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Roger Taylor: Caddoran

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Roger Taylor Caddoran

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As he staggered to his feet he was aware of violent action to his left as Adren and Rhavvan encountered a second rider, but before he could move to help them a third rider was emerging from the mist. He saw that it was another Warden but half in stark panic and half in a sudden, raging anger, he somehow jumped aside from the galloping horse and blindly thrust out his sword.

This time, he did lose it, though he was dragged some way before it was torn from him. As he tumbled on to all fours, he saw the rider sliding gracefully out of his saddle. Hyrald hesitated for a moment then stood up, reaching for a long knife in his belt. But the rider dropped on to his knees and slowly fell forwards. His fall was halted momentarily as the sword, embedded in his chest, struck the sand, then he tumbled onto his side.

A noise behind Hyrald made him turn sharply, his knife extended in front of him and swinging from side to side in a dangerous arc.

‘Easy.’

It was Rhavvan, crouching low, and edging towards him sideways, his staff extended and sweeping like Hyrald’s knife.

Adren, some way from them and hazy in the mist, was crouching similarly. Nordath and Thyrn seemed not to have moved.

How long had that taken? Hyrald thought, irrelevantly. Scarcely seconds, he presumed – and almost certainly two men were dead – suddenly cold now beyond anything this mist could bring. But time in combat was not measured thus. The moments just gone when he had seen Thyrn taste the seawater and pushed aside his own unwanted childhood memories were now the dim past.

‘Are you all right?’

Rhavvan had to ask the question twice before Hyrald heard it. ‘Yes, yes,’ he nodded eventually. He was shivering.

For another strange passage of time, the five remained silent and still, partly uncertain what to do, partly watching and listening for any further attack. Then a groan rose into the damp air, drawing them all back to the present. It was the rider that Rhavvan and Adren had dealt with. Rhavvan slowly straightened and walked over to him.

‘I can’t hear anyone else,’ he said. ‘And they’d be on us by now if there were others nearby. Get their horses, Adren. Nordath, see what they’ve got in the way of supplies.’ He glanced at Hyrald and then at the third fallen rider. ‘You go and get your sword back.’ An unsteadiness in his voice marred the briskness he was affecting.

Knife poised and teeth bared uneasily, Hyrald lifted the cloak which had draped itself over the fallen rider’s head. He was relieved to see a heavily bearded and lined face. He was far from certain how he would have responded had he found himself looking into a face he knew, or that of some fresh-faced young recruit. Gingerly, he felt about the man’s throat for a pulse, though he knew he would find nothing. There was a stillness about the body that he recognized well enough.

More distressing was the retrieval of his sword. It had jammed between the man’s ribs, and freeing it involved a deal of brute force, causing the corpse to twitch disturbingly and to emit strange noises. When he finally succeeded in wrenching it free, he pushed it three times into the soft sand to clean it, then skimmed it noisily through the silent sea.

‘Wardens’, he said needlessly as he joined Rhavvan, kneeling by the second downed rider. ‘Vashnar’s.’ Rhavvan nodded but held up a hand for silence.

‘How many more of you are there?’ he asked the rider.

Hyrald knelt beside him. This time the victimwas a young man, his face distorted by pain and fear, but again Hyrald was relieved not to recognize him. Not that it gave him much consolation. Stranger or no, he was still a Warden, and they were all a long way from Arvenshelm. His earlier questions about what Vashnar was doing returned in full force.

‘How many more of you are there?’ Rhavvan was asking again.

‘You’ve killed me,’ the rider said through clenched teeth. ‘I’m dying.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Rhavvan said. ‘You’ve been lucky. Especially drawing on us without a challenge. Your two companions are dead but all you’ve got, as far as I can tell, is a broken shoulder.’

Fear returned to the rider’s face, then he made a lunge towards a knife in his belt. The attempt ended in his crying out in pain and collapsing back.

‘I did tell you you’d broken your shoulder,’ Rhavvan said, shaking his head. ‘But then I suppose if you’d been the kind of person to listen to advice, you’d never have ended up in the Wardens, would you?’

With a deft movement he produced his own knife and brandished it significantly in the man’s face. Then, none too gently, he heaved him into a sitting position, cut a length from his surcoat, bound the injured arm across his chest, and dragged him to his feet. It was swiftly done, but it was a noisy procedure which made Hyrald and the others wince openly and left the young man gasping with pain and leaning heavily on Rhavvan.

‘Listen to me,’ the big man said forcefully.

He had to say it twice more before the rider looked at him, eyes ill-focused.

‘How many are in your company? Where are they?’

The rider’s face became sullen.

Rhavvan gave up. ‘All right. We can’t help you further. Go back along your tracks. You’ll find help eventually.’

‘We can’t leave him,’ Nordath objected. ‘He can hardly stand, let alone walk.’

‘What the hell else can we do with him?’ Rhavvan retorted.

Nordath stammered. ‘I… I don’t know, but we haven’t seen even a farmhouse for two days and if there were only these three, he’ll die of exposure… or starvation, or something.’

‘So might we all, before we’re through,’ Rhavvan snapped. He pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead and voiced the question that kept returning to Hyrald. ‘What in the name of all that’s sane is happening?’ He flicked a thumb towards Thyrn. We start off chasing this errant Caddoran. “A discreet matter,” Vashnar tells us – Warden to Warden. No Cry to be called – no public fuss. Then, no sooner do we find him than theDeath Cry’s proclaimed against us. I didn’t even know it was still legal. And against all of us! It’s madness. What are we doing wandering about in a part of the country where no one lives, no idea where we are, where we’re going…’

‘We’re going north, Rhavvan.’ It was Thyrn, anxious and earnest. ‘There are other countries up there, and a great city – so big that… ’

Rhavvan turned to him angrily, making him flinch and step backwards. The big man pointed upwards. ‘There’s a moon up there, boy, but it doesn’t mean we can get to it. City or no city, it may have escaped your notice but we’ve just run into the sea where we didn’t expect to find it. And now we’ve got Wardens – Wardens, no less – our own people, at our backs.’

Hyrald laid a quietening hand on his arm.

Rhavvan paused, then growling to himself and shaking off the hand, he turned away from Thyrn. ‘I know, I know,’ he said to Hyrald. ‘Not his fault. No one’s fault – except Vashnar’s. But…’

‘Come on,’ Hyrald said. ‘Let’s move. We haven’t the time for debate. We’ve got to keep moving. We’ll have to head west along the coast and see where we come to. At least anyone following will be as lost as we are.’ He looked at the young Warden still leaning on Rhavvan. ‘You’ve got a choice. Stay here, or come with us. If we come across a village we’ll leave you there.’

The Warden, holding his bound arm stiffly and swaying slightly, returned his gaze. ‘Can I have my horse?’ he asked.

Hyrald extended his arm to stop Rhavvan’s advance. ‘You’re lucky to be alive, lad. Just take this message back to the others. We don’t know what’s going on. Whatever Thyrn’s done, it probably needs no more than disciplining by the Caddoran Congress, and the rest of us have done nothing. Vashnar had no right to proclaim even the Cry against us, let alone the Death Cry – we’re here at his asking.’ He leaned forward. We’ve had no Hearing – nothing.’

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