Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

Farnor looked at her shrewdly, then risked, ‘I don’t think I’m going to apologize twice for that. You shouldn’t have sneaked up on me.’

‘I’m not sure you apologized even once, actually,’ Gulda replied. ‘You just gasped as you hit the ground.’ She chuckled darkly.

‘It’s still good to see you… Memsa… Ashstock. What should I call you? Yengar and the others seem to be very nervous of you.’

‘That’s because they’re more worldly-wise and less discerning than you, young Farnor. You may call me Ashstock. We’re kin to the Great Forest, you and I, aren’t we? A rare thing – even amongst the Valderen. We should carry it with us always.’ The blue eyes were searching him again, even more disconcertingly than before. ‘You’ve changed. And for the better. Much better. You can see more of the depths in yourself. But there’s still darkness there. You’re still troubled, aren’t you?’

Her hand came up to indicate she did not want a reply. Farnor became aware of the others arriving. As they dismounted, Gulda thrust her stick into Farnor’s hand, then gently eased him to one side to welcome each of them in turn. She gripped the men by the arms, Valderen style, and to their surprise, not to say their consternation, enfolded the women in a black-shrouded embrace.

‘How splendid to see you all again. You’re looking well.’ She gave Olvric a quick head-to-toe appraisal, smacked Yengar’s stomach with the back of her hand, and gave a reluctantly approving nod. ‘And doing our best to age with dignity, I see.’

Though they were obviously delighted to see the old woman, Farnor had never before seen the four Goraidin quite so unsettled.

Gulda turned her attention next to Marna. She held out a hand in conventional greeting. ‘Gavor told me about you – Marna, who definitely isn’t Farnor’s mate. Light be with you. Welcome to Anderras Darion.’

She took Marna’s arm before she could speak, at the same time snapping her fingers at Farnor to signal for the return of her stick. Farnor jumped at the whip-crack sound and thrust the stick towards her quickly, then found he had to stride out to keep up with her unnervingly fast walk as she led Marna towards the Gate.

‘Farnor, I suspect, like me, has little choice but to be here,’ she was saying to Marna. ‘The castle always seems to call to its own. But what are you doing in the company of these ne’er-do-wells?’

Gulda’s grip on her arm, though gentle, prevented Marna from turning to her companions to seek help in how to deal with this strange woman.

‘I… don’t really know,’ she stammered eventually. ‘I think perhaps after all that happened at home, the valley, the village, felt too small – too vulnerable. I’m sorry… I…’

‘She saved our lives. And she’s Goraidin. Or will be with a little…’

Gulda’s stick was raised for silence. ‘As patient as ever, eh, Yrain?’ she said, without looking round.

Yrain winced.

‘I killed someone,’ Marna said suddenly, her voice soft.

‘What?’ Farnor exclaimed, but Gulda’s stick flicked up to silence him also.

‘Son of a bitch tried to rape her. It was a clean kill. She did well. We’ve talked a few times, but it still bothers her.’ Yrain braced herself for another rebuke even as she spoke.

It did not come. Instead, Gulda just nodded and her grip on Marna’s arm became a reassuring squeeze. When she spoke, her voice was almost casual. ‘These things do tend to upset a little, even when you’ve had no real choice. You can tell me the details later but Yrain’s judgement in these matters is sound, Marna, absolutely sound. Make what peace you can with what happened, but carry no blame. You’re just a little wiser, that’s all. Some things can’t be avoided.’ She cast a glance at Marna’s now pale and uncertain face and then at the still stunned Farnor and her eyes narrowed. ‘And I suspect what’s really burdening you is not so much what you did as that you’ve kept it from someone.’

Marna started violently and she came to a sudden halt. Gulda took one pace ahead and turned to face her. Marna’s eyes flickered between Gulda and Farnor several times before finally settling on her old friend. She seemed to wilt inwardly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said unhappily. ‘I didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t know why. And it got harder the longer I left it.’

Farnor’s throat was dry and he felt woefully inadequate in the face of what he had just learned and the pain he could see in Marna’s whole posture.

Something in him reached out to her. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he heard himself saying. ‘It was none of my business anyway. And I wouldn’t have known how to help you. I suppose you did what you did because of where you were, like me with Rannick.’ He looked at Yrain and Gulda. ‘And, without any disrespect, I don’t need anyone else’s judgement to tell me you’ve done nothing wrong.’

He gave her an awkward embrace with one arm and, for a moment, it seemed that Marna was going to cry, though she fought down the urge and muttered something unintelligible. Gulda gave an approving grunt and began propelling them both towards the Gate again.

As they approached, Farnor saw that a wicket door stood open. Two figures were coming through it, one tall and powerfully built, the other shorter but barrel-chested and, despite the difference in their heights, looking more than a match for his companion.

‘Late as ever,’ Gulda announced as they came forward to greet the newcomers. Farnor noticed immediately that, as with the Goraidin, the two men had an aura in the presence of Gulda not dissimilar to that of anxious children constrained to best behaviour. It made him want to smile, but he didn’t… not with Gulda there.

Her stick serving as a pointer she indicated each in turn, the shorter one first.

‘This is Loman. Hawklan appointed him as Castellan, but he’s a smith really.’ The stick gave him a prod that was almost affectionate. ‘And no mean commander of men when the need arises.’ The stick moved on. ‘This is his older brother, Isloman. Pedhavin’s First Carver. A fair hand with a chisel, without a doubt. These are our guests, gentlemen, Farnor and Marna.’

Farnor saw his hand disappear first in Loman’s furnace-browned fist and then in Isloman’s paler but even larger one. Both grips, however, though purposeful, were unexpectedly gentle, and the warmth of their greetings began to dispel Farnor’s more nervous thoughts about the inhabitants of this place of which he had heard so much and towards which he had been travelling for so long.

There then followed a noisy exchange as the two men greeted the Goraidin. This involved, amongst other things, Isloman seizing Yengar and Olvric, one in each arm, and lifting both of them off the ground at the same time. Warning looks from the two women saw them merely lightly embraced.

Gulda was looking round. ‘Where’s Hawklan?’ she demanded. ‘And Andawyr?’

‘Gavor’s looking for them,’ Loman said.

‘Show these young people their quarters, Loman, get them settled in, then bring them to the small dining hall. You are hungry, aren’t you?’ she asked over her shoulder, answering, ‘Good, good,’ before anyone could reply.

There was a small group of people standing very close to the Gate, apparently examining it in great detail. Some were talking excitedly, others were running their hands over the Gate, absorbed in thought, still others were making copious notes and sketches.

‘What are they doing?’ Farnor whispered to Gulda.

‘They’re studying the Gate.’

Farnor frowned, puzzled. He was about to emit an incredulous ‘What?’ but changed it instead to ‘Why?’

Gulda halted the procession. ‘Go and look at it,’ she said. ‘You too, Marna.’