’ she said, pulling her hood forward again as the rain intensified. ‘That’s unusual. Tell me about it as we ride. Get changed now, quickly. You’re getting soaked. And that goes for the rest of you.’
The last comment was made to other heads that had appeared out of the shelter to abuse the cause of the disturbance.
‘Quickly,’ the Queen repeated loudly, and the heads disappeared, along with Criach. Only Crooper remained, now standing stiffly to attention.
‘Stand easy,’ the Queen said pleasantly. The young man relaxed, but still seemed to be unusually nervous.
‘Don’t worry, trooper,’ the Queen added, comfort-ingly. ‘You’re not going to get in trouble for challenging your Commander-in-Chief. We were strangers ap-proaching the camp. You’d no choice, and you did well.’
‘Yes ma’am. Thank you,’ Crooper replied uncer-tainly.
Sylvriss turned to Isloman to say something, but he was examining Hawklan. ‘How is he?’ she asked, changing her question.
Isloman shrugged fretfully. ‘The same,’ he replied. ‘But I won’t be happy until we get some proper care for him. His cloak’s keeping him warm and dry, but… ’ His voice faded and he glanced quickly at Crooper, now shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously. ‘We must get away from these people as soon as possible,’ he whispered.
‘I know,’ said Sylvriss softly. ‘But there’s something odd about this group though I can’t pinpoint it.’
‘Odd?’ Isloman queried. Sylvriss did not reply but turned to meet the troopers now emerging from their shelter. They lined up quickly and smartly, though all seemed ill-at-ease. Crooper joined them.
The Queen looked at them briefly, then, walking to her horse, she mounted and signalled Isloman to do the same. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said. ‘We’ve no time for formalities. Break camp immediately and mount up.’ She indicated Hawklan. ‘We have to get the envoy here to a healer as soon as possible.’ There was some hesitation.
‘Majesty,’ Criach said. ‘We’ve been out some time. We haven’t the supplies to get to Vakloss, and the horses are nearly spent.’
Sylvriss glanced at Isloman, her face puzzled. It was not so far to Vakloss that a group of young men couldn’t survive the journey without supplies.
‘And what about your own escort?’ Criach contin-ued. ‘Won’t they be waiting for you somewhere?’
Only careful intonation prevented the question being insolent. The queen answered it simply. ‘We only had a small group,’ she said. ‘Three. A token escort for the envoy here. We got caught by a rock fall amp;mdasha bad one. I’m afraid they were all killed. The envoy was hurt and we lost our way.’
Criach looked distressed, but his manner did not ring true. Rather, he seemed relieved.
He paused thoughtfully. ‘The nearest help will be… to the east, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Lord Eldric’s estate.’
Sylvriss looked at him narrowly. ‘Lord Eldric is currently under arrest in Vakloss, trooper, and his friends are reputed to be preparing for a rebellion. Are you seriously suggesting I seek help at his door?’
Criach looked helpless. ‘Majesty, it is the nearest place where you’ll get proper medical help. I’m sure the Lords wouldn’t treat you other than honourably and with the utmost respect.’ Then, almost as an after-thought, ‘Unfortunately, of course, we’d only be able to escort you part of the way.’
Sylvriss frowned, then nodded. ‘Very well,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Break camp quickly, and mount up.’
A little later, as the group rode out of the trees and joined the road, Sylvriss signalled to Isloman and the two trotted slightly ahead of the patrol.
‘There’s something definitely odd about these men,’ she said. ‘Their horses are far from spent and I’ve never met a Mathidrin who’d even think in terms of an enemy showing honour and respect to an enemy; they’re back-stabbers to a man. These men are more like High Guards.’
Isloman nodded. The Queen’s words chimed with his own thoughts but the ominous black liveries disturbed him. ‘Just stay alert,’ he said. ‘They’re wearing Dan-Tor’s uniform and we must assume they’re his men, for all their courteous behaviour. From what I understand, your country’s very divided about him. The Mathidrin could be drawing people from many sources by now.’
