Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

‘Don’t move,’ said a soft voice needlessly.

Without turning his head, the line leader cast a sideways glance at his captor. ‘I was coming to apologize anyway, Goraidin,’ he said. ‘A night’s sleep makes a difference.’

The knife disappeared and Olvric laughed.

‘It does indeed,’ he said. ‘The Morlider caught us both by surprise, I suspect.’

The line leader nodded his head in agreement, then shook it to decline Olvric’s beckoned invitation to enter.

‘We must talk,’ he said simply. ‘Will you join me for a meagre portion of cold field rations?’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Yengar, sitting up. ‘Too long in the saddle eh, line? Does that mean it’s going to be short commons all the way to Dremark?’

The line leader looked appreciative. The Fyordyn would decline to eat well while their rescuers fasted; it was a heartening gesture.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Perhaps only for a day. I’ve sent mes-sengers out with the news of the capture of the Morlider and asking for more supplies. I told them to make no mention of your arrival. I thought that best until I’d spoken with you. The unexpected arrival of the Ffyrst’s daughter with such a small escort obviously betokens trouble somewhere.’

Olvric nodded.

‘Be quiet and shut the door,’ someone said sleepily.

The two Goraidin exchanged a glance and then joined the line leader outside. Before leaving however, they folded back the entire front of the shelter.

As the three walked through the wakening camp, the line leader introduced himself. ‘I’m Girvan,’ he said. ‘Girvan Girvasson, brother to Girven, head of the third house of Orness in the Decmill of Westryn, cousin to Rannag, daughter of… ’

Yengar laid a hand on his arm. ‘Please forgive us,’ he said. ‘But Riddin lineages bewilder us Fyordyn at the best of times and, to be honest, both Olvric and I have difficulty beyond our own first cousins. Girvan will suffice.’

Girvan looked at him uncertainly for a moment, then he nodded significantly. ‘I take no offence,’ he said. ‘I seem to remember some such problem with Fyordyn in the past.’ He wrinkled his forehead in concern. ‘It must make your lives very difficult,’ he added.

‘We manage, Girvan,’ Yengar said. ‘We manage.’

Girvan led them to one of several large tents. Inside was a scene of modest chaos as its occupants were rousing themselves and preparing for the day with varying degrees of stoicism and dignity. They all stopped and stared as the two Goraidin were ushered in, but the brief unease passed as Girvan appeared behind them.

‘Riders,’ Girvan called out. ‘I need to talk to our friends.’

Without debate a space cleared around what Yengar took to be Girvan’s sleeping area. Girvan beckoned to a young woman nearby. ‘Lennar,’ he said. ‘Could you fetch us whatever the cook’s managed to scrape together this morning?’ He held up three fingers.

The woman nodded and smiled, and pushed past them to reach the entrance. As she passed Yengar, she looked him up and down curiously. Yengar smiled uncertainly then started, as with a resounding thwack her hand landed on his behind. It was followed by some laughter and applause from the other Riddinvolk. Yengar felt himself blushing.

‘Lennar!’ Girvan said with stern paternalism, then reassuringly to Yengar. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘She’s just skittish. You’ll have no problem while we’re in camp. Sit down, sit down.’

Yengar did so, quickly.

Girvan came straight to the point. ‘Why are you here, Fyordyn?’ he asked. ‘With the Ffyrst’s daughter amp;mdashyour Queen. And why do you ask us to keep these Morlider amp;mdashsomething we’ve never done.’

Yengar looked around the tent. People were coming and going, stowing their equipment and generally preparing to break camp. None seemed curious about their line leader’s private conference. He realized it was a protective habit that the Riddinvolk must have developed through spending much of their lives in such communal quarters.

He turned back to Girvan. ‘We can’t tell you why we’re here,’ he said. ‘At least, not yet. The Queen must tell her father first.’

Girvan frowned. ‘Yes, I forgot about your… elabo-rate… ways of discussing things,’ he said. ‘But I asked for a reason. I’ve patrolled here for years and seen little more than the odd soul who’s lost his way from the Gretmearc. Now, within a few days of one another, one of the old men from the Caves comes and tells us he has an important message for Urthryn; Morlider land for the first time since the war; and you appear, presumably out of some little used route through the mountains, escorting your Queen, no less.’ He looked intently at each of the two men. ‘The lines of the house of Orness are responsible for patrolling the northern borders,’ he said. ‘I want no precious secrets, but I need to know what trouble is following you so that I can dispose the lines properly to meet it.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ Yengar said. His Goraidin train-ing told him he must give this man the information he needed to answer these legitimate concerns. ‘As far as we know, no danger follows the route we took. Certainly no army, especially now the snows have arrived. It might perhaps not go amiss if you increase your vigilance of the more usual routes from Fyorlund, but again, I doubt any force will be coming. As for your old man and the Morlider, I know nothing.’

Lennar appeared with food. Girvan looked at her severely and she contented herself with accidentally brushing against Yengar as she reached across to hand a plate to Olvric.

Clearing his throat, Yengar answered Girvan’s other question.

‘We asked you to keep the Morlider because they too raised questions which should be answered,’ he said. ‘For one thing, they were too far inland for such a small raiding party.’

Girvan coughed, and pulled at his ear. ‘That was my mistake,’ he said awkwardly. ‘We delayed because we didn’t believe the first reports we got, then we acciden-tally cut them off and drove them this far in. It was fortunate for us all that Sylvriss ran into us when she did otherwise we might have ridden past and lost them for days.’

‘That’s one problem dealt with,’ Yengar said, look-ing relieved. ‘Their appearance here made no sense at all. But there are other matters. Their leader, Drago… spoke of a new chief; of wanting… breeding stock.’ He wrinkled his face in distaste at the expression. ‘Of their time coming soon,’ he concluded.

Girvan shrugged. ‘Words,’ he said. ‘Rhetoric. He was blowing air in front of his men. Probably didn’t like Sylvriss getting the better of him amp;mdashthey’ve some very strange ideas about women, you know.’

Both the Goraidin shook their heads and said ‘No,’ simultaneously. Olvric spoke. ‘You’re a veteran, if I’m any judge, Girvan,’ he said. ‘Why did your country ask for help twenty years ago?’

Girvan looked at him, but there was no accusation or offence in Olvric’s manner.

‘There were too many of them,’ he answered simply.

Olvric nodded. ‘Far too many,’ he said. ‘And from what we know about them, their islands are crowded with people. They can want breeding stock for one thing only. Fighters. Armies.’

Girvan looked uncertain. Olvric leaned forward. ‘Drago knew he probably wouldn’t reach the coast undiscovered, yet he was so concerned about his new Chief, that he was prepared to slow himself down and also risk being punished by you by taking a pregnant woman with him.’ He reached out and took the line leader’s arm. ‘And they have a torch, the like of which we thought existed only in Fyorlund, and which betokens no good. We have to question these people, Girvan. Find out what’s going on. I fear that our troubles and yours may be the same.’