Roger Taylor - Into Narsindal

‘The Muster women seem to manage,’ she began. ‘As did those who fought by Ethriss’s side.’

Although her voice was soft, it was withering in its disdain, and her blue eyes defied description. When she had finished, Dacu and Tel-Mindor retreated from the field in disarray to the barely disguised amusement of Hawklan and Loman. Dacu was heard to mutter, ‘Poor Sumeral.’

Apart from minor frictions however, the Fyordyn and the Orthlundyn worked well together and to their considerable mutual benefit. The Goraidin in particular responded to the intuitive flair of the Orthlundyn while they in their turn came to appreciate the Fyordyn’s painstaking thoroughness.

Both Tirke and Jaldaric welcomed the opportunity to join the Helyadin under Athyr’s command. Tirke accepted with enthusiasm, having been much impressed by Dacu on their journey through the mountains and presuming that he in turn could impress Athyr with some of his new-found knowledge. Jaldaric, however, accepted grimly, carrying within him desperate memories of his capture first by Hawklan and then by Aelang, but worst of all, the memory of the impotent witness he had borne to the massacre at Ledvrin.

These initial intentions however, began to change rapidly as the two young men faced the Helyadin’s simple but effective aptitude test. It involved a leap from the edge of a sheer rock face on to a nearby flat-topped spur. The gap was not too wide, but the top of the spur was small and the drop beneath it breathtaking. Roped for safety, but nevertheless terrified, both managed to pass the test, and both grew a little in wisdom.

Rede Berryn, a robust bachelor, was slightly embar-rassed by the presence of Tirilen, but he watched intently as Hawklan carefully examined his knee. It was stiff as a result of a riding accident many years previ-ously and various healers had shaken their heads over it from time to time. He could not avoid a small sense of disappointment however when Hawklan too shook his.

‘Never mind,’ he said philosophically. ‘I’m glad you’ve had a look at it. If you can’t do anything for it, then I doubt anyone can.’

But Hawklan had not finished. ‘I can’t loosen the joint for you, Rede,’ he said. ‘Like you, that’s well set in its ways by now. But Tirilen will show you how to massage it and how to exercise these muscles here’-he prodded dispassionately-‘and here, so that they’ll carry more of your weight. It’ll be a little uncomfortable at first, but it should ease the pain considerably.’

‘Oh, that won’t be necessary… ’ began the Rede with spurious heartiness, but a gentle hand on the chest prevented his attempt at a hasty departure.

Tirilen smiled at the old man’s discomfiture. ‘Come now, Rede,’ she said, rolling up her sleeves. ‘I’ve seen uglier things than your leg.’

Berryn cleared his throat and coloured a little. As Tirilen approached he caught Hawklan’s sleeve and pulled him forward. ‘Perhaps… you… or maybe… the Memsa… ’ he whispered tentatively.

Hawklan sucked in his breath and shook his head, frowning. ‘Different school of medicine, Gulda,’ he whispered back earnestly. ‘Different entirely. Takes no prisoners and dispatches her wounded,’ And with a broad wink he was gone.

‘Come in,’ Andawyr said.

The door to his room opened slowly and Hawklan peered in cautiously.

‘I’m here,’ Andawyr said, striking a small torch into life. ‘I was just relaxing.’

The torch gently illuminated the chaos of books and scrolls that filled the small room Andawyr had chosen for his study, but he himself was not to be seen. Hawklan gazed around uncertainly for a moment until, abruptly, a bushy-haired head appeared above a stack of books. A beckoning hand followed.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, Andawyr,’ Hawklan said, entering and treading warily around the books and scrolls that littered the floor.

Andawyr shook his head decidedly and beckoned again. Hawklan advanced further, eventually finding the Cadwanwr sitting cosily in the lee of a broken cliff-face of books and other documents illuminated warmly by the small torch and a fire of radiant stones.

Andawyr motioned him to sit down, carefully lifting a mound of papers from one chair to another. As he released them, they slithered gracefully to the floor.

With a small click of irritation, he bent down and gathered them together loosely then, after looking vainly for a blank space on a nearby table, he dropped them unceremoniously on top of another pile of papers. Hawklan watched the small drama with great interest, and could not forbear smiling.

‘You’re a profoundly untidy man, Andawyr, Leader of the Cadwanol,’ he said.

Andawyr shrugged a small concession. ‘But not here,’ he pleaded, tapping his head.

Hawklan eyed the shadowy crags and peaks of the impromptu mountain range of documents that Andawyr had built, and looked conspicuously doubtful.

His doubts however, rolled serenely off Andawyr’s beaming face. ‘You’re a fine and generous host, Hawklan,’ the little man said. ‘And you keep a fine inn here, with rare bedside reading.’

Hawklan nodded graciously. ‘Didn’t there used to be windows in here once?’ he asked.

Andawyr looked vaguely over his shoulder. ‘I’ll put all these back when I’ve finished,’ he said earnestly, like an ingenuous child.

Hawklan waved a dismissive hand. ‘I know,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Gulda looks after the library.’

Andawyr surrendered to this threat of vastly supe-rior force with a chuckle and settled back in his chair.

‘What did you want to talk about?’ he asked.

Hawklan shook his head. ‘Nothing special,’ he re-plied. ‘I thought I’d let you know that a messenger just arrived from Fyorlund to say that Arinndier has been empowered unconditionally by the Geadrol to speak for them in whatever military arrangements we’re making.’

Andawyr looked surprised. ‘Remarkable,’ he said. ‘I presume that this is the Lord Eldric stamping his will on the Geadrol, Ffyrst or no.’

‘Stamping reality on them more likely,’ Hawklan replied. ‘He and Darek and Hreldar.’

‘Does the message say anything about Oklar, or about what they’re going to do with their errant Lords?’ Andawyr went on.

‘The High Guards are patrolling the northern bor-ders, but the Mathidrin have entrenched themselves along the approaches to Narsindalvak, so presumably Oklar is free to come and go about Narsindal as he wishes.’ Hawklan looked regretful and there was a note of irritation in his voice.

‘We’re lucky he’s not coming and going about Fyor-lund, Hawklan, and don’t you forget it,’ Andawyr replied with some reproach, then, more anxiously, pressed his question, ‘And the Lords and everyone else who supported Dan-Tor?’

Hawklan smiled appreciatively. ‘I always knew El-dric was a considerable leader,’ he said. ‘But he’s proving to be quite a healer as well. As far as I can gather, there’s a great deal of accounting and breast beating going on, as you might expect. Individuals who were involved in acts of violence, other than in the battle itself, are being tried openly before the courts. But those who helped Dan-Tor in other ways are being given the choice of join us or join him-no punishment either way.’

Andawyr looked relieved.

‘I agree,’ said Hawklan speaking to the Cadwanwr’s unspoken approval. ‘Any acts of vengeance would have been very detrimental, however they were disguised in law. We need a united Fyorlund, not one riven with embittered factions, all piling up more and more scores to settle.’ His voice was hard.

Andawyr threw him a mocking salute. ‘Shrewdly said, Commander,’ he said.