Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

‘We?’ Andawyr queried.

Usche indicated Ar-Billan who was sitting stiffly with his hands gripping his knees. Usche bent her head close to Andawyr’s and lowered her voice. ‘He’s got his own way of doing things – a bit laboured, but very clear-thinking once he stops standing in his own light.’

Andawyr chuckled at her matronly manner. ‘Show me what you’ve done, then.’ He took the papers and waved them in her face with fatherly menace. ‘I have to say that this took me some effort, to put it mildly…’

‘I can see that – it’s incredible work. I’d never have…’

‘To put it mildly,’ Andawyr repeated, with heavy emphasis, cutting across her enthusiasm. ‘And I’d come to a complete dead end.’

‘Yes and no,’ Usche persisted, with a mixture of nervousness and pride. ‘Yes, if you wanted complete rigour, though I’ve a suspicion that might be impossible in principle, but no, if you accept what we’ve been listening to these past days – clearly separate and distinct worlds apparently existing simultaneously, and accessible.’ Abruptly aware that she was waving an emphasizing finger in her mentor’s face, she faltered, then added with a slight stammer, ‘Just as a working assumption, of course.’ The hesitation, however, was only temporary and some of her excitement resurfaced almost immediately. ‘The only thing is, I’m not sure what the conclusion we’ve come to means. The reasoning’s sound, I’m sure, but the result doesn’t seem to make sense.’

‘Your logical pathway has led you into a pit, has it, young woman?’ Gulda said, watching the exchange keenly.

‘I’m not sure what it’s led me into, Memsa; that’s why I’m here.’ Usche took the papers from Andawyr and riffled through them. ‘Are you sure these inserted figures are correct? They’re not what we normally use.’

‘Oh yes, they’re correct,’ Andawyr confirmed, soberly, taking the papers back. ‘They’ve changed.’

‘Changed? But…’

‘Changed.’ Andawyr’s tone allowed no dispute. ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ he said to his companions. Then, gripping his nose with one hand he began thumbing his way through the papers with the other. The others watched and listened in some amusement as he emitted a variety of clucks, whistles, and tuneless hummings. After a while, however, he fell silent and his face became serious.

Reaching the end, he carefully stacked the papers and, placing them on his lap, laid his hand on them protectively. Usche looked at him anxiously. ‘Have I done something silly?’ she asked, unable to read his expression.

‘You’ve done nothing silly,’ Andawyr said. ‘Nothing at all. This is fine work. I’d not thought to have seen a way through the tangle I’d created so soon, but you’ve cut through it neatly and elegantly.’

‘Only one part of it,’ Usche said, almost apologetic.

‘It was the part that mattered,’ Andawyr replied quietly.

Something in his voice made both Gulda and Hawklan look at him keenly.

‘But the conclusion?’ Usche asked. ‘What does it mean?’

Andawyr looked upwards briefly. Then he stood up and, without speaking, walked away from the circle of watchers and into the castle’s enveloping shadow.

Deep beneath the towers of Anderras Darion, in the Labyrinth that guarded the Armoury, something changed.

‘Antyr. Wake up.’

Antyr rolled over in response to the voice and to the hand gently shaking him. With some difficulty he first forced his eyes open, then screwed them tight in an attempt to focus on the offending soul who was so relentlessly rousing him.

It was Andawyr.

Antyr levered himself up into a sitting position.

‘Come on, hurry up, it’s like chewing fog talking to you when you’re in this condition.’ Tarrian’s maliciously hearty intrusion boomed into Antyr’s mind, making him wince.

‘Clear off, will you?’ he growled peevishly. Andawyr started and stood back sharply, prompting Antyr into a hasty apology. ‘Not you, him!’ This declamation was accompanied by the throwing of a pillow towards the offending wolf. Tarrian stood motionless and watched disdainfully as it slithered along the floor past him.

‘Should I leave you?’ Andawyr fluttered, anxious not to become involved in a domestic quarrel.

‘No, no,’ Antyr reassured him. ‘Of course not. It’s just that Tarrian can’t walk past a downed man without kicking him – or worse. He says it’s his predatory instinct, I say it’s his malevolent disposition.’

‘Actually, it’s marking out friendly territory,’ Tarrian said with the patronizing tone of someone unjustly slurred. Antyr was aware of Grayle chuckling quietly in the background. ‘We’re going to eat. See you down there.’

‘What? Down where?’

But the wolves were gone. Antyr looked at Andawyr who was doing his best to understand the one side of this conversation he could hear. He was also unsuccessfully disguising a jigging impatience.

‘Is something wrong?’ Antyr asked, rubbing his face with both hands and yawning. ‘You wandered off very mysteriously last night.’

Andawyr let a little of the jig out, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. ‘Oh. I’m sorry about that. I needed to think about what Usche and Ar-Billan had done – still do, actually – it’s very…’ He frowned as though he was being drawn back into some unwanted preoccupation, then he managed to wave the subject aside. ‘We’ll talk about that later. Right now there’s something I’d like you to see. I can’t think why it didn’t come to me days ago.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, just an idea.’

By now becoming familiar with Andawyr’s aptitude for forgetting conversational niceties when he was engrossed, Antyr motioned to him to open the shutters. As they unfurled to merge with the surrounding carvings, a dull light drifted into the room. Antyr stood up and gazed out of the window. A grey sky greeted him, scarcely more awake than he was.

He gave Andawyr a baleful look. ‘It’s only just past dawn, isn’t it?’ he said.

Andawyr joined him by the window, then unearthed a timepiece from somewhere in the depths of his robe. He consulted it, squinted at the sky, and replied, ‘Yes,’ quite simply.

Antyr blinked owlishly. ‘This, whatever it is, that you want me to see, that should’ve occurred to you days ago – will it keep a little while? Say until I’m washed and dressed.’ He patted his stomach and gave Andawyr a none too genial look. ‘Perhaps even eaten a little?’

Andawyr looked puzzled and then a little guilty. He made one or two vague gestures of apology and acquiescence, concluding with, ‘I’ll… wait for you in the refectory downstairs.’

When Antyr eventually joined him in the almost empty refectory, Andawyr was poring over the papers that Usche had given him the previous night. In front of him was a bowl of untouched and dejected-looking cereal. Tarrian and Grayle were at his feet, both chewing noisily on large bones that they had gulled out of the cooks. Antyr was about to speak, then he changed his mind and went to collect food for himself. As he sat down opposite Andawyr and began eating, the Cadwanwr was muttering and whistling to himself. He was still seemingly oblivious to everything around him when Antyr had finished.

Antyr watched him for a little while in some disbelief, then, by way of experiment, said, ‘Give that to Tarrian and Grayle if you’re not going to eat it.’

Andawyr grunted and, without looking up from the papers, picked up the bowl of cereal and held it out underneath the table. The two wolves ate it greedily, though with sufficient care to avoid knocking the bowl out of his hand. Andawyr’s concentration on his work was undiminished.