Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

‘Whatever I am, I’m afraid I’m no warrior,’ he said, disconcerted by her renewed scrutiny. ‘It’s not all that long ago since I was just a drunk.’

‘Yes, you told us,’ Gulda said. ‘But you stayed sober and kept your sanity when you discovered your ability to move between the worlds, you killed Ivaroth in personal combat, and you faced and defeated the blind man, as you called him, the Mynedarion, the user – or abuser, should I say – of the Power. No small achievement, any one of those.’

Faced with this heroic catalogue, Antyr could do no more than shrug weakly. ‘I was lucky,’ he protested incongruously. His manner made Hawklan and Andawyr laugh and even Gulda raised her eyebrows.

‘An invaluable trait in a warrior,’ she said, slapping his arm, then gripping it affectionately. ‘Would that we had a training programme for it.’ She began guiding him along the wall. ‘It’s a fine evening. Let’s go down into the parks and walk and talk, speculate awhile, as your good Companions have suggested.’

A swift double tap with her stick transformed the suggestion into an order and Hawklan and Andawyr set off after the now retreating couple.

Gavor spread his wings and floated silently into the darkness.

Tarrian, Grayle and Dar-volci looked at one another. Then they all stretched and dropped down from the embrasure to bring up the rear of the small procession.

There were many parks within the confines of Anderras Darion and many people enjoying the quiet calm of the evening. Maintaining an unusually modest and relaxed pace Gulda led her entourage to one of the parks that was quite populous. As they moved through the delicate shifting shadows thrown by Anderras Darion’s myriad lights, they passed also through a winding avenue of soft and friendly greetings before she sat them down finally at a circular array of short benches set on top of a small hillock. Double seated, the benches looked both inwards and outwards. As they sat down, facing each other at Gulda’s directing, a solitary lantern high above them bloomed gently into life. Its light had the quality of moonlight, but without its coldness. In nearby trees, night songbirds began contesting with one another as at a signal. Gavor floated down out of the darkening sky to rest on the back of the bench by Hawklan. The two wolves curled at Antyr’s feet while Dar-volci clambered unbidden on to Gulda’s knee.

For a long time, no one spoke.

‘Whatever else happens, I am so glad I made this journey,’ Antyr said eventually, his voice low as though he were talking to himself. ‘There’s such wonder about this place. Such touches of perfection.’

No one replied and silence enfolded the group again until Gulda clicked her tongue, wrapped her hands over the top of her stick and leaned forward to rest her chin on them, displacing Dar-volci from his roost in the process.

‘What do we have, my friends?’ she said. ‘Or rather, let’s start with who do we have?’ Her tone was rhetorical. Still resting on her stick she looked at Antyr. ‘There’s you, with Tarrian and Grayle and the strange ability you have between you to delve into the minds of others and seemingly into worlds beyond this one. Worlds whose very existence has previously been little more than speculation to us. Then there’s Farnor, scarcely more than a boy, brutally orphaned, with the ability to touch the mind of the Great Forest and some kind of a gift for healing rifts between the worlds, if I read his telling correctly. And his friend Marna, a woman who wants to be a soldier when we’ve no war to fight. Declared by no fewer than four of our Goraidin to be a young woman of considerable resource and courage, which is praise indeed.’

‘I’m not sure she wants to be a soldier,’ Hawklan remarked.

‘I wouldn’t dispute about that,’ Gulda replied. ‘But warrior skills aren’t confined to fighting, are they? And if she wants to learn them she probably needs to.’ She reverted to her summary. ‘Then there’s Vredech. An erstwhile Preaching Brother.’ Her eyes narrowed and her mouth became disapproving.

‘They’re not all bad,’ Andawyr announced, anticipating a need to defend Vredech in his absence.

‘You’ve not seen as many as I have,’ Gulda retorted acidly. ‘Believe me, religion was Sumeral’s greatest gift after war itself.’ Andawyr bridled but Gulda became conciliatory. ‘Don’t fret, old man, I’ll take him as he is, you know that. As his own Santyth says, “Judge not lest ye be judged”, and I’m long past judging anyone.’ A knowing glance passed between Hawklan and Andawyr, though they contrived to keep it hidden from Gulda as she continued. ‘If Antyr’s correct then it seems he too is a Dream Finder, maybe even an Adept, as also is Pinnatte. Another young man, barely Farnor’s age, I’d say, but probably much older in his ways, though you’d never guess it from his speech.’

‘We’ll do our best to help him through that,’ Andawyr said. ‘I’m sure it’s only some kind of shock. But there’s something about him which eludes me.’ Anger began to roughen his voice. ‘Those damned Kyrosdyn, experimenting on people. They…’

‘Ever His way.’ Gulda cut him short. ‘You know that.’

Andawyr bit back the denunciation with difficulty. ‘I don’t know what they did to him, but I think part of it’s still with him,’ he said, more calmly.

Gulda nodded but did not pursue his concern. ‘And lastly we have Thyrn. Yet another young man. The youngest of them all, in many ways. Over-protected, by Endryk’s Account – cultivated, almost – by his parents, then plunged head first into the highest-levels of Arvenstaat’s politics. He seems to be making plenty of friends here, which is nice. I doubt he’s had a childhood worth speaking of.’ Her face became pained, as though the thought particularly disturbed her, but she pressed on. ‘What a strange talent he has. When he speaks of others, they’re there, you can feel their presence. Remarkable. He makes the Goraidin look clumsy and inaccurate.’

‘He’s also got the same healing touch as Farnor,’ Hawklan added.

‘I’ve got people searching into the history of the Caddoran,’ Andawyr said. ‘There could be something of interest there. It’s probably no more than a relic of battlefield message-carrying, like the Goraidin’s Accounting, but it’s odd we’ve none of us heard of it before.’ He became thoughtful. ‘And I find his story more disturbing than any of the others.’ He stretched out his legs and, putting his hands behind his head, gazed upwards past the solitary lantern and into the star-filled sky. ‘The blind man that Antyr faced, Farnor’s Rannick and what was almost certainly a Sierwolf, Vredech’s Dowinne, the Kyrosdyn and their crystals and what was definitely a Sierwolf, by Atelon’s account. All these had a quality of familiarity about them – they all involved the use of the Power in some way. And there’s a pattern in them – a frightening pattern, granted – but a pattern nonetheless – a clear indication of Sumeral struggling to take form in this world again. But what happened to Thyrn feels entirely different.’

‘In what way?’ Hawklan asked. ‘He found himself an inadvertent witness to an exchange between Vashnar and… someone… some thing… full of hatred and malice, someone intent on coming into this world and destroying it. Surely it must have been another manifestation of Sumeral, or one of His creatures?’

Andawyr’s face wrinkled in reluctant disagreement. ‘One would think so, but, as I watched and listened to Thyrn, of all the many things I felt I did not feel myself in the presence of Sumeral. Not a hint of Him. And I fully expected to.’ He glanced at Gulda as if for support in this finding, but she had pulled her hood forward, plunging her face into shadow, and she gave no sign.