Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

‘Mention nothing of the Uhriel’s language and what it means,’ she said. ‘My judgement is that it’s too fearful a revelation at the moment. I told you about it so that you can guide the debate that we’re about to have.’ She turned to Andawyr. ‘Conduct the debate well. We need to listen, both to what’s said and what’s not said. Somewhere amid the tangle of it all, there’ll be the knowledge to come to the heart of this – perhaps even a chance of putting an end to it once and for all.’

The following days did indeed require a great deal of listening by the Cadwanwr and travelling scholars whom Andawyr discreetly chose from those currently visiting the castle. There were many questions and much discussion as the returned Goraidin gave formal Accountings of their travels and the newcomers were asked to explain in their own fashion what had driven them to leave their homelands and make the long journey to Anderras Darion.

Though Antyr and the other outlanders, by virtue of travelling with the Goraidin, had had some experience of the painstaking ways of the Orthlundyn and their allies in such matters, it was nevertheless strange for them at first. It was particularly bewildering for Vredech and Thyrn, who were more familiar with the institutions that governed Canol Madreth and Arvenstaat. Both these worthy bodies affected to be centres of ordered and reasoned debate where the wishes of the people could be given true voice. In reality, however, they were predominantly theatres for the ambitious, the vainglorious, the vacuously loquacious who were incapable of earning a similar stipend in an honest trade and, not least, those who lusted for power while shunning the responsibility that it carried. The quality of the debate they offered generally differed from that which could be heard daily in any children’s playground only in its superior vocabulary, its greater pettiness, and the deeper depths of its hypocrisy. By contrast, Antyr, coming as he did from the city-state of Serenstad, was used to government largely by Ducal Edict and thus accepted the idea of the Orthlundyn’s rational congress quite easily. Farnor and Marna simply took it for granted, being both young and from a small, isolated village and thus completely unused to the collective follies that larger societies can manufacture for their governance.

Andawyr, with a silent Gulda sitting in the background, handled the proceedings as he would any meeting with his colleagues at the Cadwanen, that is to say along the lines that the Lords of Fyorlund conducted the business of serving their Queen and the people in their own formal assembly of government, the Geadrol. Individuals spoke for the most part without interruption, although occasionally Andawyr would prompt gently to elucidate a particular point or direct them from some rambling byway back to the main thrust of their account. Only when each speaker had finished were questions allowed. Finally, if it was possible, such facts as had been gleaned were ranged in an order of their probable reliability. At Andawyr’s urging, discussion about what was being revealed was to be left until the end. The whole was taxing and stern, but its relentless, truth-seeking thoroughness invariably enthralled even the most indifferent of observers.

Andawyr chose, as a venue for this exposition, not one of Anderras Darion’s many great halls but a comparatively small room high in one of the towers. Circular in shape, one half of its circumference was occupied by windows that rose up from the floor and swept across the ceiling. They overlooked the castle’s great wall and, beyond it, the rolling farmlands and forests of Orthlund. The other half was carved with a representation of that same view, giving the impression that the room was without walls.

Despite the discipline of the majority of the participants, the unfolding of the various tales proved to be no quiet or simple affair. Questions and ideas abounded.

Tarrian and Grayle were reluctantly impressed.

‘These are civilized people,’ Tarrian conceded. ‘For humans. People who take joy in learning and from whom much can be learned. They’re the least tainted by His past deeds and the most knowledgeable about them. They’re the ones who both see the need and have the will to face and oppose Him.’

‘Praise indeed,’ Antyr said, not without some irony. ‘But you sound rather pessimistic about it.’

‘No. I’m just frightened. I’d be pessimistic if they didn’t see the need or didn’t have the will,’ Tarrian concluded tersely.

Gulda took charge of the newcomers, guiding them around the castle whenever Andawyr deemed a break necessary in the proceedings. In common with most new arrivals to Anderras Darion, they were rendered almost speechless by the wealth of strange and beautiful things they met.

‘Why was it built?’ Farnor asked, as Gulda led them into a small cobbled courtyard.

‘One of the problems with young people is that they always ask such lethal questions,’ she said conspicuously to Vredech and Nertha. ‘It was built as a castle, oddly enough, young man. A place of strength, a place of refuge for the people against Sumeral’s marauding armies. And it served that purpose well for a long time. But what Ethriss turned it into later…?’ She shrugged. ‘He alone knows. Though I have some doubts even about that, to be honest, when I look around.’

‘It’s a wonder in its own right, just like a fine painting or a piece of music,’ Nertha said.

‘Once, perhaps, yes,’ Gulda mused. ‘When the world was young and Sumeral hadn’t yet tainted it. But not when much of this work was done. Beautiful it is, and wondrous, beyond argument. But I suspect – I’ve always suspected – there’s a deep purpose to it somewhere.’

‘Don’t let Him build anything,’ Vredech said.

‘I’m sorry?’ Gulda looked at him quizzically.

‘Don’t let Him build anything,’ Vredech repeated, as though to himself. ‘The Whistler said that to me. He was adamant about it.’

‘The Whistler? Ah, the man, the creature, the strange flute-player you encountered in your dreams,’ Gulda said.

‘I don’t dream,’ Vredech said firmly. ‘Never have. And whatever, whoever, the Whistler was, he was no more a figment of my imagination than you are.’ Gulda grunted but said nothing. ‘He sounded a solitary note,’ Vredech went on, his face thoughtful as he recalled the encounter. ‘It echoed. “There’s a quality in the rock that responds to the touch of the note,” he said. “So it is with Him. Who responds to His Song builds a way for Him. And there are many ways He can come. Ways of the mind, the spirit, the heart, the flesh. Don’t let this friend of yours build anything.” He meant Cassraw. “No monuments, palaces, nothing. Such a place could draw Him down on you like lightning down a tree.”’

Gulda was watching him narrowly. ‘Tell this to the others when you speak again,’ she said. ‘I’ll give it some thought myself.’

She ran her forefinger idly over an intricate and finely detailed scroll that was part of a carving on a nearby wall. There were many similar features in Anderras Darion and they were the envy of Orthlund’s finest carvers. For when inspected with a glass they revealed finer and finer detail. So much so that it was conjectured by some that, contrary to reason though it was, they dwindled beyond any possibility of sight.

‘All infinity in less than the width of an eyelash,’ she muttered, then her gaze followed the scrolling into the greater whole of the carving and thence to the shapes made by the windows and balconies and all the shadowed nooks and crannies of the three- and four-storey buildings that surrounded the courtyard. Upwards it went, beyond the line of the jostling rooftops, to towers and spires, each one different from its neighbour, and beyond again, to the mountains, still and patient.