Roger Taylor: Into Narsindal

Oklar ruling a divided Fyorlund, Creost uniting and guiding the Morlider, Rgoric murdered, Vakloss torn apart, Hawklan struck down and perhaps even now lost in these snow-shrouded hills. He put his hand to his head.

‘Are you all right?’ Agreth asked anxiously.

No, Andawyr cried out to himself in self-disgust. No. How can I be all right? Me, leader of the Cadwanol, Ethriss’s chosen watchers and seekers after knowledge, who slept when all the demons of the ages were waking and running amok! I just want to lie down in this cold grey silence and become part of it-free from all this horror forever.

‘Yes,’ he said out loud, letting the now familiar re-proaches rage unhindered and unspoken. ‘It’s just that so many things seem to be moving against us.’ He looked up at the snowflakes spearing down into his face, grey and black against the dull sky. ‘Even the weather’s moving against us,’ he said as his distress slowly began to fade away. It would return many times yet, he knew.

Agreth looked on, uncertain what to say.

Andawyr gave a dismissive grunt. ‘Still, all we can do is walk forward, isn’t it?’ he said, stepping out again. ‘And we find help in the strangest places, don’t we?’ He looked at his companion. ‘In the midst of this lonely and ancient place, you find a cosy billet for the night, and I find someone to carry my pack.’

He laughed suddenly, and held out his arms wide. ‘I used to love this weather when I was a boy,’ he said. ‘Sledging, snowballing. How can this be against me?’ Impulsively he walked over to a nearby rock and scooped the snow on top of it into a single heap. Then he began compacting and shaping it.

Watching him, Agreth’s uncertainty returned. This was the man that Oslang called his leader? What was he doing?

Finally, Andawyr bent down, made a snowball, placed it carefully on top of his handiwork and stood back to admire the result-a tiny snowman.

‘There,’ he said, beaming. ‘Isn’t that splendid?’ He saluted the small figure. ‘Enjoy the view little fellow. Enjoy the peace and quiet. No one will disturb you when we’ve gone. Have a happy winter. Light be with you.’

Brushing the caked snow from his arms, he turned to Agreth who was struggling to keep his doubts from his face. Andawyr laughed. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m still here. But the day I can’t appreciate being eight years old, will be a sad one for me.’

Then he was off again, as briskly as the snow would allow. ‘Come on,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘We’ve a long way to go yet.’

Agreth patted his horse hesitantly, as if for reassur-ance, then set off after him.

Later in the day, the snow stopped falling and the sky lightened a little, bringing more distant peaks into view, which Andawyr dutifully identified for Agreth on his map. They walked on slowly and carefully, some-times talking, sometimes in silence, sometimes just concentrating where they were putting their feet as they negotiated steep and treacherous slopes.

As they walked, however, they moved gradually downwards, away from the colder heights, and the snow became less deep. Eventually, reaching the valley floor, Agreth announced that they could ride for a spell, and Andawyr found himself astride the horse in front of the Muster rider.

‘Feel like an eight-year-old again?’ Agreth asked, laughing.

Andawyr looked down nervously at the snow-covered ground passing underneath his dangling feet. It was much further below than he had imagined when he had been looking up at the horse. ‘It’ll take me a little time,’ he said dubiously.

Agreth laughed again.

Being able to ride from time to time enabled them to make good progress, and late in the afternoon Andawyr professed himself well pleased. Towards nightfall, however, the snow started to fall again, and the wind rose suddenly, obliging the two men to make their camp in some haste. As they pitched Andawyr’s tent, the landscape around them slowly began to disappear in a whirling haze.

At last, Andawyr ushered Agreth into the tent and then struck the beacon torch with some relish. As he joined him inside he found that the Muster rider was examining one of the radiant stones.

‘These have been baked, without a doubt,’ he said in a tone of irritated regret, throwing the stone back with the others. ‘You should have a word with whoever does your buying.’

‘I will,’ Andawyr replied, a little more tersely than he had intended, then without hesitation he ignited the stones as he had the previous night.

Agreth started at the sudden flare of light, his face suddenly fearful.

‘I’m sorry,’ Andawyr said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just… ’

‘I know what it is,’ Agreth interrupted. ‘It’s the same power that Oslang knocked Drago down with. The same power that Oklar used on Vakloss.’ He looked dis-tressed. ‘You saved my life and I feel no harm in you-nor does my horse, and he’s a far better judge than I am-but I am afraid of that.’ He pointed to the stones. ‘It’s terrifying.’

Andawyr stared into the warm comfort of the stones. The sudden tension inside the tent was almost palpable. Only the truth could ease it, he knew. ‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said after a long silence. ‘It is terrifying. But not here, not in this tent. Here it’s warmth and light. You don’t need to be told that the essence of a weapon lies in the intention of the user, do you?’

He looked up at Agreth, his face stern. ‘We’ve hard times ahead of us, Muster rider,’ he said. ‘We must learn to see things the way they are, with our fear acknowl-edged, but bound by our judgement. Fear this power as you would any other weapon; when it’s used against you by your enemies, not when it brings you aid and comfort in the darkness.’

Agreth was unconvinced. ‘My head accepts what you say, but here… ’ He patted his stomach and shook his head. His face contorted unhappily as he searched for an explanation. ‘I don’t understand what it is,’ he said finally. ‘And how can I defend myself against such a power when it is used as a weapon?’

Andawyr looked into his eyes, and then returned his gaze to the stones. Again, only the truth was safe. ‘You can’t, Agreth,’ he said quietly after another long silence. ‘You can’t. Only I and my brothers can protect you.’

Agreth stared at the prosaic little man with the squashed nose; the little man who made snowmen in the middle of nowhere and who was nervous on a horse.

‘Are you enough?’ Agreth said after a brief hesita-tion.

Andawyr shrugged. ‘Who can say?’ he replied. ‘But that’s a two-edged question. Are you enough in the Muster to protect us against the swords and arrows of Sumeral’s mortal army, when we’re extended to our full protecting you against His Power and that of His Uhriel?’

Agreth looked at him intently, then he too shrugged.

Andawyr leaned forward. ‘We’ll all have our sepa-rate parts to play,’ he said. ‘And we’ll all be dependent on one another as well. We must learn each others’ strengths and weaknesses-what we each can and can’t do-and we must learn to trust where full understand-ing is not always possible. What else do we have?’

Agreth nodded pensively and the tension seemed to ease. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said. ‘Oslang said more or less the same.’

Despite himself, Andawyr chuckled. ‘I should imag-ine he did,’ he said. ‘A Goraidin’s knife at your throat could breed great eloquence, I’m sure. Poor Oslang.’

Agreth stared thoughtfully at the radiant stones. ‘It’ll take some getting used to,’ he said. ‘But you are right. Without your power, we’d be having a very uncomfortable night tonight, even maybe at risk of dying. And what would be the consequences of that? I’d probably be no great loss, but the leader of the Cad-wanol…?’ He let the question hang. ‘So just keeping us warm here is using this terrible power of yours-whatever it is, or whoever’s it is-to oppose Him already.’ He lay down and gazed up at the roof of the tent. ‘These flickering stones are the lights of the vanguard of the army that will come forth to meet the Great Corrupter,’ he said with mock rhetoric.