Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

Scarcely had he made this observation than they came upon a road. It was unmetalled but ruts and hoofprints testified to its recent usage. After a brief debate they decided to follow it. ‘All roads lead to Anderras Darion,’ Yrain declared.

It took them through an Eirthlundyn village where they became the object of much attention and where their steady progress ground to a halt as the curious but very amiable populace plied them with questions.

‘You’re very patient,’ one elderly man told them, just before signs of impatience were about to show. ‘We don’t see many travellers and we can be a bit overwhelming when we do. Not much happens around here.’

That delayed them even longer.

‘Crafty old beggar,’ Yengar diagnosed as they finally made their escape. ‘He’s made me feel guilty for not taking the rest of the day to tell him about everything we’ve been doing. Still, at least we know where we are now.’

‘Their clothes are beautiful,’ Marna said. ‘Such colours. And the embroidery. So elaborate. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘They’re famous for their weaving and the like,’ Jenna said. ‘They sell it all over Orthlund, Fyorlund and Riddin. They’re considerable traders. That’s why the old man kept wringing tales out of Yengar. He’ll be drinking free on what he’s heard for days now.’

As they rode on, the road widened and with every cross-roads they passed they began to meet more travellers, moving in both directions. Some were on foot, carrying large packs, a few were on horseback, but most were riding in steep-sided carts, ornately carved and painted in the same style as the highly embroidered Eirthlundyn clothes. Everyone they met offered a friendly greeting and more than a few tried to lure them into making a purchase of some kind. Farnor found their persistence a little daunting, for even the admission that they had no money provoked nothing more than a broad understanding shrug followed immediately by some form of bartering proposition. In the end the two Goraidin parted with some of the still extant Valderen supplies in exchange for three bags of radiant stones, two leather belts and two brightly coloured kerchiefs. Yengar tied his about his neck and preened himself before the others. Both the women shook their heads and Jenna addressed Farnor conspicuously. ‘Not bad when it comes to using a sword or bow, these two, but as for bartering, I’m afraid they’re a sorry pair. Little to be learned there except what not to do.’

Shortly after that, however, following another encounter with an Eirthlundyn traveller she became the proud possessor of a beautiful scarf. Yengar said nothing, but whistled to himself irritatingly.

‘Maybe we should trot for a while,’ Farnor suggested.

They would have trotted over the bridge when they came to it, but both Farnor and Marna dismounted and walked to the edge of the river to look at it in wonder. Stout stone arches reached out into the river from both banks, rising gently to a wide central span over which soared a single arch of elaborately woven and jointed iron and timber.

‘It rises up in the middle so that boats can pass underneath it,’ Yengar said, before Farnor asked. ‘That’s what I’ve been told, anyway. Though there’s precious little river traffic these days, and nothing that couldn’t easily slip under the shore arches, let alone the middle.’

‘It’s big,’ was all Farnor could manage to say. And big it was, being so much wider than the road that served it that, Farnor judged, it could accommodate at least six of the carts he had seen, side by side.

‘Who built it?’ he asked. ‘And why, with so few people living here?’

Yengar shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. There are a lot of buildings and structures in this part of the world whose origins are long forgotten. It was probably built during the wars of the First Coming. There are features in its design we still use in temporary crossings and presumably it’s the size it is to take a great deal of heavy traffic very quickly – that usually means an army.’ He seemed anxious to leave the topic. ‘Come on, you can look at it as we cross. It’s even more impressive when you’re on it.’

Since no one else was using the bridge, the six of them rode on to it side by side and widely spaced. They moved steadily up the gentle incline but as they neared the central span Farnor and Marna exchanged a quick glance and, without comment, dismounted again and ran to the nearest edge to peer down into the water. The four Goraidin stopped and watched them for a moment, then, exchanging a glance of their own, dismounted in their turn and joined them.

‘I think I should do this more often,’ Yengar said, picking up a stone and dropping it into the slowly swirling waters below.

Olvric nodded and leaned forward over the stone parapet, his feet leaving the ground in imitation of Farnor and Marna. He threw a stone after Yengar’s.

‘Perhaps you two should bring your little wooden boats to play with,’ Yrain said, leaning with her back against the parapet and gazing with heavy indifference at the arch rising up ahead of them.

‘Good idea,’ Yengar replied. ‘We could put your little dollies in them. Or would they be seasick?’

Before Yrain could offer any rejoinder to this challenge, both Farnor and Marna cried out.

A large black bird had skimmed closely over their heads, startling them both. It dipped down, almost touching the waters below, then soared up in a high, sweeping arc. At the peak of its climb it seemed to hover. Then it was dropping towards them again. There was a faintly undignified hustle as Farnor and Marna debated whether they should stand or flee as the bird drew nearer. In the end they did a little of each, but Yengar and Olvric reached out to prevent their flight becoming a rout.

As they did so, the bird halted its rapid descent and landed on the parapet.

It was a large raven.

It had a wooden leg.

Vredech had been a Preaching Brother in the Church of Ishrythan. Now he was travelling northwards, away from his homeland of Canol Madreth, with his wife Nertha and two companions, Dacu and Tirke. On their journey they had passed through Arvenstaat where they had been joined by a young Caddoran, Thyrn, and his friend, Endryk.

Like Antyr and Farnor, both Vredech and Thyrn were troubled men. Vredech had found himself transported into strange other worlds as he struggled to exorcize a force that had possessed his friend and fellow Preaching Brother, Cassraw, and that through him and his wife Dowinne had threatened to possess the whole of Canol Madreth and thence lands beyond. Thyrn, by contrast, had accidentally thwarted the vaulting ambitions of his powerful master Vashnar, the Chief Warden of Arvenstaat, and, with a few reluctant allies, had been driven into the Karpas Mountains to be hunted as an outlaw. City dwellers all, they had survived there only because of a chance meeting with Endryk.

Like Antyr and Farnor also, both men had faced malign powers beyond their understanding with skills that they were unaware they possessed and of whose use they knew nothing. Each at some point had feared for his sanity and both had nearly perished violently. Now, though they had prevailed, their old lives were gone for ever. They had placed their faith in the companions that chance had thrown their way and were looking to find answers to their many questions at Anderras Darion.

Dacu and his younger companion, Tirke, were Goraidin. Together with Yrain, Jenna, Jaldaric and Yatsu they had been part of the force which had accompanied Hawklan and Andawyr into the heart of Narsindal to face the returned Sumeral. They had stood at the edge of Lake Kedrieth as Derras Ustramel had tumbled to its destruction following Hawklan’s fateful confrontation with its creator. At the same time, Yengar and Olvric had stood in the front ranks of the battle against Sumeral’s Uhriel and His grim army.