Roger Taylor: The Return of the Sword

‘Climb to where?’

Andawyr laughed. ‘Ah, you know that only children are supposed to ask questions like that, don’t you? We’ll find out when we get there.’

‘Yes,’ Usche said dubiously. ‘You’ve told me often enough. We’re just the universe’s way of discovering itself. I suppose we’ll understand when the last star blinks out.’

Andawyr clicked his tongue mockingly. ‘You’ve been too long looking inwards, my dear. When we get back to the Cadwanen you must start looking outwards a little more – look carefully enough and you’ll see a distinct hint of blue in the stars.’

He laughed again. It was a joyous sound in the soft evening. Usche smiled and turned towards the setting sun. The Orthlundyn landscape was awash with its bright light. It turned the castle into a glittering beacon and, as it moved through the streets of Pedhavin, it drew applause and cries of approval and wonder as the many carvings responded to its subtle touch.

‘Beautiful,’ she said. ‘It’s beautiful.’

She sat down on the soft grass at the edge of the stream and let her hand play idly in the water.

And So…

Though what had happened became widely known and was much theorized about amongst the Cadwanwr and other inquirers, it never became a matter of legend and fireside telling. It was too strange. Sumeral and His army had been conspicuously and bravely defeated sixteen or so years before; that was enough for such tales.

Both the Cadwanen and Anderras Darion became centres of great learning, attracting scholars from many distant lands and sending forth its own. The Fyordyn, the Riddinvolk and the Orthlundyn continued in their ways, although, having heard about the homelands of Antyr and the others, they became even more appreciative of what they had. And protective. Their hearths remained ever open to strangers, though no house was without its Threshold Sword, sharp and bright, hanging behind the door.

Farnor and Thyrn, with the guidance of Hawklan and Nertha, became healers. They returned many times to their old homes. Antyr and Vredech too followed their strange profession, bringing help and solace to those whose troubles were not wholly of the body.

Tarrian and Grayle helped them, too. And roamed the mountains, singing to the Alphraan.

Gentren became a carver under Isloman’s tutelage. He was ever genial, but his eyes were sometimes distant and haunted, and his work was often strange, desolate and disturbing.

Pinnatte spent his days studying in the library of Anderras Darion and working in the fields around Pedhavin. He was at peace with himself, and though he remained hesitant in his speech, it was no burden. When he spoke, people listened.

The Goraidin were all nursed back to health, though it was no light healing and all of them bore the scars of their terrible conflict. Marna became one of them and, with them, an instructor of those similarly inclined. They maintained a discreet and continual watch on the bounds of the three lands.

Dar-volci continued as Andawyr’s nemesis, constantly reminding him of the felcis’ responsibility for humanity.

Gavor remained Gavor.

Hawklan wandered, healing, teaching, laughing a lot, though some thought there was a loneliness in him.

He was lying idly in the shade of a broad-canopied tree one day when a shadow fell on his face. He looked up to see a tall figure silhouetted against the white-flecked sky. As he clambered to his feet, Gavor, perched on his toe, fell off amid a confusion of flapping wings and bad language.

The stranger was a tall woman with piercing blue eyes and hair as black as Gavor’s plumage. She had a strong face and a commanding manner and was beautiful.

Hawklan looked at her for a long time before he spoke.

‘I didn’t recognize you,’ he said eventually. His voice was hoarse. ‘I’d thought you gone – lost for ever.’

The woman smiled archly and put her arm through his. Leading him back to the road she said, ‘Since things have… changed… I’m not the woman I was, without a doubt, but I’m no slight thing to be lost so easily. And as age is setting in now – for both of us – I’m even less inclined to dither about what I want than I was before.’ She tightened her grip on his arm. ‘You’ll be needing a companion in your wanderings, won’t you?’

And companions they became. They both laughed a lot.

Gavor ever the hedonist, was immensely amused and for a long time could only soar high into the blue sky and chuckle darkly, ‘Dear boy, dear boy.’

After a while, their journeyings brought them back to Anderras Darion where they married. In the Fyordyn tradition, the ceremony was held in the ninth hour.