Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

Andawyr shook his head. ‘Not yet,’ he replied. ‘Only a lot more questions. Though I’m even more concerned than I was. Something bad’s afoot, but…’

‘No buts, Andawyr,’ Gulda said firmly, banging her stick on the floor, startling everyone. ‘Something bad is indeed afoot. You and I need to address these questions now, and at length. There’s nothing to be gained by delay.’ She stood up. ‘I’ve no doubt the vulgar soldiery here want to get down to some serious reminiscing, and our guests have done all they can for the moment. Loman, could you…’

The door opened and a red-faced boy barged into the room. He wove a nimble if breathless way through the seated figures, heading straight to Loman and oblivious of Gulda’s basilisk glare.

‘The Watch say there are riders coming from the south, Castellan, coming fast.’

Long-shadowed in the light of the setting sun, a small, shifting crowd stood in front of the castle, waiting for the approaching riders. When they arrived, it was immediately apparent that they had been riding hard for some distance. The horses were exhausted and the riders were in little better shape. Hawklan was at the forefront of the group that ran forward to meet them. Surprise heightened the concern on his face as he recognized the riders.

‘Dacu, Tirke! What’s the matter?’

The two Goraidin declined help as they dismounted wearily but they gratefully accepted the removal of their steaming horses. Dacu wasted no time in greetings, delivering his message to Hawklan immediately. It was as clear and straightforward as it was urgent.

‘You’re needed. We have two men down.’

Only after a brief explanation did he notice the presence of Andawyr and Gulda. Though obviously surprised to see them, he made no pause for inquiry, merely bowing respectfully to them both and saying to Andawyr, ‘Come yourself, if you can.’

Thus it was that, shortly after their arrival, the two Goraidin, mounted on fresh horses, were moving back down the steep road towards the village. They were accompanied by Hawklan and followed at a distance by Andawyr and Isloman driving a soft-wheeled cart. Despite their fatigue, Dacu and Tirke had restricted their rest and refreshment to the brief interlude while the new horses were saddled and a plunging of their travel-grimed faces into the icy stream that surged up by the Great Gate after an uncharted passage deep beneath the castle.

Passing through Pedhavin, the group turned south and began to ride faster. As they travelled, Dacu and Tirke told Hawklan of all that had happened on their journey through Canol Madreth and Arvenstaat and of their meeting with Atelon. Hawklan listened impassively as the strange tales of Vredech, Thyrn and Pinnatte unfolded.

Though they had powerful Riddin horse lanterns to light their way, they were not able to ride as quickly as the Goraidin had dashed to the castle and it was the middle of the night before a swinging light signalled them into the camp that was their destination.

They were greeted warmly by a fretful Atelon.

‘Nertha’s with her husband and Pinnatte,’ Atelon told Hawklan, speaking softly as if to avoid disturbing anyone. ‘Thyrn and Endryk are asleep – they’re exhausted. Come to that, so is Nertha, but…’ He gave a disclaiming shrug.

‘She’s a healer as well as a wife, Dacu tells me,’ Hawklan said. ‘Doubly blessed with insomnia, under the circumstances.’ He turned to Dacu and Tirke. ‘Speaking of which, you two must rest now. You’ve done well and there’s nothing else you can do, at least not until Andawyr and Isloman arrive. Get what sleep you can. Atelon will tend the horses, then he’ll sleep too.’ Tirke seemed inclined to protest, but Hawklan’s raised eyebrow coupled with a nudge from Dacu kept him silent. Atelon bowed slightly, then took the horses.

Nertha emerged from one of the tents. Her face was drawn and anxious in the dancing shadows that an unsettling mixture of flickering firelight and staring lantern light was casting about the camp. Seeing Hawklan, she straightened her jacket, pulled herself erect and came towards him briskly, her hand extended. Hawklan took it and felt immediately the strength of her healer’s will vying with the weakness and doubt that were an inevitable consequence of tending someone close.

‘Dacu’s told me what he knows about your husband and Pinnatte,’ he said, leading her back to the tent. ‘Which is both a great deal and very little. Has anything changed while they’ve been away?’

‘No,’ Nertha replied, her consciously adopted physician’s manner barely managing to keep the tremor out of her voice. ‘They’re still… asleep.’

There had been considerable alarm in the camp when they had been unable to rouse Vredech and Pinnatte. It had been eased more by Nertha’s sternly controlled manner than by her diagnosis after she had examined them.

‘I don’t know what’s happened, but the last time my husband was like this – seemingly asleep, but unwakeable – he, or some part of him, was alive and conscious in another place, perhaps another time.’ She ruthlessly crushed any debate. ‘He told you about it. Now I am. A similar thing’s happened to you, Thyrn, hasn’t it?’ Thyrn nodded but did not speak. He was clutching Endryk’s arm like a child. ‘I’ve no explanation,’ Nertha went on as if fearful of stopping. ‘Seeking reasons is why we’re here. When it happened before, he just woke up. I think all we can do now is keep them comfortable and… wait.’

Dacu looked at the two apparently sleeping figures and frowned. ‘Hearing about such a thing around the camp-fire is one thing, seeing it is unsettling, to say the least.’ He took refuge in practicalities. Looking around at the camp he said, ‘We can’t wait here. These mountains are hardly formidable but they’re more than enough to kill us. Our supplies won’t last indefinitely and if the weather changes we’ll be in serious trouble.’

Thus it was that they had spent the day and much of the night continuing their journey, carrying the two prostrated men. The terrain for the most part was too uneven and difficult for the use of horse-drawn litters and it proved necessary to carry Vredech and Pinnatte on hastily rigged stretchers. Though neither man was particularly heavy, it was nevertheless desperate and wearying work. Throughout, their condition did not change, and when the group finally stopped and made camp, Dacu decided that after a few hours’ sleep he and Tirke should head for Anderras Darion as quickly as they could to bring help. Atelon and the others were to stay where they were but, as it transpired, they ignored this injunction and, at no small cost to themselves, had made useful further progress northwards by the time the Goraidin returned with Hawklan.

Nertha turned up the light of the lantern as Hawklan examined the two men. Routinely he checked their pulses and various other vital signs, though he judged from what he had both heard about Nertha and concluded from his brief acquaintance with her that nothing untoward would be found.

‘They seem simply to be asleep,’ he confirmed. ‘I can’t find anything other than the normal stresses and strains I’d expect to find in people who’ve been travelling for a long time. In fact, they’re so relaxed I’d say they were dreaming, except their eyes aren’t moving.’

‘My husband says he doesn’t dream,’ Nertha said absently. Hawklan took Pinnatte’s injured hand. ‘This is peculiar, though. It’s almost as if it’s part of something else, something… beyond him.’ He shook his head thoughtfully. ‘Still, they don’t seem to be in any danger.’

‘Not here, anyway,’ Nertha said, watching Hawklan’s face intently. ‘They are somewhere else, though, I’m sure.’