Roger Taylor - Into Narsindal

She looked at the little man narrowly. ‘A Cadwanwr, I see, from your garb and your manner,’ she said. ‘And from your appearance.’ She flicked the end of her nose, apparently casually. ‘You must be Andawyr, the saviour of our healer here and self-styled Leader of the Cad-wanol.’

Andawyr returned her gaze unflinchingly. ‘My brothers call me their leader, Memsa Gulda,’ he replied, equally casually squeezing his own nose. ‘And I do my best to guide them when my advice is sought, but most of the time I follow, really.’

Gulda walked over to him and looked at him even more intensely than before.

‘How is your vision, Cadwanwr?’ she asked.

To Hawklan, it seemed that in some way, two great forces were confronting one another, although Andawyr looked relaxed and comfortable in the cold, grey, wintry light.

For an instant, however, the Cadwanwr’s eyes flashed as if they had seen something strange and bewildering and he frowned.

‘Uncertain,’ he replied after a moment.

Gulda nodded again. ‘You too are welcome to An-derras Darion, Andawyr, Leader of the Cadwanol. Many threads are starting to pull together. Perhaps time and debate may show us a pattern, eh?’ And with a grunt she turned and stumped back into the courtyard.

As the others made to follow her, a sleek brown form scuttled between the legs of the waiting group, and made straight for Andawyr. Reaching him, it began jumping up, chattering excitedly.

Andawyr bent down and it scrambled sinuously up into his arms.

‘Where did you get to?’ he asked it.

Gavor suddenly recognized it, and with a most un-ravenlike squawk, hopped nimbly up on to Hawklan’s head.

‘It’s that rat thing of Dar-volci’s,’ he said, rather hoarsely. ‘You remember-from the Gretmearc… ’ He bent forward. ‘With the teeth,’ he whispered urgently.

The animal, however, seemed to hear the remark and turned to eye Gavor purposefully. Andawyr smiled and laid an affectionate hand on its head.

‘Hawklan, Gavor, this is… ’

‘Still carrying that crow thing about, eh, Hawklan?’ The animal said. Its deep voice was unmistakable.

‘… Dar-volci,’ Andawyr finished. ‘An old and dear friend from the Caves. A felci, Gavor,’ he added, giving the raven a knowing look.

Gavor cleared his throat. ‘Ah,’ he began uncertainly. ‘A slip of the tongue, dear… boy. A slip of the tongue. You startled me. I can see now that you’re not… ’ He cleared his throat again and changed tack. ‘I’ve been looking forward to a chance to thank you for your good offices at the Gretmearc.’

‘And I,’ Hawklan added, sparing Gavor any further embarrassment.

Dar-volci seemed mollified. ‘That was my pleasure entirely,’ he said, wriggling round in Andawyr’s arms and baring his enormous teeth in a terrifying smile that made Gavor tap his wooden leg nervously on Hawklan’s head.

Then the felci was whispering frantically in An-dawyr’s ear and pointing towards the mountains.

Andawyr made a few brief interjections in an at-tempt to slow down the rate of this telling, but to no avail. Finally, Dar-volci nuzzled into Andawyr’s bushy beard, sneezed, and then slithered from his arms to run off down the road at an enormous speed, leaving the Cadwanwr mouthing a vague, ‘But… ’ while everyone else looked on in amazement.

A bubble of excited inquiry welled up out of the group, but Andawyr ignored it and turned to Hawklan.

‘Dar-volci says that there are Alphraan in the moun-tains and that you’ve spoken to them and persuaded them to help us,’ he said.

‘Indeed,’ Hawklan replied. ‘But circumstances and deeds persuaded them as much as anything that was said. Have they alarmed your friend?’

Andawyr shook his head. ‘Quite the contrary,’ he said. ‘But he’ll probably be gone for some time.’ He turned to Gulda, who had returned to investigate the reason for the delay. ‘Many threads… Memsa,’ he said.

Hawklan’s remark that there might be a great deal of talking later proved to be apt, as did Gavor’s that the Fyordyn might have taken charge of it. Though it had to be admitted that the buttressing presence of Gulda generally prevented their having to exercise their authority in the many discussions that took place during the following days as each of the new arrivals told or retold their tales and answered questions about them.

For all her stern presence however, Gulda seemed easier in her manner than she had at any time since her arrival at the Castle. Some days later, sitting with Hawklan and Andawyr in one of the halls, she said, ‘Courage and good fortune have given us a little time in which to think and learn, and to be glad that all our friends are returned unhurt… if not unchanged, though one cannot but grieve for the Fyordyn in their pain. We can be glad too that our enemy stands clearly exposed now for all to see. We must all rest and accept the healing benison of Ethriss’s great castle. It will restore us now, and sustain us in the future.’

Hawklan was less sure. ‘Oklar is safe and armed in Narsindalvak, Creost seemingly threatens Riddin,’ he said. ‘We can’t afford the luxury of dawdling.’

Gulda laid a hand on his arm. ‘Oklar is bound by his Master. The Fyordyn have been greatly hurt, but they’ll set their house in order and won’t let the Watch falter again. The Riddinvolk will watch the sea for the Morlider’s islands. If I’m any judge, the Morlider will find swords, spears and arrows a-plenty waiting for them before they even touch the shore.’

Hawklan remembered the terrible power that had seethed around him as he stood small and impotent clinging to Ethriss’s sword in the face of Oklar’s fury.

‘And Creost?’ he said.

Gulda looked at Andawyr. ‘The Riddinvolk have Oslang and the Cadwanol by their side,’ she said. ‘Much of Creost’s strength will be spent in uniting the Morlider and in guiding their islands. Should he falter in the first, the Morlider will quarrel within a week and should he falter in the second, then the older, deeper writ of Enartion will run, and return the islands to their true courses.’

Andawyr nodded in agreement. ‘Memsa is right, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘The enemy stands exposed and for various reasons is, like ourselves, far from full strength. The Fyordyn and the Riddinvolk will act as our eyes and limbs, to watch and hold Him at bay if need arises. We here must be the head and heart. We must talk and think and plan. Learn and learn. Try to see to the heart of His intentions and reasons, to see the strategy that must lie behind all these happenings.’

Hawklan shook his head. ‘That needs little learning,’ he said. ‘His intention is the destruction of us and all the works of the Guardians, and the reasons for that will be beyond us always. As to His strategy and tactics… ’ He smiled ironically.

‘They’ll shift and change as need arises, as will ours, though His will be hallmarked by their treachery, His indifference to the fate of His allies, and by His endless patience, while ours… ’

He fell silent as his thoughts stumbled over his own words.

Endless patience.

He felt his eyes drawn upwards to the round window high above with its scene of a warrior parting from his wife and child. How old was that scene even when the artist caught it and trapped it there for future unknown generations?

Endless patience.

As he looked, he recalled vividly the memory of the sunny spring day when Tirilen’s clattering footsteps had called him forth from his twenty years of peace. Part of him ached to return to that earlier time, but he set its longings aside gently.

He was a warrior and a healer and he must carry his peace with him in his every action or it was not a true peace. He had been brought into this world mysteriously and been given the stewardship of this great Castle presumably to face this foe and, whichever way he turned, he would be drawn back to that path inexorably.