Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

It was an odd phrase to use about an architectural feature but, looking at the columns, Antyr understood what it meant. Andawyr was continuing. ‘I was saying that the Labyrinth guards the way to the Armoury – the place where weapons from the wars of the First Coming are stored and where Hawklan found the black sword. It’s the only way in and the only way out. But I didn’t bring you here to show you the Armoury. I wanted you to see the Labyrinth itself.’ He raised a finger to forestall a question. ‘Bear with me, please.’

He reached deep into a pocket and, after some earnest rooting, withdrew his hand to reveal a collection of oddments that included several small lengths of string, various crumpled pieces of paper, a rusty key, the remains of a pen, two or three fragments of wood and no small quantity of dust and stones. He selected a pebble, carefully replaced the remaining debris in his pocket, then threw the pebble gently past the first columns. Remembering his training in siege warfare during his obligatory service in Serenstad’s army, Antyr watched the pebble intently, half expecting to see some powerfully sprung trap scythe out from one of the columns. But nothing happened except for an innocuous click as it landed and rolled a little way along the stone floor.

A click that echoed.

And echoed…

Over and over…

Antyr found himself craning forward as the sound did not fade away but began to multiply, resonating to and fro, growing in intensity from the hiss of wind-carried sand blown across a beach, to the rattle of jostling corn stalks, to the hammering of hailstones on a slate roof. Then, with appalling suddenness, it was a screaming cacophony that defied description. Antyr was uncertain afterwards whether he staggered back or whether Andawyr pulled him, but by the time he recovered his wits, he was much further away from the columns than he had been, and his hands were clamped tightly over his ears. The sound from the Labyrinth was fading as rapidly as it had grown but even as it died it rose and fell like the hiss of a predator frustrated of its prey.

‘What… what was that?’ Antyr stammered, wide-eyed.

‘That was the Labyrinth,’ Andawyr replied. ‘It not only leads to the Armoury, it guards it. It can take the least sound and double and redouble it until it becomes a crushing weapon. What we just heard was the merest echo of what you’d have heard had you been inside it.’ He hesitated. ‘It can do other things as well, almost none of which we understand.’ It impressed Antyr that the Cadwanwr made no effort to conceal how shaken he was by what they had both just experienced, but the look Andawyr was now giving him was disconcerting. ‘I think you may be more familiar with it than you realize.’

‘What do you mean?’ Antyr retorted. ‘I’ve never been…’ But Andawyr was taking his arm and leading him back towards the columns. ‘Come with me.’

Antyr resisted after a few paces, bringing the Cadwanwr to a clumsy halt. ‘I’m not going in there,’ he said categorically.

‘Don’t worry, there’s a safe pathway, obviously. Right the way through it,’ Andawyr replied. ‘But I only want to go a little way into it – just a few paces. It should be more than enough.’

‘Enough for what?’

‘To test my idea.’

Antyr raised his eyebrows. ‘You haven’t told me what this idea is yet.’

Andawyr bent down to pick up something. It was the pebble that he had thrown into the Labyrinth. Something had thrown it back. He dropped it into his pocket without comment.

‘For the simple reason that I’m going to need an honest response from you. One uncluttered by what you think might be expected of you,’ he said.

Antyr turned to Tarrian and Grayle for support, but though the two wolves were watching the exchange closely, they were still wilfully avoiding contact with him. He swore at them mentally, then reluctantly responded to Andawyr’s renewed urging.

‘Stay close to me,’ Andawyr said needlessly as he stepped between two of the columns. ‘It’s quite safe.’

Antyr took a deep breath and followed him cautiously.

As he stepped into the Labyrinth, it seemed to him that it too was drawing in a breath. He eyed the nearest columns nervously as though, despite Andawyr’s assurances, they might suddenly close in on him. Unexpectedly alarming was a sense of oppression from above. Looking up, Antyr found that he could not see the ceiling. In the entrance hall, the columns spanned starkly from floor to ceiling without base or capital, but here they faded into a dark haziness. For a moment, he thought that he caught sight of those columns around him tapering giddyingly high above him but the impression was gone almost immediately.

‘Just a little further,’ Andawyr said, his voice oddly resonant, as though the Labyrinth were testing it, savouring it. Antyr padded after him, placing his feet with exaggerated care to avoid making any noise that this place might seize upon.

Andawyr stopped and spoke very softly. ‘This should be far enough,’ he said. Antyr looked at him suspiciously. ‘I want you to try something for me. I just want you to close your eyes and stand very still for a few moments.’ Antyr’s look became even more suspicious. ‘Don’t worry,’ Andawyr said, taking his arm again. ‘I’m not going anywhere and in any case you’re truly in no danger while you’re on the path. Please indulge me in this; I wouldn’t have dragged you all the way down here for anything trivial.’

‘What is it you’re hoping to find?’ Antyr asked nervously.

‘I’m not hoping for anything,’ Andawyr replied. ‘I just want your honest response.’

Antyr gave a slight shrug and, feeling more than a little self-conscious, straightened up and closed his eyes.

‘What have I to do now?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. Just be quiet and listen.’

As the faint echoes of Andawyr’s voice faded, a silence folded around the motionless Dream Finder. Gradually, alone in his darkness, Antyr became aware of his breathing and of his heart beating.

What was he doing here? he mused. He had no reason to doubt Andawyr’s protestation that he would not have brought him here for any trivial reason, but he would like to have known what was expected of him. Was he supposed to be listening for some sound unheard by others? Voices like Tarrian’s and Grayle’s that, normally, only he could hear, or those of the Great Forest that apparently spoke to Farnor? His brow furrowed and he leaned forward, striving to hear something, but the effort made him feel faintly ridiculous and, after a moment, he gave up, letting out a noisy breath.

The sound drifted away and Antyr felt the Labyrinth taking it, twisting it, magnifying it, slowly filling the air around him with a myriad such sighs and transmuting them into other, stranger sounds – sounds that reached inside him, stirring up ancient, unspoken fears… memories…

‘This was where I came!’

The words burst out of him, sweeping aside his intention to stay as silent as possible in this place. Andawyr jumped and cried out as he found himself witness to this unexpected and loud revelation.

‘You frightened me to death!’ he snapped, slapping his chest.

As the two men stared at one another, their brief exchange rose up around them, then came babbling back out of the darkness as a clamorous wave of sound, in the middle of which Antyr thought he could hear taunting cries and cruel laughter. Briefly it reached a peak, then it fell away rapidly, sinking into a sulky grumbling. Though the sound had been little louder than their own voices and posed no threat to them, it was sufficient to remind both men where they were.

Andawyr grabbed Antyr’s hand and led him quickly out of the Labyrinth.