Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

‘You mean they’re even more powerful than Oklar and the others?’ Yrain exclaimed, her eyes wide. She was not alone in her reaction.

‘Yes,’ Gulda replied. ‘As far beyond them as they were beyond us.’

‘Gods protect us!’

Gulda tapped her stick on the floor sharply. The sound of it rolled back from the Labyrinth like a marshalling drum-roll.

‘We’re here to talk reality, not pray, girl,’ she snapped, jerking Yrain and several others smartly upright. ‘Sumeral’s renewed existence, His determination to return here, the making of His new lieutenants and the Power they can use, can be taken as fact, my friends. What we’re gathered here for now is to determine what we’re going to do about it.’

The force of her personality spread a silence over the hall that was like a smothering emanation from the Labyrinth itself. When Yatsu spoke again, he seemed to be having to struggle against it. His voice sounded distant and strained.

‘We’ve faced many terrible truths over the years, Memsa, and somehow we’ve been able to prevail. It’s an article of faith with all of us that it’s the safest – the wisest – thing to do. But it needs no great grasp of strategy and tactics to know that if what you’ve just said is true, then nothing will be able to stand against Him. Oklar cut a swathe through Vakloss with little more than a wave of his hand – he smashed buildings and killed hundreds. When the Lords’ army moved against him, the orders uppermost in the minds of everyone there weren’t those for waging the battle but those for scattering and regrouping if there was the least sign of him using the Power against them. If Hawklan’s arrow hadn’t bound him in some way the war would’ve been lost before it started.’

The mention of Hawklan’s name turned many eyes towards the tall black-clad figure sitting next to Andawyr, Gavor perched on his shoulder.

Silence welled into the hall again.

Hawklan replied to Yatsu. ‘It’s not an article of faith, old friend,’ he said. ‘It’s an article of truth, tried and tested more rigorously than any of the Cadwanol’s theorems and theories. It’s the only way for us. And it’s the only way we’ll find an answer to this threat.’

‘But…’

‘But yes, we’re all sick at heart at the prospect.’ Hawklan’s voice was suddenly edged with pain and anger. ‘Not to mention sick to the stomach. For all we defeated Him, for all the good that’s come about since His return awakened our three countries, the war hovers over us like an accusing wraith. I doubt there’s anyone who was touched by it who doesn’t remember some part of it every day. But that’s of no consequence, unfortunately. You know the rules, soldier. I heard Yrain spelling them out to Marna only the other day: “When you’re knocked down, get up – or die; your choice.” A simple training adage that applies to everything that’s happening to us now.’ He stood up and his voice became grim. ‘Choosing to live on one’s knees rather than dying on one’s feet is also a choice for each of us when we’re faced with aggression. But if we look at what Sumeral did in the past and what’s happened to Gentren’s world, then it seems the choice He intends to offer us now is to die on our knees or to die on our feet. The Memsa’s reading of affairs – which I agree with – is that, knowing the Guardians are truly gone from this world and having been twice defeated by fighting as one of us, Sumeral has given His Uhriel the task of simply destroying us.’

‘Why should He want to do this?’ Marna asked abruptly, her flushed face fearful.

Hawklan echoed Andawyr. ‘We don’t know. We’ve never known. There are very human qualities in much that He does – hatred, vengefulness, malice, savagery – qualities we can understand – qualities we all possess. Perhaps when we know why we have such traits ourselves we’ll understand why He has them also. Perhaps not. As for His intentions…’ He stopped, and once again he was standing on the mist-shrouded causeway that crossed Lake Kedrieth. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to distance himself from this persistent image. ‘The vision He showed me was of worlds of great beauty, worlds where all was perfection, where there wasn’t the least flaw. “Thus shall Ethriss’s folly be remade”, He said.’

There was an unexpected response. Marna curled her unsteady lip disparagingly. ‘He sounds like a spoilt child,’ she snarled.

Hawklan looked at her. ‘Indeed He does,’ he said, with a soft, ironic laugh. ‘Though I doubt I’d have arrived at that conclusion myself in an age’s thinking. And unfortunately He’s a very large and powerful spoilt child. One, it would seem, more than capable of destroying an entire world.’ He turned again to Yatsu. ‘Which brings us back to your concerns.’

‘All our concerns,’ someone said, to a general murmur of agreement.

Yatsu spoke. ‘From what’s being said, His next Coming will be a conflict of the Power against the Power and He’s preparing to use it to an extent far beyond the ability of the Cadwanol to oppose.’ He tapped the table idly and looked down at his hands before continuing. ‘I long ago accepted that I might well have to die on my feet, if need arose, but there’s a feeling of futility about this which I find… distressing… to say the least.’

Hawklan looked round at the other Goraidin. Yatsu spoke for all of them and it was no whining plaint. For a moment he contemplated giving voice to rousing words to lift their spirits, but he knew that this would be an insult to them. He could almost hear the Labyrinth throwing such words back to him mockingly. He gave a conceding shrug.

‘Me too,’ he said simply. ‘When I faced Oklar I was like Antyr, Farnor, Vredech, Pinnatte, Thyrn.’ They were sitting together and he indicated each of them as he spoke. ‘I held out Ethriss’s black sword and something within it, or within me, protected me, though to this day I don’t know what it was or how it happened. It’s one of many memories that plague me almost every day and I’ve no desire to face the likes of him again – ever. What’s happened to Gentren’s world is chilling beyond description and anyone who knows what we know can’t feel anything other than fear and a sense of futility.’

He looked around the circle of watching faces, pale and silent.

‘Perhaps, before we go on, it would be advisable to talk about a choice we each have and that we haven’t touched on so far. In fact we must talk about it.’ Hawklan paused thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. ‘Knowing what we know, and in the absence of another, less grim interpretation – which I think is unlikely – each of us must decide whether or not we wish to do anything at all.’

He sat down to a bewildered silence.

‘What do you mean?’ Yatsu stammered.

‘What I said,’ Hawklan replied quietly.

‘Do nothing?’

‘It’s a choice.’

There was a rumble of dissent from the Goraidin and some of the others, but it was far from unanimous. Hawklan addressed Antyr and his companions.

‘Each of you faced a terrible ordeal and discovered an unexpected strength – a frightening strength – in yourself. You came here for help and guidance only to learn that you might be about to face an ordeal far worse – that perhaps you’re living through the last days of the entire world.’ He pointed to the Goraidin. ‘These people are soldiers. Fine soldiers, whose service to others few could equal, but it’s in their bones to fight to the last when no other alternative exists. You, on the other hand, aren’t. If you wish…’ He broadened his statement with a wave of his hand to take in everyone there. ‘If any of you wish to walk away from this – to make the most of what time may be left – then do it now. The only regret you need take is ours that we couldn’t help you more.’