Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

‘Patterns within patterns forever,’ Gulda said to herself, softly. ‘And resonances, resonances. Echoing who knows where?’

Then her stick was tapping the visitors on their way again.

The Goraidin’s Accounting had been given, and the tales of Antyr, Farnor, Vredech, Pinnatte and Thyrn all told. It had taken a long time.

Andawyr addressed the gathering.

‘Now we begin,’ Andawyr said, looking round at the watching faces of the small assembly.

A sense of wilful control over tumbling questions filled the hall. It was underlain by a deep unease. Andawyr addressed it directly.

‘Now we begin to make a coherent picture of what we’ve learned over these past days – if we can. I can’t see that it will be easy. I can’t see that it will be comforting. Indeed, I fear it will be the very opposite. The listening alone has been taxing, and some grim shadows have been cast. I’ll not ask you not to be afraid; I think we’ve learned enough already to know that that would be asking too much, but I will ask you not to allow your fear to cloud your vision, and to bring your every faculty to bear until we can say we have at least a semblance of the truth about what all of this means. I know I’m stating the obvious.’ A quick glance took in the faces of Farnor, Marna and Thyrn. ‘Something most of us have learned already. But “obvious” is a treacherous word and I’d rather repeat a thing a dozen times than have it go by default. However bad it is, the truth is always preferable to ignorance. When the fears and the doubts become too much, hold firm to that. You’re all people of proven ability and resolve. Remember who you’re with and where you are.’ An airy wave encompassed the view beyond the hall, though much of the Orthlundyn countryside was hidden in a fine drizzling rain.

He sat down and swung one leg on to a table. His manner became matter-of-fact. ‘We’ll need our heads and our hearts to deal with this, my friends – our intellects and our intuitions.’ He hesitated. ‘And, on that very point, I have to say that what concerns me most is the… feeling… that we don’t have a great deal of time before some resolution not of our making breaks over our heads.’ He lifted both hands to silence any questions even though none were being voiced. ‘Just a feeling,’ he repeated. ‘My stomach, not my head. But bear with me in this, please. Be thorough in your inquiries and your work, but be urgent!’

He opened his arms towards Antyr and the others. ‘I’ll admit I’m at a loss to know what to say to you. You’ve each faced your own terrible trials, trials that have been cruel enough to drive you far from your homes and friends in search of help. And what have we done for you? Badgered you with our interminable questions. We’re not normally so inhospitable. We owe you at least an apology. All I can do is ask…’

‘No apology is necessary,’ Antyr interrupted, drawing all eyes to himself. ‘I can’t speak for the others, of course, but this Accounting, as you call it, has been like a keen wind blowing through my mind, clearing away dust and clutter. It hasn’t solved any of my problems. I’m still no wiser about my… gift. And some of the things I’ve heard have been very disturbing. But I feel great hope in this place and amongst you all. It’s where I think I need to be and, right now, it’s certainly where I want to be. You owe me nothing, and I owe you my thanks.’

Unused to compliments, Andawyr swung his leg down from the table and cleared his throat awkwardly. He coloured.

‘He does speak for all of us,’ Vredech added after a glance that took in Thyrn, Farnor and Pinnatte.

Andawyr cleared his throat again, then glowered at Usche, who was smirking, and at Ar-Billan who was trying not to. He stood up, made a futile attempt to straighten his robe and gave Antyr a brisk bow. Then he was issuing needless instructions.

‘We must search the castle’s library for references to Dream Finding and anything that tells of or even implies travelling between different worlds – mythology, superstition, children’s tales, ancient science, abstruse mathematics – anything. We must find it, study it, and relate it to the information, the facts, we’ve learned. I suspect this strange ability of Antyr’s is fundamental.’

He fidgeted with some papers lying on the table in front of him. ‘This too needs to be pursued, but I don’t see how we can do it in a hurry – I seem to have run into a wall or, rather, a maelstrom with it. Still…’

He drummed a brief, pensive tattoo on the papers, then picked them up and thrust them at Usche. ‘Let me know what you think,’ he said. ‘Work with Ar-Billan.’

Others were given the task of helping Pinnatte to find a way to clear his mind of the ‘cobwebs’ that he had told Vredech about and which seemed to bind him largely to silence. Nertha attached herself determinedly to these. Yet others were to study two translucent blue stones that Pinnatte had found in his pocket after his precipitate return from the world of the Uhriel. He had caused a small stir when, discovering them, he had cried out and frantically thrown them away.

‘Crystals,’ he said, putting an unsteady but determined hand on Andawyr to restrain him as he stooped to pick them up. ‘Dangerous.’

Andawyr looked at him, then held his open hand over the stones for a while before nudging one of them gingerly with his finger. What he felt he did not say, but he frowned and said, ‘I think you’re right,’ picking them up quickly with a cloth. He also gave a strong injunction to ‘be careful’ when he gave them to his fellow Cadwanwr for study.

Later, having been chased away by his various charges, who insisted they needed no immediate help with their allotted tasks, Andawyr sat alone in his own room. His feet on the table, his chair pushed back precariously on two legs and his hands behind his head, he was staring up at the ceiling. A soft scratching at the door disturbed his reverie. Opening it, he found himself looking down at Tarrian. He knelt inquiringly in front of the wolf who stepped a little to one side and, head lowered, peered into the room.

A reproach filled Andawyr’s mind. ‘Such a mess,’ Tarrian said despairingly. ‘Still. None of my business, I suppose. Time to talk. Grayle’s gone for Gulda and Hawklan.’

‘But…’

‘Come along, don’t dawdle. It’s not as if you were doing anything useful – like tidying your room, for example.’

Tarrian was retreating along the corridor but the insistence in his voice moved Andawyr’s feet before he was aware of it.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked as they clattered down a winding flight of stairs.

‘Forward.’

Andawyr’s eyes narrowed. ‘I see,’ he said caustically. ‘Out of the past and into the future. From here to there, and so on. An accurate and totally useless reply. I’ve got enough to think about without bandying bad philosophy with you, wolf. Where, specifically, are we going, and why?’

They were walking along a wide, brightly lit corridor. Statues stared out at them from semi-circular apses which reached up to a high, steeply arched ceiling. Tarrian’s nails clicked purposefully on the mosaic floor, tapping a sharp and rhythmic counterpoint to Andawyr’s shuffling footfall.

‘To see Antyr,’ Tarrian replied, just as Andawyr was about to repeat his question.

At the end of the corridor was a large double door. They had to pause by a wicket-door to allow a noisy and cheerful group – Riddinvolk, by their accents – to enter, before leaving the building and heading across a broad lawn. The grass had recently been cut and, touched by the rain that had fallen earlier in the day, its scent was strong and heady. Tarrian stopped for a moment and sniffed vigorously, his head swinging from side to side. Almost mimicking him, Andawyr too closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.