Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

There was some uneasy coughing and shifting of chairs, but Antyr spoke almost immediately.

‘We’ve discussed this already, Hawklan – at great length.’ He looked around the hall and smiled nervously. ‘The light that’s shone into places around here seems to make that inevitable. But circumstances, fate, call it what you will, thrust each of us into the darkness and then brought us here. Whatever lives we had are gone and can’t be recalled – indeed, none of us would truly wish them recalled.’ He faltered. ‘We’re all terrified by what we’ve learned since we came here. We wish it would just go away. But we belong here, and this is where we want to be.’

Hawklan lowered his gaze, both humbled and heartened by this declaration. But Antyr had not finished.

‘And you, Hawklan. What choice will you make?’

‘ Greatest of my Uhriel. ’

Jolted by Antyr’s question, Hawklan’s mind filled abruptly with Sumeral’s words and the vision He had shown him. He cursed its treacherous lure. Who was he that Sumeral should seek to draw him to His side? Old questions flooded through him. How had he come to this time? Or how had Gavor, for that matter – unknowingly bearing some part of the spirit of Ethriss? Fragmented memories of his final, long-past battle were still with him – the remnant of his broken army surrounded – fighting back to back – the last of his companions falling – a hand on his shoulder – a hand he had taken to be Ethriss’s but which he knew now could not have been.

‘ That hand was mine, Hawklan, ’ Sumeral had told him. ‘ Ethriss spared none of his creations. I saw your true worth and I took you to be mine when I should rise again. ’

Was he, after all, just another of Sumeral’s creatures? An unwitting pawn in some terrible game?

As he looked at Antyr and his companions, what he had just said to them returned to him. Like them, he – or he and the black sword together – had a quality of which he knew nothing save that it could redirect events and was seemingly beyond his control. Yet was it beyond his control? Consciously it was, beyond any doubt, but perhaps its actions were determined by his other, more deliberate choices. Perhaps it was like fire or water, or the Power itself – neutral, indifferent, capable equally of sustaining or destroying at the choice of the user. Just as Antyr and the others, all improbable heroes, had chosen to stand against an evil, so their antagonists – the blind man, Rannick, Dowinne, Imorren, Vashnar – had chosen to embrace it. And the unknown skills of each had manifested themselves accordingly.

Why hadn’t this simple revelation come to him before? He felt a lightness that he had not realized had been so long gone from him and he smiled to himself as Andawyr’s oft-used remark whispered itself to him: ‘obvious’ is such a dangerous word.

Yet he had abandoned the black sword.

His smile faded as he bowed to Antyr and flicked a thumb towards the Goraidin. ‘I’m with them,’ he said casually. ‘Whether I like it or not – and I don’t – I’m of some importance to Sumeral. I couldn’t walk amongst my friends and neighbours knowing I’d not exhausted every opportunity to protect them, however inadequately.’ He sat back in his chair and stretched. ‘Besides, I feel that Sumeral owes me an accounting.’ There was no strutting bombast in the remark, simply a hint of grim humour. ‘Nevertheless, I’ll speak to each of you individually. We may well not survive what’s to come and some of you have made the wrong decision.’

There was a stir at this but Hawklan raised his hands to indicate that he did not wish to pursue the matter.

‘Which still leaves us with the problem of what we’re going to do,’ Gulda said, noting this signal.

‘Deal with Him before He comes here.’

It was Vredech. He hesitated for a moment as he suddenly became the focus of attention, but his years in the pulpit rescued him and, after a self-conscious cough, he straightened up and took command of his congregation.

‘I am… I was… a preacher, not a soldier, but when I was struggling with the torments of my old friend, Cassraw, a military word came to me. It made some sense to me then and I think it’s relevant now. The word was “bridgehead” – that first toehold in an enemy’s terrain – that first armoured enclave which allows an army to flood across.’ He laid a hand on Pinnatte’s shoulder. ‘We’ve seen Gentren’s world – unless there are two such, in which case my thoughts are even more urgent. It beggars belief that three… people… could have made it thus, but I don’t have your experience of the Power and I must accept what you say. However, we watched them searching for what I presume is a Gateway to this world, and they failed. Yengar and the others say they saw something similar as they were returning here with Farnor. That attempt too failed. Powerful these creatures may be, but they’re not all-powerful by any means.’ He was warming to his subject, his speech becoming more rhetorical, with strong emphasis and telling cadences. ‘And where was their Master as they struggled? Not with them, for sure. For whatever reason, this struggle was theirs and theirs alone, and it defeated them. It would be naive to imagine that this will remain the case but it’s a weakness, without a doubt.’ He made a sweeping gesture. ‘We mustn’t allow them to gain even the least bridgehead in this world. Whatever peculiar… abilities… we have between us, we should direct them towards perhaps finding these Gateways ourselves and, if possible, destroying them.’

He ended with a curt nod and to a stunned silence that slowly filled with approving murmurs and hesitant applause.

‘Bravo,’ Yatsu said quietly but appreciatively. He glanced at the other Goraidin. ‘I think we should all have become preachers. We might’ve worked that out for ourselves.’

Hawklan nodded. ‘Your logic’s impeccable, Vredech. Unless anyone’s anything further to add, I suggest we turn our minds now to how to achieve this.’

It proved to be a long and tiring time as everyone strove to find some order in the whirl of ideas that were being put forth. As Gulda had predicted, the ominous presence of the Labyrinth focused the minds of all there as, from time to time, in response to some outcry or sudden silence, sounds emerged from it like those of a dark and powerful creature twitching in its dreams.

Eventually fatigue began to take its toll and towards the middle of the afternoon, after a brief consultation with Gulda and a brisk allotting of tasks, Andawyr dismissed the gathering. If such a word could be used under such circumstances, it had been good, he told them. ‘Sleep on what we’ve done; we’ll talk again tomorrow.’

During the rest of the day, Hawklan did as he had promised and spoke to everyone individually. The following morning, two people were leaving.

Hawklan eventually found Loman, sitting dark and lonely by his cold forge. He looked up as Hawklan entered.

‘Was it all for nothing, Hawklan?’ he asked, before the healer could greet him. ‘All those men and women torn from their hearths and their loved ones. All that horror. All that gut-wrenching fear. All those bodies broken and lives casually snuffed out. Was it all for nothing?’ The brutal suddenness of the question made Hawklan stop, leaving the door to the forge ajar. Loman closed his eyes and sat back so that a shadow hid his face. ‘You know, I still wake up sometimes, shaking all over – can’t stop myself.’ He waited on no reassurance. ‘I know what it is well enough. It’s physical exhaustion shot through with stark terror. I’ve been at the heart of the battle again – that killing time before we found ourselves facing the Uhriel – my ears are ringing with the dreadful din of it all. Not dreaming, you understand, but there again – there – touching, feeling, everything as real as you are now. It’s as if it’s still happening and part of me – part of all of us – is trapped there forever.’