Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

‘There’s a great deal we all have to learn about each other,’ Dacu retorted. ‘And many other things as well. I find it hard to come to accept these “other worlds” that you say you’ve been mysteriously transported to, and that Thyrn says he’s seen.’ His sombre mood fell away. ‘But I’m looking forward to finding out about everything.’

The road ran directly north and they followed it for the rest of the day, at Dacu’s urging and under his guidance, travelling faster than they had done hitherto. They camped eventually in a small stand of trees on a low hillock. As the sun sank and the sky darkened, there was a persistent glow above the western horizon. It puzzled them for a while until they realized that it must be from the lights of Arash-Felloren.

‘What a strange sight,’ Dacu mused. ‘It’s as though the place were ablaze. You can see Vakloss from far away at night, but only if it’s in direct sight. Not beyond the mountains. Why would these people choose to light the sky as well as their streets and byways? Do they envy the stars? Or would they seek to emulate them?’

Vredech laughed. ‘I can’t say that the direction of the street lighting was ever a concern in Canol Madreth,’ he said. ‘I’ve certainly never thought about it and I presume it’s the same with these people. Thoughtlessness at the worst. Not the greatest of sins in this case, surely?’

‘It just makes me uncomfortable, that’s all,’ Dacu said. ‘Thoughtlessness it may well be but I’m not sure I can forgive it as readily as you. Of an individual, yes, but not of an entire city. It’s a symptom of the place. Almost every aspect of it we’ve touched on has been tainted with it. Not least towards other people. And if they disregard their own kind so casually, what regard will they have for anything else around them?’

Vredech gave him an arch look. ‘You are stern, aren’t you? I’d never have taken you for a zealot. “Thou shalt not shine a light at night.” Are you sure you haven’t studied religion at some time?’

The taunt made Dacu smile but he issued a challenge. ‘Just fault my reasoning, priest. The more we learn about the place the more it feels as though Sumeral’s touch is all over it. I wonder if it was once one of His citadels?’ The question was half to Tirke, half to himself, but neither pursued it. ‘Anyway, I’m glad we found out about it, but we were probably wise not to go into it.’

‘Some other time, though,’ Thyrn reminded him.

‘Some other time, certainly. When Nertha has taught us all how to haggle properly.’

The next day, maintaining the same faster pace, they continued along the road, which still led steadily northward. They had met little traffic the previous day and such as there had been had lessened with each junction they came to. Now they met no one travelling in either direction and gradually the road itself began to disappear as the surrounding countryside encroached on it. Eventually it was gone, and all suggestion of the influence of Arash-Felloren passed from the landscape. Their mood lightened.

‘Do you think your friend has come this way?’ Vredech asked.

‘Oh yes,’ Dacu replied.

‘You sound very confident.’

‘If he was going home, this is the most direct way. There’s no reason why he should wander off the road. And he’s left signs for us to follow.’

‘Signs? I’ve seen nothing. And he didn’t know we’d be following, did he?’

‘No, I’m sorry. I meant because he wasn’t deliberately hiding from us, he’s left a trail for us to follow if you know what to look for. So far it’s been easy – scuffs in the dirt, an occasional hoofprint in damp ground.’

‘And not forgetting Dar-volci’s paw prints,’ Tirke added.

Vredech looked at them both, wide-eyed. ‘You make me feel blind and useless. I’d be interested to look for these “signs” myself if you’d care to help me.’

‘And me,’ Thyrn said. ‘Endryk taught me how to leave no sign when we were being chased through the mountains. He said we’d left a trail across Arvenstaat like a runaway haycart.’

Soon, moving still northwards and with all of them now searching enthusiastically for the faint reminders of Atelon’s passing, they were leaving the grasslands and ascending into mountains again. Unlike others they had passed through though, these were of no great severity and the way proved to be quite easy. At one point as they moved along a valley floor, Dacu, who had been looking back and forth for some time, reined to a halt.

‘This has been a proper road at one time. And no farm track, either. I’ll wager you could see the line of it from up on the ridge,’ he said. ‘Fascinating.’ He spoke to Tirke and Endryk. ‘We really must study this region in detail. We can start as soon as we get back to Anderras Darion; there are all manner of maps and plans in the library there.’

Thyrn’s eyes narrowed at the word ‘study’. ‘How far ahead do you think your friend is?’ he asked quickly.

‘Not far, I would imagine,’ Dacu replied. ‘We’ve been making good progress and I doubt he was hurrying particularly. We might reach him today.’

And they did. Towards evening, riding towards the head of the valley, they saw the light of a distant camp-fire.

‘Let’s see how alert our warrior-Cadwanwr is.’ Dacu and Tirke enjoyed a private joke. As they drew nearer, a tent similar to those used by the two Goraidin came into view, but there was no sign of any occupants.

‘Ho, the camp,’ Dacu shouted.

‘Ho yourself, Goraidin,’ came a voice from close nearby. Both Dacu and Tirke laughed and then applauded as a figure emerged from the shade of some rocks. It held a lantern that shone in their faces.

There followed a brief confusion of greetings and abuse typical of long-separated friends meeting unexpectedly and in happy circumstances, then Atelon was more soberly introduced to the others.

‘So you’re a Cadwanwr?’ Thyrn said as he found himself looking into a weather-beaten face and deep-set eyes. ‘They said you wore a big hat.’

Atelon’s face cracked into a bright smile. ‘Only when I don’t want to fight,’ he said. Then, still smiling, he looked at his inquisitor intently. Briefly a look of pain came into his eyes and his hand flicked as if it were about to reach up and offer consolation. He turned the movement into a gesture towards his camp-fire.

‘Welcome to my hearth. I was just about to…’

‘Aren’t we forgetting something?’ Except for Atelon and the two Goraidin, everyone looked round for the owner of this peculiarly deep voice. Nertha gave a faint ‘Oh!’ and Thyrn jumped as the sinuous form of Dar-volci emerged from the shadows. ‘After all, it was me who told you they were coming.’

‘I’d heard them,’ Atelon replied defensively.

‘Hm.’

Without any warning, the felci jumped up into Atelon’s arms and thence on to his shoulder. ‘Let’s have a look at our visitors,’ he said paternally. ‘I have your names, but some of you smell very interesting.’ Following this injunction, Atelon took him to each of the new arrivals in turn. Dar-volci stared intently at each one separately, his triangular head jutting forward a little and his muzzle twitching. Throughout he maintained a soft, absent-minded whistling.

‘Very interesting indeed,’ he concluded finally. ‘I think we’re going to have a lot to talk about. Introduce them to Pinnatte, then let’s eat.’

Pinnatte, slight in build and with disorderly fair hair and disconcertingly black eyes, was the ‘halfwit’ that Ghreel had referred to. Except that he was not a halfwit.

‘The Kyrosdyn used him in an experiment,’ Atelon told them as they sat around the fire eating.