Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

‘Sumeral and the Uhriel are at the gate, asking for you,’ Antyr said.

‘Hm.’

‘I said, Sumeral and the Uhriel are at the gate, asking for you,’ Antyr repeated, softly rapping his knuckles on the table.

Andawyr frowned, then looked up and met Antyr’s ironic gaze with one that took a disconcertingly long time to show any sign of recognition. When it finally did, it was followed by a sudden flurry of confused activity which included the question, ‘Have you been here long?’

Antyr replied by indicating his empty plate. At the same time Andawyr retrieved his own empty bowl. He stared at it with a puzzled expression.

‘I’ll get you another,’ Antyr said, without explanation.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Andawyr said, when the Dream Finder returned. He tapped the papers significantly but deliberately avoided looking at them.

‘It’s all right,’ Antyr told him. ‘Though, to be honest with you, despite my travels with Yatsu and Jaldaric, early morning isn’t my… strongest… time – it’s the nature of my job as much as anything. I don’t wish to seem churlish, but unless it’s something really urgent, like, say, the end of the world, I’d rather let the sun get well on its way before I greet it.’

Andawyr looked briefly contrite, then began bolting down his food as though it were a rather regrettable necessity.

‘I’m afraid I tend to forget the time of day,’ he admitted, speaking with his mouth full. ‘One of the penalties of being incurably curious. And living underground much of the time.’ Finishing, he smiled broadly, wiped his hands down his robe and stood up. ‘Bit of a walk, I’m afraid,’ he said extending an inviting arm towards the door.

Leaving the gradually filling refectory, he indicated an arched entrance on the far side of the hallway and Antyr found himself following him down a wide, spiral staircase. Tarrian and Grayle padded ahead of both of them. Though it was difficult to gauge accurately, Anderras Darion being built on wildly uneven terrain, Antyr judged that this would take them below ground. At the bottom of the stairs Andawyr settled to a comfortable pace along a deserted corridor.

‘Where are we going?’ Antyr finally asked.

‘Down here,’ Andawyr said unhelpfully, pushing open a large wooden door to reveal yet more stairs. These were set out in a series of short straight flights winding round a walled core. Antyr wondered idly whether this was solid or hollow and, if the latter, what might lie inside it. He ran his hand along the wall as he followed Andawyr’s relentless descent, passing by open passageways and doors on almost every landing. Like everything else in Anderras Darion, the workmanship was superb. The joints in the masonry were tight and straight, and the blocks themselves were well dressed. He noted too that there was no hint of the dampness and the stale mustiness that should have been an inevitable feature of such a deep cellar. For they were, without doubt, some considerable way below ground now. It was another of the many small wonders that had gradually unfolded themselves as he had grown used to the castle. He remarked on it.

‘Oh yes,’ Andawyr said. ‘Like the Cadwanen, there’s more than just light carried to every cranny in Anderras Darion.’ He patted the wall. ‘And there’s no denying that the people who built it were very capable – at least as good as any we have today.’

‘It feels different from the rest of the castle, though.’

They were walking along a wide passageway. In common with the stairs and passages they had used since leaving the refectory, it was well lit, but it was deserted.

‘It’s much older,’ Andawyr said. ‘There are some who say that parts of Anderras Darion existed before even the Orthlundyn princes came here, but…’ He shrugged. ‘Who’s to know?’

It took Antyr a little time to identify something else that was puzzling him.

‘There are no carvings,’ he said abruptly.

Andawyr glanced around as if he had never noticed this before. ‘No great surprise, I suppose,’ he said. ‘Considering where we are. The Orthlundyn aren’t a particularly vainglorious people, but they do like their carvings to be seen, and precious few are going to be seen down here. Then again, I wouldn’t pretend to understand them when it comes to carving. Maybe the light’s not to their taste, or there might be something about the stone – they’re extraordinarily fussy about so many things. To you and me, a rock’s a rock, but that’s just because we’re rock-blind, as they call it. To them, a single stone can warrant an entire saga. I’ve known Isloman search for months, even years sometimes, before he came across a piece that suited him for a particular idea he had in mind. Once…’

He stopped.

‘Here we are.’

‘Here’ was a broad, stone-floored chamber. Simple and spare in design, it was obviously from a different era than the rest of the castle and it had a dull, forbidding look that the lighting did nothing to dispel. There was also an aura about it that made Antyr feel uneasy, an unease that was not helped by ragged and disordered piles of weapons stacked here and there against the walls.

‘From the war,’ Andawyr said, answering his unspoken question. ‘A lot were put back in the Armoury but… it was difficult…’ He seemed reluctant to continue and Antyr did not press him. His attention, in any event, had been drawn to the far end of the hall.

‘Careful.’

Tarrian’s and Grayle’s voices, unusually speaking together and both almost fearful, filled Antyr’s head. He looked down to see the two wolves close beside him, ears flattened, tails down.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, concerned.

Neither of them replied.

Not that a reply was necessary, for it needed no great sensitivity to feel the ominous presence of the rows of closely spaced columns that Antyr found his gaze now drawn to.

‘That’s the Labyrinth,’ Andawyr said, answering another unasked question. ‘It leads to the Armoury.’

Antyr stared in silence for some time at the columns and the darkening gloom that they disappeared into. As he did so, he began to feel that something was watching him in return.

‘It’s not remotely like anything else I’ve seen in the castle so far,’ he said weakly. ‘It’s…’ His voice faded.

‘Frightening,’ Andawyr said bluntly. Then he was walking towards it. Antyr followed him hesitantly. The two wolves remained where they were. Antyr felt them withdrawing all contact from him. As he drew nearer to the columns, it seemed to him that they were much larger than he had first thought – as if they had been further away than they first appeared. He tried to reassure himself that this was just another optical illusion, typical of many that were to be found in the ingenious carvings that decorated the castle, but it did not help – the effect was disorientating. Nor did it help that, while every other place he had been to in the castle was well lit, either by radiant-stone lanterns or mirror stones capturing some part of the landscape, there were apparently no lights within the Labyrinth. Worse, the light from the hall faltered and faded into nothingness after the first few columns – columns that, he saw now, were placed quite randomly.

Rather to Antyr’s relief, Andawyr stopped. Antyr thought briefly of making some jocular remark to lighten the sense of oppression he could feel growing within him, but the waiting columns froze the words before they formed.

Then he realized that Andawyr was speaking. His voice sounded distant and faint.

‘I’m sorry,’ Antyr said, his own voice ringing raucous and harsh in his ears. ‘I was just distracted.’

‘It’s all right,’ Andawyr said. ‘This place is disturbing, I know. It commands respect.’