Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

‘No,’ Andawyr said. ‘You’re close to the heart of this, I’m sure.’

‘You can prove this, too?’ Hawklan said, a gentle taunt in his voice.

‘No, but I’m not afraid to trust my intuition when I reach the end of the reasoning. You and that sword are important, I’m certain.’

Antyr agreed, adding, ‘As is the Labyrinth. I was drawn to both from the Cadwanen, if you recall.’

Hawklan grimaced. ‘Yes, the Sword. It troubles me that, though I’ve no need of it, the memory of it’s becoming increasingly obtrusive. I can’t shake off a sense of loss or, worse, of folly, in letting it go so easily. And what I’ve just heard doesn’t help. It fell between the worlds to land at my feet in a time of need and I just dropped it back again.’

‘It fell between the worlds to land at your feet in the Armoury,’ Gulda said. It was the first time she had spoken and all eyes turned towards her. She looked at the dark columns at the end of the hall. ‘On the far side of the Labyrinth.’

Hawklan looked at Gulda intently, then suddenly stood up and began walking towards the Labyrinth.

There was a momentary silence before Andawyr and several others were on their feet running after him. Andawyr caught his arm and almost stumbled as Hawklan came to an abrupt halt.

‘You can’t go in there,’ the Cadwanwr exclaimed breathlessly as Hawklan righted him.

Hawklan raised a hand for silence.

‘Listen,’ he said softly.

The sound from the Labyrinth was shifting and changing constantly, albeit imperceptibly. Now it was a wind discoursing with the mountains, now wordless voices rising and falling, now a warning animal rumble, now the breathing of a watching colossus – a sound that made several of the spectators taken an involuntary step backwards. Then it was something indefinable – unnatural and disturbing.

‘Where are Tarrian and Grayle now?’ Hawklan asked Antyr half whispering.

‘Gone from me,’ the Dream Finder replied. His face was pained. ‘There’s only emptiness where they should be.’

‘Alphraan, do you hear this?’ Gulda said, her voice not loud but very clear.

The faintest of whisperings made its way through the Labyrinth’s shifting sound.

‘This song we do not know, my lady. It is ancient beyond any knowing. And it is wrong – it should not be. Look to yourselves, you are going beyond. What you feared is upon you. We cannot help. We are sorry. We…’

The final words dwindled into nothingness, but the fear and urgency that hung about them was both desperate and unmistakable. Immediately the Goraidin were forming a defensive line between the Labyrinth and the others.

‘Those of you who aren’t armed, make yourself so, quickly,’ Yatsu said forcefully, indicating the stacks of weapons lining the walls.

‘What’s happening?’ Nertha demanded. ‘Who was that speaking?’

‘The Alphraan,’ Yatsu replied hastily as he snatched up a couple of sheathed knives. Deftly he tested their edges and then thrust them into Nertha’s belt before she could protest.

‘As for what’s happening, I’ve no idea,’ he said. ‘But they’re stout allies; they wouldn’t warn us for nothing. And they sounded very afraid.’ His cold and purposeful gaze held her. ‘These are good blades, you’re a physician, you know how to use them if you have to.’ For an instant, Nertha was back at the rain-soaked summit of the Ervrin Mallos in Canol Madreth, gasping for air as she struggled to protect Vredech from the manic apparition that had once been Dowinne.

Yatsu gripped her arms to shake her but she pulled free. ‘Sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I’m all right. I understand. Look to the others.’

‘I think it’d be a good idea to leave,’ Yatsu said to Andawyr. ‘Something might have happened outside.’

Andawyr agreed. The tone of the Alphraan’s warning had shaken him. Before he could speak, however, a cry drew all eyes away from the Labyrinth.

It was Ar-Billan. He was pointing to the far end of the hall… or what had been the far end. Now, where there had been a stone wall, a few piles of weapons and, not least, a doorway, there was only a greyness. Not the greyness of a mountain mist concealing something, but a cold emptiness.

‘Keep away.’

Both Farnor and Thyrn spoke simultaneously.

‘What is it?’ Andawyr asked. A glance told him that the two young men were very afraid.

‘A tear – a gap,’ Farnor managed to say. He was stretching his hand towards it and was obviously in great distress. ‘Too much,’ he said, and slowly he sank to his knees. Someone caught Thyrn as he too collapsed. Nertha was with them immediately, urgent and practical.

‘They’re like Vredech and Pinnatte were,’ she said after a rapid examination. ‘As if they’re asleep. Hawklan, help me.’

But Hawklan was looking again into the Labyrinth.

Andawyr, by contrast, was peering into the greyness. He could not tell whether it was near or far – it seemed to extend infinitely in every direction and its featurelessness was both disorientating and luring him. It took a deliberate effort of will to tear his gaze away and look at the hall. At first, the tables, scattered chairs and strewn documents looked dark and unreal, as though they were part of a soiled painting, but as his vision cleared he could see that the greyness was slowly spreading.

As was the fear amongst the group, trapped between this eerie phenomenon and the Labyrinth.

‘In our minds.’

Andawyr felt someone shaking his arm. It was Antyr.

‘In our minds.’ The Dream Finder had to repeat himself several times before Andawyr registered what he was saying. He felt a surge of anger twisting up out of his fear.

‘This is no hallucination,’ he said furiously. He glanced quickly at the fallen forms of Thyrn and Farnor; Nertha was still examining them but she was radiating helplessness. ‘It’s real. It’s the worlds coming together.’ He slapped his forehead brutally. ‘Not enough time – too stupid, too slow – to work it all out. I…’

‘Calm yourself, old man, and listen.’ Gulda’s voice was strong and imperious. It jolted Andawyr and momentarily stilled the mounting commotion of the milling group. The greyness was arching over them. Antyr began to shout, for it seemed that everything was being drained from what was left of the hall.

‘In our minds.’

His eyes were becoming like pits of night.

‘Our minds reach into the very heart of this. They’ll guide. Whatever happens, don’t doubt its reality – trust yourselves – you’re stronger than you know – we all are – our…’

His voice was lost.

Andawyr had a fleeting glimpse of Hawklan, his face riven with pain and doubt, turning and walking into the Labyrinth…

Then all was greyness…

The air was acrid and the sky was a blue that none of them had ever seen before – save one: Pinnatte.

He was the first to speak.

‘Their place,’ he hissed, crouching low as though to avoid being seen.

‘Quiet!’

Yatsu’s command was forceful but equally soft.

And unnecessary, at least for the Goraidin. Both training and experience had kept all of them silent and they were looking around urgently, assessing the terrain they found themselves in without question as to how they had come there. There had been no sense of change or movement. They had been in the Labyrinth hall, suddenly, terrifyingly, dissolving into greyness, then they were here. Despite a fear that was almost choking her, Marna felt a frisson of satisfaction that she too had managed not to cry out. Quickly she began copying her chosen mentors.

Gentren, however, was no Goraidin. ‘Yes – my world,’ he exclaimed, his voice alive with conflicting and painful emotions. He pointed to a nearby ditch. ‘This is where I hid – where I stabbed one of them.’ His voice fell as several hands motioned him to silence. Then his anger and distress became suffused with bewilderment.