Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

It did not lessen as the rider sat upright again. Rather it increased, though Vredech thought he could sense surprise and doubt in the rider’s posture. These were unexpectedly human traits. As, too, was an excitement that was beginning to emerge through them, though this was so febrile that it snatched away the solace that the previous doubt had momentarily offered.

Then there was an exchange between the riders. A complex melange of eerie sounds reminiscent of, but quite different from, the shrieks they had announced themselves with. Awaiting its outcome, Pinnatte glanced over his shoulder, again searching for some means of escape. One of the mounts craned forward and hissed at him. It bared its teeth, predatory and feral. Pinnatte froze.

The exchange faded away, whistling echoes of it drifting into the distance.

‘Welcome,’ the rider said.

The voice was jarring and repellent and the word seemed to be not so much spoken as wrung out of one of their awful shrieks. It was surrounded by quivering overtones and dissonant harmonies that set Vredech’s teeth on edge.

As grotesque and unnatural as everything else in this benighted place, he thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came.

‘You are not as we thought.’

‘You are not of this place.’

Vredech could not make out which one of them was speaking.

‘We are strangers,’ he managed to say, his own voice sounding alien to him.

There was dark amusement in the reply.

‘Yes. There are few indeed left here who have not received our blessing since this world became His.’

‘Blessed be His name. Great are His works.’

The words were intoned by all three riders. The sound struck Vredech like icy water dashed in his face. Vivid memories washed over him of the mechanical responses he had heard so many times from his own congregations.

‘Take us to the Opening of the Ways.’

Vredech and Pinnatte stood silent in the face of this abrupt command for a moment, then they exchanged an awkward glance.

‘Take us to the Opening of the Ways,’ the voice came again, this time impatient.

‘I… we… don’t know what you mean,’ Vredech replied hesitantly. ‘We know of no such things. We don’t even know how we came here. We…’

A gesture silenced him. ‘Take us to the Opening of the Ways!’ The speaker’s mount took a soft, menacing step forward, its neck extended and its head no longer swaying. Vredech quailed. One of the others reached out and touched the advancing rider who, with some reluctance, retreated.

‘You must forgive us,’ said the interceding rider. ‘The purification of this place since we were drawn here is both our duty and our delight and we honour Him in the joy we bring to it. As we do to the Search. Now you have been sent to guide us. Mysterious are His ways, Allyn Vredech.’

Vredech’s eyes widened in shock. ‘How do you know my name?’ he asked.

There was a sound that might have been laughter except that no laughter could have been so depraved.

‘Am I so changed that you don’t recognize me? You whose loving touch set me on this glorious way?’

The rider reached up and removed his helm…

Her helm.

For Vredech found himself looking not into the face of some grim and cruel warrior but into that of a monster worse by far. Leaner and harsher than it had been, with glistening black eyes, it was nevertheless unmistakably the face of Dowinne, the wife of his erstwhile friend, Cassraw.

Vredech drew in a sharp breath and took an unsteady step backwards. His foot caught on a rock and he would have stumbled had not Pinnatte caught him.

‘But you’re dead,’ he burst out, his face alive with horror. ‘I… I killed you myself… plunged you into that awful abyss.’

‘How could you kill such as me, Allyn? All things are to His design. You were but an instrument of His will, as are we all. Your role then was to free me from the cringing flesh of that world so that a greater destiny could be fulfilled.’

‘You’re dead,’ Vredech repeated feebly, though the words jangled meaninglessly in him.

Dowinne inclined her head slightly in the manner of a teacher dealing with a capable but headstrong pupil. Her arm swept over the plain and the mountains but her dead gaze remained on Vredech. ‘You are not so blind, surely? Through the perfection, the purity that we have made here and are making yet, His will has reached out and brought us together again, touched on your great gift so that you can lead us back to that place which is the heartworld of His need.’

Vredech was leaning heavily on Pinnatte. His mind was whirling. Though Dowinne had brought her own death on herself, his part in it had been a source of distress to him ever since. His only solace was the knowledge that he had had no alternative, that he had done what he had done not out of hate but to prevent a greater evil, that he had been justified. But still it troubled him.

‘It always will,’ Dacu had told him. ‘Be truly afraid when it doesn’t.’

But now Dowinne was standing before him like a judgement.

He felt Pinnatte’s arm tightening about him strongly, fingers pinching into his arm.

‘Stand up, damn you!’ came a whispered but snarling reproach. ‘We’ll never get out of this if you collapse. You’re the one who said we should talk first, remember?’

The three riders seemed to be disputing with one another. This time, Vredech could make out Dowinne’s voice vying with the impatience in the others, though the excitement that he had noted before pervaded all of them. It was a grasping, clawing thing. And it was growing.

Talk.

Vredech clung to the word. And more of Dacu’s words came to help him. However frightening, however improbable, whatever was happening here was happening. He must see it as it was and accept its reality. All else would lead to futility or worse. This was Dowinne, beyond any dispute. The Dowinne he thought he had killed. The Dowinne who had killed his friend. The Dowinne who even then had possessed strange and dangerous powers and a murderous willingness to use them. How she had come here, resurrected, was irrelevant. What was important was that, whatever she had become, he had known her. A link existed, however tenuous.

He drew in a breath of the tainted air and gently prised away Pinnatte’s supporting arm.

‘I understand none of this, Dowinne,’ he said, trying to prevent his voice from trembling. ‘I don’t know how we came to be here and we want only to leave. We…’

‘Your understanding is not needed. Only your obedience.’

The tone was dismissive and the attention of the riders was turned suddenly to Pinnatte. They were silent for a long time. Vredech, gradually overcoming his initial shock, moved now to protect his former protector. He edged a little way in front of him.

‘Who are you?’ Dowinne asked Pinnatte.

‘Jedred, your honour,’ Pinnatte replied immediately, bowing slightly and lying freely, as was his habit under such circumstances. ‘Apprentice saddler to the Faldine Guild. This man and I are strangers. One moment we were sharing an evening’s camp in the mountains, then suddenly we were here. It’s all very alarming. Personally, and no disrespect to yourself and your good friends, but I can’t help thinking I’m dreaming, and…’

An angry wave from Dowinne silenced him. He gave another curt bow and began rubbing his hands submissively.

‘You are strange indeed,’ Dowinne said slowly, thoughtfully. ‘There are signs about you that… should not be. One such was promised. One that would be His vessel. But you are flawed and imperfect. He would not use so poor a thing. Yet…’

‘Perhaps if you asked Him…’ Pinnatte began.

Abruptly, the three mounts were rearing, their eyes glaring and their claw-like hooves flailing wildly.