Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

The group was subdued after he had gone.

‘Too many questions and not a vestige of an answer to any of them,’ Yengar said.

‘Still, the lad has my sword,’ Olvric said. The others looked at him.

‘And mine,’ they each said in turn.

‘And mine, for what it’s worth,’ Marna said, struggling with tears.

Jenna put an arm around her. ‘It’s worth a lot, Marna,’ she said. ‘You’re his friend more than we can ever be, and that’s important. He relies on you more than either of you know.’

The night passed without further incident, although unbeknown to either Marna or Farnor, the Goraidin took turns at standing guard. The following morning their mood was lighter but, before leaving, they agreed to search the area where they thought the apparition had appeared. Determining this proved to be harder than they imagined and, by way of compromise, they searched an area that covered each of their estimates of the location. Their findings were no different from those of Olvric and Yengar the previous night. There was no indication anywhere that any riders had been near the camp. No one seemed surprised.

‘You’re Orthlundyn; is there anything unusual about this place?’ Yengar asked Yrain and Jenna, looking round at the mountains.

The two women looked around indifferently. ‘We’re not carvers,’ Jenna replied. ‘You know that. That’s why we’re soldiers. We’re both of us the despair of our parents.’ Both she and Yrain mimicked a head-shaking parental tone. ‘Quite rock-blind.’

‘Even so, you’re more sensitive to these things than we are,’ Yengar pressed seriously.

‘Maybe, maybe not, but I can’t feel anything unusual,’ Jenna dismissed the subject as she mounted her horse.

‘Nor I,’ Yrain added.

‘Carvers?’ Marna queried.

‘Great stone carvers, the Orthlundyn,’ Yengar said. ‘They live by farming, but they live for carving. They’ve an amazing instinct for working stone. And how to use light – shadow lore, they call it. You’ll see for yourself when we get there.’

‘Just don’t ask anyone about it if you don’t want to be kept there for a day and a half while they explain it to you,’ Olvric warned theatrically. He seemed set to expand on this but changed his mind after a purposeful nudge between the shoulder blades from Jenna’s boot.

Later that day they reached the edge of the mountains.

‘Eirthlund,’ Yengar announced as they paused on a rocky prominence. ‘Not too far now and much easier going when we get down there.’

Gently rolling countryside lay spread out below them, gradually disappearing into the distance as the cloudy sky seeped down to obscure the horizon in a light haze. Farnor and Marna looked at it in silence. Eventually Marna gave a nervous laugh.

‘Funny. It feels strange. I suppose it’s because I’m used to having mountains all around. It makes me feel… unprotected, somehow.’

‘How much longer before we reach Anderras Darion?’ Farnor asked impatiently.

‘It depends exactly where we are,’ Yengar replied. ‘And how near to any of the river bridges. But only a few days at most.’ He grinned. ‘A lot less than our supplies will last, for sure. We’ll probably be sharing Valderen food with the good souls of Pedhavin when we arrive. It seems you’re not destined to learn anything about hunting on this trip.’

Unexpectedly, Farnor’s lip curled. ‘Then teach me how to fight – and how to ride quickly.’

Yengar inclined his head in acknowledgement, though there was some sadness in the look he gave his friends as they set off again.

Nevertheless, the four Goraidin did as Farnor requested and their first day’s journey through the Eirthlundyn countryside proved to be unexpectedly fast. It was thus a very stiff young man who levered himself out of his saddle when they finally stopped. No one remarked on it or offered to help him. He felt the need to spend some time leaning against his horse before Yengar’s instruction to ‘get the horses sorted out, they’ve worked hard today’ prodded him into action. As they went through the routines of establishing their camp, he moved slowly and with great concentration and when he finally sat down he advised his companions that he had pains in places he didn’t even know he had. This revelation was greeted with some cursory nodding, but no one seemed inclined to be overly sympathetic, though Yengar did tell him he was ‘doing well,’ and that he should just ‘try to relax a little more’. He complemented this advice with a brisk slap on the back which rendered Farnor wide-eyed and motionless for some time.

Marna, being naturally more relaxed than Farnor, had fared a little better on the journey but in any case was sustained by a personal vow she had made before she had left her home and father, to learn whatever lessons these four people had to teach, without comment. Thus it was that she joined in the Goraidin’s unspoken plot and stood up with an affectation of enthusiasm when sword practice was mooted. Farnor hesitated for a moment but, caught between Yengar’s encouraging smile and Marna’s betrayal, contented himself with giving her a brief unforgiving look as he creaked to his feet.

To Farnor’s considerable alarm, Olvric decided to join them. ‘Good idea,’ he said, cracking his entwined fingers. ‘It’ll help us wind down a little.’

In common with the rest of the day, it proved to be an energetic interlude and following it both Marna and Farnor retired to their tents exhausted.

The low rumble of conversation around the camp-fire filled the darkness around Farnor as he drifted through the twilight between waking and sleeping. Whirling images of Olvric’s instruction filled his mind. There was such an intensity in everything the man did, yet, paradoxically, a variation of Marken’s judgement came to Farnor: Olvric’s touch was the lightest of them all. Farnor’s last waking thoughts were full of puzzlement. Why was this man, with his frighteningly effective fighting skills, so much more gentle, so much less warlike in his teaching of them than the woman, Yrain? His final image was of Yrain casually watching as he and Marna were being shown something. He had caught a fleeting glimpse of her eyes. They were as intense as Olvric’s and full of realization. This capable and resolute woman was still learning…

Still learning…

And glad to be…

Farnor slept well and the momentum of his long-established habits woke him easily the next morning. The same momentum also lifted him from his bed, though markedly less easily thanks to the stiffness that the previous day’s rigours had blessed him with and that had diffused through his entire frame during the night.

He emerged painfully from his tent to be greeted by a cool and damp dawn that was full of the promise of bright sunshine to come. Despite his discomfort, it felt good. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, then began flexing his reluctant limbs carefully. As usual he was awake before the others. For reasons he could not identify he suddenly felt a great goodwill towards them and by the time they stirred he had quietly tended the horses and was preparing breakfast.

It brought him fulsome praise, though Marna could not forbear reverting to their old relationship and passing an acid comment about ‘teacher’s pet’; a jibe he endured by adopting a wilfully saintly demeanour.

They travelled as they had the previous day, making good progress.

‘Does no one live in this land?’ Farnor asked, looking for topics of conversation to take his mind off his discomfort as they rode relentlessly on.

‘Not many,’ Yengar told him. ‘A few villages here and there. It makes Orthlund look positively crowded and there’s precious few live there.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Then again, I suppose even Pedhavin’s bigger than you’re used to. And I can’t imagine what you’ll make of Vakloss if you ever get there.’