Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

Loman hesitated. ‘Off it, you die,’ he said categorically. ‘I doubt you’d make ten paces before you were down.’ He almost snarled his final words. ‘If your eyes were open, you’d see the light as you were dying.’

Gulda nodded. She held out her hands as though measuring something. ‘How big is the Labyrinth?’

Loman mimicked the gesture unthinkingly and puffed out his cheeks, relieved to be dealing with a practical matter. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he concluded. ‘There are precious few plans of any part of the castle and certainly none of this place. And I’ve never had any desire to measure it. In fact, it can’t be measured from the inside and it’s too far below ground to be measured from the outside. Why?’

‘Just curious. It could be vast. Plenty of places where the light doesn’t reach.’

‘I suppose so, yes.’

Gulda turned back to Antyr. ‘Anyway, let’s…’

Her words were cut short by a sound coming from the Labyrinth.

A howling.

All five started violently at the sound suddenly surging out of the darkness of the Labyrinth. Before any of them could speak however, it was all around them, ringing and echoing about the hall.

‘It’s Tarrian and Grayle,’ Antyr cried out, though he could scarcely hear his own voice. ‘They must have wandered in there after we left.’

Panic seized him and instinctively he reached out to them. Almost immediately he touched Tarrian’s consciousness, but even as he did, the wolf rebuffed him so strongly that, though the blow was only in his mind, the fear and the wildness in it sent him staggering backwards into Loman.

‘Are you all right?’ the smith shouted at him above the still-mounting noise.

Antyr’s panic redoubled. ‘They’re in there! Get them out!’ He tried to run towards the Labyrinth but, on seeing his intention, Loman’s grip, at first sustaining, tightened and held him firm.

‘If they’re in there and off the path there’s nothing you can do. It’ll kill you too if you go after them.’ Loman’s voice cracked with dismay as he struggled to make himself heard, but his grip on Antyr did not falter.

Then there was movement amid the clamorous columns and, flanked by the grey frenzy of Tarrian and Grayle, a figure stumbled into the hall. He had a knife in his hand. Gulda’s stick flicked out protectively with unexpected speed as Hawklan, the nearest to the man, took a rapid pace backwards. Loman released Antyr to move to help Hawklan but it was immediately apparent that the man was a threat to no one.

Indeed, he would have fallen headlong had not Hawklan stepped forward quickly and caught him. The knife clattered to the floor. Gulda’s stick swept down and knocked it deftly towards Loman who stooped and picked it up with an agility that belied his bulk.

Tarrian and Grayle left the man and ran straight to Antyr who dropped to his knees to embrace them. Both animals were frantic with excitement.

The noise from the Labyrinth fell away abruptly into a low swooping moan punctuated by what sounded like distant cries and dull percussions. Not that anyone noticed, for they were all too occupied with the cavorting wolves and the mysterious arrival.

A black shape flapped into the hall, the lanterns flickering its shadow over the walls and ceiling to add to the confusion.

‘Heard the noise, dear boys. What’s happening?’

Gavor landed awkwardly by the now supine figure of the man as Hawklan was examining him. ‘Oh dear. He doesn’t look very well, does he?’ he offered.

The man was wearing heavy boots, a jacket secured by a stout leather belt, and loose-fitting trousers. Though made from a heavy and obviously hard-wearing fabric his clothes were stained and torn and impregnated with dust that rose up in small dancing spirals each time Hawklan touched him. A sword and another knife hung from his belt. Hawklan removed it and handed it to Loman who inspected it curiously.

Of average height and build, there was nothing about the man to indicate who he might be, but his face was strained and drawn as though he had been starved or was being driven by some terrible inner demon.

‘I think he’s only unconscious,’ Hawklan said. ‘Exhausted.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Loman said. ‘Where could he have come from? His clothes and his weapons aren’t Orthlundyn – or Fyordyn for that matter. And look at this.’ He held out the knife he had retrieved. It was bloodstained. Hawklan grimaced but did not speak. ‘And how could he have come out of the Labyrinth?’ Loman went on, rubbing his hand tightly across his brow as though that might erase his confusion. He gave Antyr a questioning look but Tarrian and Grayle were still careering wildly around the Dream Finder.

‘They’re too excited,’ Antyr said. ‘I can’t reach them when they’re like this.’

‘It doesn’t matter at the moment,’ Hawklan said, gathering up the man. ‘Let’s tend to this one first.’ He paused and looked thoughtfully at the now silent Labyrinth. ‘Loman, get the Goraidin together and arrange to have a permanent guard in this place. The Labyrinth has always had a way of springing surprises on us in difficult times and I’d like both sure swords and clear-eyed witnesses here after this.’ He looked again into the gloom of the Labyrinth, then spoke quietly to Gulda. ‘Memsa, would you try to seek out the Alphraan? See if they know anything of this?’ Gulda nodded slowly, without speaking. ‘Thank you,’ Hawklan said. ‘Gavor, go with her.’

By the time the stranger had been laid on a comfortable bed in a sunlit room overlooking the Orthlundyn countryside, Gulda was trudging purposefully into the mountains, Gavor circling high above her; Yatsu and Jaldaric had lost the draw for first duty in the Labyrinth hall and Loman was pacifying the other Goraidin.

Having assured himself that although his patient was bruised, scratched and probably undernourished, he was indeed only unconscious, Hawklan sat down beside him and prepared to wait. Nertha was sitting on the opposite side of the bed. Antyr had sought out Vredech and she had come with him. Intrigued by Hawklan’s healing skills since she had first met him, she had watched him intently as he examined the man and had asked many questions. Andawyr and Dar-volci were by the window, the one leaning on the sill, the other stretched out luxuriously affecting a studied indifference to this strange happening. Vredech and Antyr were in an adjacent room with Tarrian and Grayle talking urgently. The rumbling tones of their conversation drifted into the otherwise silent room.

After a little while, the man stirred and opened his eyes. They widened as he looked around. He cried out and made to sit up. Nertha laid a restraining hand on him.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ she said. ‘You’re safe here.’

The man tried to push the hand aside. Hawklan moved to intervene, but it was unnecessary. The man was no match for either Nertha’s experience or her determination. Hawklan smiled as he caught the glint of resolute compassion in the physician’s eyes. ‘You’re safe. And uninjured,’ Nertha insisted with gentle forcefulness. ‘My name’s Nertha, this is Hawklan and that’s Andawyr. The felci pretending to be asleep on the windowsill is Dar-volci. This place you’re in, in case you don’t know, is Anderras Darion and you just arrived in a most unusual fashion from what I hear. Lie still for a few minutes while you gather your wits. Is there anything you want immediately? Food, drink?’

The man glanced from Nertha to Hawklan and back, his eyes fearful and doubting.

‘Do you want anything?’ Nertha asked again.

‘Water,’ came the reply after another unsteady inspection of the room and its occupants.