Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

‘The Uhriel are dead,’ Hawklan said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. ‘You…’ He stopped sharply. ‘You know that. The bodies of Creost and Dar-Hastuin were burned and their ashes scattered to the winds. And both Andawyr and I saw Oklar die. They’re gone, utterly. However Sumeral restored them, it can’t be done again.’

‘Yes,’ Gulda said, still seemingly having to force out her words. ‘As you say, they were killed. But the sounds that came with Vredech and Pinnatte were the voices of the Uhriel, nevertheless.’ She tapped her stick sharply on the floor and, as if at a signal, was abruptly her normal self again. She did not give Hawklan and Andawyr an opportunity to speak. ‘Gentlemen,’ she announced. ‘I’m afraid we must accept that the Uhriel have been…’ She curled her lip. ‘Born again. Somewhere His will is whole and He has found new vessels for His old evil, vessels doubtless willing to be as well versed in His ways as their predecessors.’ She sniffed. ‘Worse, from what we just heard, I’d surmise that while their corruption is as ancient as Sumeral Himself, their hearts are strong and green, and full of the surging zeal and righteousness that’s the invariable hallmark of the newly enlightened.’

Both men turned away from the unusual passion and anger in her voice. Despite what she had said, however, they both knew that nothing was to be gained by asking her how she came by such knowledge. Gulda was a deeper enigma even than Hawklan. Certain questions were never asked of her and even those who speculated about them tended to do so in hushed tones. Those who knew her knew too that they must take what she offered and confine themselves to matters earthbound and practical. Andawyr spoke first.

‘I’ve no serious qualms about accepting what you say at first face, Memsa,’ he said, with a crisp frankness in his voice that was quite belied by his posture and his expression. ‘But, grim prospect though it is, there’s nothing in what you’ve said that needs to be kept away from the testing of open debate, is there? Why are we discussing it out here like conspirators?’

‘Because of the language, Andawyr, the language,’ Gulda replied. ‘Not His… renewed… existence, nor even the rebirth of the Uhriel. Your people will come to that soon enough. The one has always been a probability, though, I’d thought, a far lower one than seems to be the case, and I suppose the other’s an inevitable consequence of it. But they know nothing of the language. That was His, and His alone. It’s the true language of the Power – His closest-held secret. He gave only the merest hint of it to His first Uhriel. Sufficient for their needs. Or, rather, sufficient for His needs. And such as He allowed them to know He constrained them to using only rarely.’ She paused, uneasy again. ‘The voices that we just heard were steeped in it.’

‘Which means?’ Andawyr asked.

‘Which means that whoever they are, wherever they are, He’s chosen to give them knowledge of the Power far greater than he allowed the original Uhriel. Far greater.’

Andawyr closed his eyes and leaned back, turning his face to the sun.

‘It can’t be,’ he said, more a plea than a statement. ‘Oklar alone cut a swathe of destruction through Vakloss with a mere gesture. And when Oslang and the others faced the Uhriel on the battlefield it taxed them to limits they could scarcely have imagined. Even though we’ve learned more since then than in who can say how many generations previously, I’d be loath to face them again as they were, let alone stronger.’

Gulda was pitiless. ‘You’re less than dust in the face of the power they have now.’

There was a stark silence. Even the children below seemed to be waiting for something, their play now hushed and whispered. Gavor’s wooden leg clunked softly as he paced up and down the parapet. He stopped.

‘You’re certain about what you heard?’ Andawyr asked cautiously.

‘Oh yes, very certain,’ Gulda confirmed, without a vestige of the irritation that could normally be expected of her at such a question. Hawklan leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands, and the silence folded around them again.

‘It’s a frightening picture you’re drawing for us, Memsa,’ he said eventually. ‘I don’t know where to begin making sense of it all.’ He grimaced and drew his hands down his face. ‘I’ve never been truly at ease since the war. Now this. It can’t happen again. It can’t be allowed to. But all I can think of is why would He give such knowledge to these new Uhriel if He denied it to those who’d served Him so long and so faithfully before?’

Gulda looked at him and then at Andawyr.

‘It was always said that He took on human form. Took it on because it was the best suited to His needs. But no one truly knows what He is.’ She paused. ‘We can be sure however, that whatever He is, following His destruction – or perhaps I should say, His dispatch from this world – He’ll be even further removed from whatever humanity He had. And like you, Andawyr, and the rest of the Cadwanwr, like all of us, He’ll be wiser by far, now.’

‘Wiser?’

Gulda’s mouth tightened into a grim smile. ‘You’re begging the question, sage, assuming that all wisdom is for our greater good! Let’s say He’ll be more knowledgeable.’

‘And how will He use this knowledge?’ Hawklan asked.

Gulda gripped his arm. It was a grip he was familiar with, not remotely that of an old woman, but powerful and determined, the grip of a swordsman. It was also both reassuring and appealing. It told him she needed both his help and his trust.

‘The Uhriel were always mere weapons,’ she said. ‘Devices honed and sharpened for the execution of His will. We’ve no reason to presume they’re not still so. But where once they were weapons of stealth and silent insinuation, at least initially, perhaps now they’re weapons of sheer, brutal force: lions to be set amongst the sheep.’

Despite his protestation about the frailty of the Cadwanwr before the Uhriel, Andawyr shifted uneasily at the comparison and risked giving her a resentful look.

‘Sheep you are,’ Gulda said firmly, though not without a hint of dark humour. ‘The Guardians are long gone and now He knows that for certain. He knows too that He foundered the last time only because He didn’t know that. He knows that He could have swept out of Narsindal and carried all before Him when Oklar’s folly betrayed His return.’

There was no denying that conclusion. In the agonizing that had followed the war, it had been reluctantly accepted by most of those involved that good fortune had contributed at least as much as courage and determination to the victory.

‘What shall we do?’ Hawklan asked.

Gulda’s grip tightened and her piercing eyes blazed through him. ‘Fight. What else can you do?’

‘But…’

‘But what? Do you expect to reason with Him? He was ever a breaker of promises and treaties, but given that He didn’t even offer to negotiate last time, I doubt He will when He returns. As He surely will. Your choice then will be as before: fight or die – or, at best, perhaps be allowed some dismal span in cruel bondage.’ She slapped his arm. ‘These are dark and awful thoughts indeed, Hawklan, but many strange tides are moving and we’re caught in them whether we wish it or not. If we don’t seize them, ride them, they’ll sweep us where they will and only destruction and misery will ensue. You’re stronger and wiser than you’ve ever been, as are all of us. All that’s gone before has merely been to bring us to this point, to prepare us.’ She stood up. ‘Now we must talk to our guests – see what threats and promises these tides have washed to our feet.’ She waved an admonishing finger at both of them, and at Gavor.