Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

‘I will,’ Gulda replied.

The Traveller made to leave, then he paused. ‘It was an ancient place,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Where Thyrn was heading. Ancient like the Labyrinth. But corrupt. An evil place.’ Then he let out a soft sigh, as though a thought had just come to him.

‘The pups,’ he said.

‘The pups?’ Gulda echoed, taken aback a little by this abrupt change of subject.

‘Tarrian, Grayle – the pups. They transcend many things. They travel the ways between the worlds – touching and not touching. And the paths of the Labyrinth are no less, I’d think. Speak to them. Speak to them. Their knowledge is great – and deep.’

He was gone.

His last words reverberated around Gulda as she stared at the place where he had been.

Gavor dropped down on to Gulda’s shoulder. ‘Well, well, what an unusual… person,’ he said. ‘Very pleasant. Nearly put my claw in it, though, didn’t I? Calling him human. Still, he took it in good part – no harm done. And remarkably clear-sighted, wasn’t he?’ Gulda eyed him suspiciously as he paused significantly and craned round to look at her. ‘Saw right through you, for example, didn’t he - my lady ?’

Gulda pursued her lips grimly, then set off at her usual stumping pace, causing Gavor to tumble off her shoulder with a squawk.

‘Shut your beak, crow,’ she snapped.

Gavor chuckled and flew off.

It was night when Gulda returned to Anderras Darion. She told Andawyr of her encounter with the Traveller and in turn was told what Gentren had related. She did not react when the ravagers of Gentren’s world were described to her, other than to close her eyes momentarily and give the slightest of nods.

‘Everyone knows of this?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘All of which leaves us where?’

‘I don’t know,’ Andawyr admitted. ‘I’m beginning to feel like a one-armed juggler on a tightrope.’ He ran a hand through his disordered hair. ‘For one thing, we’ll have to tell everyone about the Uhriel now – and how powerful you believe they’ve become.’

‘Been made,’ Gulda corrected. ‘Though it’s interesting that this Gentren was able to stab one of them.’

Andawyr shrugged. ‘Probably caught him by surprise. The old Uhriel lived amongst men for generations. They were well aware of the risks of assassination and protected themselves all the time. But these new… creations… having the power to do what they’d done, would have precious little cause to fear for their own safety. I’d be loath to risk any venture that relied on their susceptibility to an arrow or a knife thrust.’

‘Yes,’ Gulda agreed. ‘But even so, it’s still interesting. We, above all, should know that lesser failings have brought the strong down at the hands of the weak before now.’ She became brisk, laying the notion aside. ‘Is any of this coming together yet? Is a pattern emerging that we can use? We can’t speculate for ever; we need to settle down to some serious planning very soon.’

Andawyr looked pained. ‘Many things are coming together, Memsa. Oslang’s been a tower as usual – quiet and inconspicuous, but ordering, organizing, making people recast old ideas, plunge into new ones, generally think as they’ve never thought before. Knowledge is coming to the fore that I’d hardly have dared speculate about scarcely ten days ago. It’s as if the arrival of Antyr and the others has acted like a catalyst – or the few grains of dust that can make a solution suddenly crystallize.’

‘But?’ Gulda queried, fixing on the uneasiness in his tone.

‘But we still don’t know what is going to happen, or when, or where, or how. We seem to be in the same position as Gentren’s father – forewarned but helpless, poor sod.’

‘Not quite the same,’ Gulda cautioned edgily.

‘Near enough to make no difference.’

Gulda banged her stick violently on a nearby table, making Andawyr jump.

‘Damn it, Andawyr,’ she burst out angrily. ‘You above all can’t afford the luxury of thinking like that. Your wits, your instincts, your…’ She gave a reluctantly conceding wave. ‘Your arcane symbols on bits of paper, all tell you of events coming together at many levels – of a moment pending when all things may be finely balanced – when perhaps the fall of the least of Gavor’s feathers might be enough to tilt us… everything… into destruction.’ She smacked her forehead ferociously, her anger mounting. Andawyr quailed. ‘There may be precious little difference between us and Andeeren Marsyn but such difference as there is is vital and we must cling to it.’

Andawyr stammered in the face of this unexpected onslaught. ‘I’m sorry, Memsa,’ he began. ‘I…’

Gulda waved him silent and growled. Then she was silent herself for some time, the only sound in the room the steady tapping of her stick on the floor.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said eventually, her voice subdued. ‘That was unwarranted, inexcusable. It’s just that…’ She dropped into a chair and slumped back, flicking the hood of her robe forward to hide her face. ‘It’s just that, like everyone else, I’d thought it was all over. After so long, wandering, learning, teaching, what I’d always feared – what Ethriss had feared – had come about. Somehow Sumeral had returned – the Second Coming was on us. But we defeated Him – or His own folly did – it doesn’t matter which. He was gone – His mortal form was shattered, His will scattered and broken. As much by good fortune as good management, I’ll admit, but He was gone nevertheless. The Fyordyn, the Riddinvolk, the Orthlundyn for mercy’s sake, farmers and carvers for generations now – they came together, formed an army from almost nothing. The great Fyordyn lords – the natural leaders of such an army – willingly accepted the generalship of Loman. A smith! A shoer of horses. Someone I taught to read and write when he was a snotty brat, miserable because he didn’t seem to understand carving like his friends did. And look how he rose to events…’

‘He did fight in the Morlider War,’ Andawyr intruded feebly.

Gulda ignored him. ‘All these… remarkable… things came about. Everyone rose to events – ability, heart, spirit, all determined not to bow before Him. Was it all for nothing? Did we completely misjudge the depths of His deviousness? Was it all just a step in some plan too vast for us to comprehend? A testing of our will, our strength? A testing of the worth of His old agents, His Uhriel? A mere exercise?’

Andawyr did not speak. Apart from the fact that Gulda’s remarks were rhetorical, he was shaken by the very fact that she was speaking the way she was. It was in every way as uncharacteristic as her previous outburst. Though he would not have admitted it, he had come to think of Gulda, like Hawklan – mysterious though they both were – as fixed points in his world, anchors that helped hold him secure amid his own whirling concerns.

Silence returned to the room, Gulda’s questions hanging in the air, Andawyr effectively dumbstruck.

‘Well, well, well,’ Gulda said eventually, tapping the arms of her chair. ‘It must have been a long day. I haven’t had thoughts like that…’ She ran her hand along her stick. ‘In a tree’s age.’ She sniffed and pushed her hood back. The sniff startled Andawyr and he was almost afraid to look at her for fear he would see tears shining in those searching eyes.

‘It’s understandable,’ he said lamely, completely at a loss to offer any real comfort to this enigmatic figure.

Gulda sniffed again, this time with stern purposefulness. ‘Keep your feet to the backside of your people, Andawyr,’ she said. ‘I sense time slipping away from us like water through cupped hands. It’s time for some serious work. Time to brace ourselves for war.’