Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

He stopped, his face taut and his fists clenched. The images he had conjured hung in the stillness, the more terrible for his quiet telling.

‘Then they stopped. We thought they’d wearied of their… work… or perhaps taken all they’d wanted. There was a strange quietness over everything, as though all of us who were left were holding our breath. I think it was shock – sheer disbelief – as much as anything. How was it possible that so much could have come about so quickly? How was it that so many peoples could be destroyed and cowed so easily? A civilization, aeons old, smashed as though it were no more than a flimsy toy in the hands of a reckless child. But whatever we were thinking, it didn’t matter. The destruction they’d wrought before was nothing compared to what began next.’ He turned towards the window. ‘I don’t know what it was they did but they started changing the land itself. Fleeing survivors told us of mountains rising up from nothing – blue and jagged – and of seas retreating. We might have disbelieved them but, even where we were, we could feel the ground shaking under our feet, faint but quite definite – and very frightening.’ He shuddered violently, startling his listeners. ‘Then a deep blue haze began to fill the sky. It dimmed the sun – threw everywhere into a ghastly half-night.’ He closed his eyes. ‘The air became acrid and foul – burning the throat. No rain came after that.’ He looked at the glass that Andawyr was holding.

‘If this is troubling you too much we can talk later,’ Hawklan said, resting a hand on his arm.

‘There’s precious little left to tell,’ Gentren replied. ‘For a while they were occupied with whatever they were doing, then they were moving out again, destroying new land as relentlessly as ever. This time we tried to oppose them. My father had managed to rally some semblance of an army. But, as before, it was futile.’ He flicked his hand in an airy gesture. ‘They just swept that aside as they’d done everything else.’ His mouth curled in anger. ‘We were less than ants to them. We couldn’t even bite them before we died.’

‘And what happened to you?’ Hawklan asked.

‘What indeed?’ Gentren said bitterly. ‘In the end, I did what everyone else did. The only thing I could do. I ran.’ He looked around the room.

‘How did you come here, then?’

Gentren frowned. ‘I told you, I don’t know. They were getting nearer. Everyone I knew was gone – family, friends. I was fleeing into the hills with some vague idea of hiding somewhere – just hoping I wouldn’t be found. I remember I hadn’t enough nails to shoe my horse properly and it lost a shoe and brought me down. But I kept on running until I fell into a ditch.’

His manner became calmer but more intense.

‘I must have fallen asleep. I remember dreaming – dreaming about a plough tearing open the ground – three huge horses pulling it – and seagulls screaming and flapping behind it – bickering and fighting the way they do. They were all around me. I was trying to beat them off when I awoke, staring up from the bottom of the ditch through the dead grasses and reeds at that awful tainted blue sky. But the gulls were still screaming. Except that the sounds they were making weren’t sounds any gull could make – or any natural creature. It was – dreadful. It reached right inside me, tore at me.’ Gentren’s eyes widened as he relived the scene. ‘And suddenly I knew who was making it. It was them. Everything they were was in that noise.’ His face contorted and his hand reached out, claw-like, as if to crush something. ‘All of a sudden, every part of me was alive with anger – so powerful – I’d no control over it. They were here! These creatures who’d brought all this horror and destruction were here – probably only a few paces from where I was lying. Part of me wanted to leap out of the ditch and cut them down – slash and hack at them until no part of them would even be recognizable.’ His hand tightened, then relaxed, and he gave a sour smile, full of self-contempt. ‘I didn’t, of course. I grabbed my knife…’ He mimicked the action, then paused, looking at the knife in front of him. ‘But just doing that – feeling that familiar handle in my hand – feeling reality – told me I wasn’t going to do anything. The anger was still there – but I didn’t want to die. So I just held my breath – lay still, very still – willing them to go away. But they didn’t. They stayed there – screeching at one another – to and fro – endlessly.’ He put his hands to his ears. ‘Then one of them was right above me. His horse kicked in part of the edge of the ditch making me jump – I thought it was going to fall on me. I must have made a noise because the next thing, the horse was craning round, looking into the ditch. Except that it wasn’t like any horse I’d ever seen before.’

‘Long bony head, malevolent eyes, and a strange way of moving – like a snake.’ The voice was Vredech’s, standing in the doorway with Antyr.

‘Yes,’ Gentren exclaimed. ‘How did you know?’

‘Go on,’ Hawklan pressed, frowning at Vredech’s interruption.

‘It saw me. Looked right at me.’ Gentren took a deep breath. ‘Then the rider was turning towards me. I’ve never been so afraid, ever. I had to get away. I don’t know what possessed me. I jumped up, drove my knife into his leg, then ran!’

This time it was Andawyr who interrupted. ‘You stabbed him?’ he said, eyes wide with incredulity.

‘Yes,’ Gentren confirmed, as if surprised at Andawyr’s surprise. The Cadwanwr gaped. ‘I didn’t think about it – I just did it.’

Hawklan motioned Gentren to continue. ‘I can’t remember much after that. I was running like I’d never run before. Dodging and weaving across the hillside. I could hear the Riders behind me, but I didn’t look back. It wasn’t me running, really. Something inside me had taken charge and was hurling me along. I did things I know I couldn’t possibly do – jumping from rock to rock – crashing through undergrowth. I do remember their screams, though – they were different – more human, somehow. It didn’t sound like any language I’d ever heard but I could understand it well enough… it was full of anger and hate. I knew they weren’t going to reach out and kill me with that power they had, like they’d done to entire armies. I knew they were going to capture me. I could feel the pain of the one I’d injured.’ He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. His brow furrowed with concentration. ‘The rest is vague – just the sound of my heart and my breathing filling everywhere. I seem to remember turning towards a light. And I remember the tone of their screeching changed – it became desperate, frantic. Then, very suddenly, it was fading away – dwindling into the distance like an insect whine. And I was… falling… I think… yes, falling – tumbling through something I can’t begin to describe – strange lights – strange sounds, all around me – sounds that became a howling. I remember thinking, “They’ve killed me. This is what dying is like.” Yet I was wondering what the howling was. And I remember thinking how strange it was I should be curious at such a time. Then the howling seemed to be leading me – keeping me safe somehow. And I was on hard ground – running again – running blindly through a darkness filled with a terrible roaring – but the howling was still guiding and protecting me. And now I’m here – wherever here is, with its open and clear sky – and sunlight – talking to you… whoever you are, with your strange names and… your kindness.’ He laid down the knife and looked at Hawklan as if for a conclusive answer. ‘Am I dead?’ he asked plaintively. ‘Or mad?’