Sylvriss’s face wrinkled in distaste. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘But we’d better lose them at the first opportu-nity.’ Discreetly she urged her horse into a fast trot. Serian followed. ‘If we’re careful,’ she said. ‘We should be able to tire their horses gradually, and then outrun them.’
Isloman nodded again. ‘Take care,’ he said. ‘Don’t do anything impulsive. We can’t outrun that archer, and the others are all carrying bows as well. At least we’re travelling the right way at the moment. If we stop I’ll try and speak to Gavor. He might be able to help distract them if we decide to run for it.’
As the party moved steadily eastwards along the forest road, the rain gradually died out, leaving an overcast, unpromising sky. As usual, now they were riding again, Isloman noticed Sylvriss’s manner lightening. The air was cool and damp about them, and small clouds of steam started to rise above the treetops lining the steep slopes around them.
The horses splashed through the shallow puddles that mottled the uneven road, throwing up showers of spray, silver even under the grey sky, and occasionally they would ride through a gloomy arbour formed by overhanging trees, where the sound of the horses’ hooves would seem to echo.
Skilfully and imperceptibly, Sylvriss broke up the pace of the journey, riding now faster, now slower, but always keeping a modest distance in front of the patrol so that they would not become concerned.
Eventually, Criach rode alongside. ‘Majesty,’ he said, rather breathlessly. ‘Our horses are not as fine as yours, and they’ve been riding for several days already. Could we rest awhile?’
Sylvriss turned to him, then looking back at the following patrol she reined her horse to a halt. ‘I’m sorry, trooper,’ she said. ‘I was anxious about the envoy and I’d forgotten your horses were tired.’
As the others reached them, Isloman noted them discreetly puffing out cheeks and exchanging wide-eyed glances. The Queen’s finely judged riding was taking a toll already.
His satisfaction at this, however, vanished immedi-ately as a large group of riders came around a bend in the road ahead. They were Mathidrin and they were galloping.
Isloman looked quickly at the Queen. His own thoughts were reflected clearly on her face. This troop must inevitably escort them back to Vakloss. She caught his look and, with a sudden cry, urged her horse forward off the road and into the trees. Without any signal from Isloman, Serian followed, and once again Isloman found himself a passenger on a Muster horse at full gallop as the great horse surged after the Queen.
There was a confused shouting behind them, but Isloman could make nothing of it. Somewhere above him he thought he could hear Gavor calling, but everything was lost in the din of the two horses crashing through the forest.
Abruptly the trees thinned out into a large clearing and, to his horror, Isloman saw a line of Mathidrin horsemen had moved to cut them off. The Queen’s horse reared and spun round. Serian halted rapidly, but more cautiously, in deference to his burden. Twisting round, Isloman saw more Mathidrin behind them. Then there were horsemen all around and closing in rapidly.
He heard the swish of a sword being drawn, and felt Sylvriss’s horse bump into his leg. He reached down to protect Hawklan’s head. ‘Back to back, Orthlundyn,’ came the Queen’s voice, urgent and commanding. ‘Look to your sword and trust your horse, they’re trained for this. We’re not finished yet. Whoever’s in charge of these people is good but there are weaknesses in the line. They’ll leave a gap and we’ll be through it before they know what’s happened.’ Isloman drew his sword almost unthinkingly and the approaching riders slowed to a walk.
For a moment the only sound in the clearing was the soft clatter of tackle and the light footfalls of the horses through the undergrowth. Serian and the Queen’s horse, side by side and head to tail, turned methodically on the spot. Isloman and Sylvriss, swords drawn, waited.
Then the approaching riders stopped and one of them moved forward. At the same time, Gavor landed on Serian’s head.
‘What are you doing, dear boy?’ he asked.
Isloman stared at him, taken aback by the question, but before he could reply, the lone rider spoke.
‘Majesty,’ he said with a slight bow. ‘My apologies for startling you, but when Gavor told me some of my men had found you I was anxious to get here as quickly as possible.’
The Queen’s eyes narrowed menacingly, first at Gavor and then at the speaker, but Isloman cut across whatever intent she had formed. He smiled. ‘How’s your shoulder, Dacu?’ he asked.