Roger Taylor - Caddoran

As they rode, it came to Hyrald briefly that he might perhaps be dreaming, following this silent figure through the cold greyness that constantly unfocused his eyes. He could hear nothing above the dull sound of hooves on the soft sand and the disordered clatter of tackle, though somewhere he sensed a growing sound trying to be heard. The runner’s urgency pervaded everything, drawing the three riders after him, like an army, unmanned and turned into a rout by a single sudden deserter.

Then they were moving alongside a wide foaming stream running between sharp, fresh-cut banks in the sand – it too, seemed to be fleeing. Once again Hyrald felt disorientated as the stream was moving faster than they were, giving the impression when he looked down at it that he was not moving, or even moving backwards. He shook his head to rid himself of the disconcerting image.

The shoreman, running along the edge of the stream, was looking at it intently, though occasionally he glanced backwards at the riders. He reached a decision and shouted something.

Hyrald caught the words, ‘Risk it,’ and ‘Follow me,’ then, with bewildering speed, the shoreman had swung his burden from his back, dropped it into the water and stepped into it – it was a narrow boat. He snatched up a paddle hung on the side and gesticulated urgently with it to the riders, before plunging it into the racing water. ‘Quickly,’ he kept shouting.

Hyrald hesitated for a moment, but Rhavvan dashed past him, echoing the shoreman’s cry. Nordath and Hyrald spurred forwards after him.

Though the stream was not very wide, it was deeper than Hyrald had expected and he could feel the fear in his horse as the water dragged at its legs. Then, as the water deepened further, everything was confusion and near-panic, with spray and curses filling the air as the horses struggled to stay upright against the power of the stream and the riders struggled to stay mounted.

When they were halfway across, a sudden surge in the stream made Nordath’s horse lose its footing. It recovered, but as it did, Thyrn lost his grip on Nordath and, with a cry, tumbled into the water. Hyrald watched horrified as, arms thrashing, Thyrn floated for a moment then disappeared beneath the water. The sight of his upturned, terrified face, and the knowledge of his own helplessness, brought the futility and insanity of the past few weeks crashing down on Hyrald. A frantic roar of rage and frustration formed in his throat as the current relentlessly carried Thyrn away.

‘Keep going!’

It was the shoreman. His voice barely penetrated the din of the splashing horses and the turmoil filling Hyrald’s mind, but a blow from his paddle and his urgent gesturing did. Adren shook her brother and shouted the same message directly into his ear. ‘Get us out or we’ll be joining him!’

As Hyrald returned to his own struggle, he was aware of the shoreman, his paddle working desperately, now one side of the boat, now the other, pursuing Thyrn. The boat twisted and turned as he manoeuvred it through the increasingly turbulent stream while he peered into the depths in search of the young man.

Hyrald could see no sign of Thyrn, but the shoreman suddenly spun his boat about and plunged an arm into the water. The boat tilted perilously and for a long moment everything seemed to be motionless and balanced. Then the boat turned and abruptly righted itself and Thyrn was being lifted out of the water. He was flailing his arms frantically, causing the boat to rock violently. Hyrald was about to call out to him to be still when the shoreman gave him a powerful slap across the face, and somehow managed to drag him half across the boat where he pinioned him with a none too gentle boot.

Hyrald’s horse was the last to reach the far side of the stream. When it arrived, Rhavvan and Nordath had already ridden downstream to meet the shoreman and his passenger. Thyrn spilled out on to the sand, coughing and retching, as the boat was driven into the bank at speed. The shoreman vaulted out of it and dragged it from the water. Rhavvan hoisted Thyrn to his feet with the intention of examining him, but the shoreman urgently signalled him to keep moving. By way of emphasis, he himself began running again, slinging the boat across his back as he ran and scarcely breaking stride. Rhavvan hastily thrust Thyrn up behind Nordath with the injunction, ‘Hang on!’ and remounted.

With the riders trotting beside him, the shoreman maintained the same headlong pace for some while until the sand became dry and loose and dotted with occasional clumps of hard green grass.

Finally he stopped and dropped to his knees, breathing heavily. Rhavvan dismounted and lifted the injured Warden down, a little more gently than he had handled him before. The man was unconscious.

‘He’s only passed out,’ Rhavvan said, laying him down. ‘Probably the best thing he could have done in the circumstances.’

Hyrald cast a glance at Thyrn, slithering down from Nordath’s horse. The young man, wringing wet and still coughing, was a dismal sight, but seemingly unhurt so, his own knees shaking, he crouched down unsteadily by the panting shoreman. ‘Thank you,’ he said, resting a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’d no idea where we were, or the danger we were in. It seems to me you risked your own life to save us… especially Thyrn here.’

‘We were nearly too late,’ the man replied breathlessly. He was patting his boat as if he wanted to embrace it. ‘But I couldn’t leave you, could I? Whoever you are. Not to the sea.’ He shivered then looked at Hyrald intently. ‘What possessed you to go out that far?’

‘We need to light a fire,’ Nordath interrupted before Hyrald could reply. He indicated Thyrn, hugging himself. ‘He’s sodden. The last thing we need now is him down with a fever.’

Hyrald looked around. ‘I doubt there’s any wood lying about here. See if there’s anything in the Wardens’ packs.’

‘They were Wardens then, those men – those bodies we left. I thought I recognized the uniforms.’ The shoreman looked at the unconscious figure by Rhavvan. ‘He’s one too. What are Wardens doing up here? Who are you people? What’s going on?’

‘There’s a tent – and food, but no wood,’ Nordath called out.

‘This lot won’t burn,’ Rhavvan said, tugging at a clump of the tough grass.

‘Where can we find firewood around here?’ Hyrald asked the shoreman, ignoring his questions. We’ve got to get Thyrn dry and warm. I’ll answer your questions then.’

The shoreman peered into the mist, orientating himself.

‘That way,’ he said eventually, standing up and pointing. With a final pat he swung the boat on to his back. ‘I’ve got a shelter you can use. It’s not much, but there’s wood there, and some food and water. It’s not far.’

As they followed him, leading the horses, the mist began to yellow and then to clear, revealing a blue sky and a late afternoon sun. It was a welcome sight and the warmth it brought began to ease the mood of the group. Hyrald looked back, but though he could hear the distant clamour of the sea, he could see only sand dunes and the dull grey haziness of the mist. Rhavvan scrambled to the top of the highest nearby dune and peered around.

‘I can’t see anyone,’ he reported when he came down. The shoreman watched him warily.

‘There were only three of us.’ It was the young Warden.

‘Back with us, eh?’ Rhavvan said, almost heartily. ‘Slept through all the fun.’

The Warden grimaced in pain as he dropped down from the horse. Rhavvan caught him. ‘You may as well ride,’ he said.

The Warden scowled at him and shook his hand free. ‘Wherever you’re taking me, I’d rather walk.’

‘We’re not taking you anywhere,’ Hyrald said. ‘You’re free to go anytime you want to.’ He pointed to the shoreman. ‘But that man just saved all our lives and now he’s offering us shelter. It’s up to you whether you accept it or not but, if you’re leaving, the least you can do is thank him.’