Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

A knock at the door interrupted him.

‘Come in,’ Urthryn said.

The door opened to reveal Drago escorted by two large men in Muster livery. Urthryn motioned them forwards.

‘You’re not the only one with instincts, Goraidin,’ he said to Olvric. ‘I thought we’d be needing this one eventually. Let’s question him together.’

Drago scowled as he caught this remark, then laughed scornfully. ‘Question?’ he said. ‘You?’ He laughed again, then struck his chest with his clenched fist. ‘I’ve sailed through seas with waves twice the height of this building, through winds that’d pull your hair out by the roots, seen lightning burn half my crew to blackened cinders and known weather so cold it’d freeze your eyelids shut. What could you do to make me answer your questions?’

At Urthryn’s signal, the two guards ushered Drago to an empty seat and pushed him into it. He looked oddly incongruous, seated, rugged and blustering, in the midst of the quiet elegance of the Ffyrst’s chamber. His bombast faltered slightly, however, as he caught Olvric’s eye and his manner became at once quieter and more resolute.

‘And, anyway, what could you do to me that the Chief couldn’t do ten times worse with a flick of his hand?’ he asked.

‘Which chief’s this, Drago?’ Yengar asked casually. ‘Your tribe’s?’

Drago scowled indignantly and struck his chest again. ‘ I’m the chief of our tribe, Fyordyn.’

Yengar looked puzzled, then shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, disparagingly. ‘You might have your own ship. Perhaps even be your chief’s right hand. But you’re no chief. The few I met in the war bent the knee before no one, and you were so scared of yours you were prepared to burden yourself with a pregnant woman when anyone in his senses could see it was folly.’

For an instant, Drago looked as though he was about to leap at Yengar, but something restrained him.

‘The war was twenty years ago,’ he said. ‘Things have changed since, as you’ll find out soon enough, believe me.’

‘You mean your raiding parties will sweep ruthlessly across Riddin, except when they have to run back to their chiefs with any pregnant Muster women they come across?’ Yengar said, chuckling.

Drago’s eyes blazed, but again he restrained himself.

‘Raiding parties!’ he sneered. ‘Our armies will sweep across Riddin, because we won’t quarrel amongst ourselves this time and because we’ll not have to flee after our islands.’

‘I don’t want to rake over dead ashes, Drago,’ Yen-gar said, almost offhandedly. ‘I appreciate you’ve had to make your own excuses about why you lost, just to be able to live with yourselves. But lose you did, and you’ll lose again every time you come. Let’s be honest: your people are brave, but they don’t have the skills to cope with disciplined troops.’ He gestured towards Urthryn. ‘The Muster are more active than ever now, and if you come in force again, our people and the Orthlundyn will be over the mountains without any delay this time.’ He leaned back, relaxed. ‘And even if you’ve got faster ships, you’ll still have to leave when the tides carry your islands too far away. Everything’s against you.’

Yengar’s manner had become increasingly disdain-ful and casual as he spoke but, unexpectedly, Drago did not rise to his subtle taunting.

‘That was twenty years ago, High Guard,’ he re-peated, shaking his head, knowingly. ‘I told you, things have changed. We’ve learned how to fight your way.’ He waved his hands about. ‘In lines and squares. And our islands aren’t moved at the whim of the tides anymore.’

Yengar turned to Olvric. ‘I said there’d be no point talking to him,’ he said. ‘He’s just an under-chief of some kind. Blustering because a woman bested him.’ He shook his head in amusement. ‘Armies!’ he said to himself with a chuckle. ‘Lines and squares. Morlider Infantry!’ Then, with a laugh, and his hands holding imaginary reins, ‘It’ll be Morlider Muster next.’ His manner was cruelly infectious and the laughter spread round the group.

‘And how do you defy the tides, Drago? How do you stop your islands floating away?’ he managed after a moment. ‘All line up on the shore with oars, and row?’

Drago leapt to his feet furiously as the laughter rose around him. The two guards restrained him, although he did not struggle. ‘You’ll sing a different song when our fleets land and when we cut through your precious horses without even breaking step,’ he shouted. ‘As for the Fyordyn and the Orthlundyn, let them come amp;mdashas fast as they like. We’ll deal with them when they get here and then we’ll take their lands too.’

Yengar pulled a face of mock concern. ‘Riddin, Orthlund and Fyorlund,’ he said. ‘Things have changed. Your chief must be quite a big talker.’

Surprisingly, Drago’s anger fell from him, and for an instant he looked frightened. ‘I wouldn’t be too free with your abuse, if I were you,’ he said, sitting down again.

Yengar’s mood changed with the Morlider’s and he looked sympathetic. ‘He frightens you, Drago?’ he said, seriously.

Drago looked at him uncertainly. ‘All leaders frighten those they lead, Fyordyn. Even in your country.’

Yengar made no comment but leaned forward, con-cerned. ‘Drago, look around,’ he said. ‘We’re none of us children. We know something of your ways. Your tribes are fiercely independent. You said yourself that they quarrelled amongst themselves even during the war. It’s just not possible for one tribe to do what you’ve described, however fearsome a leader they might have.’

Drago did not reply.

‘And, realistically, do you seriously expect us to believe that you can stop your islands following the flow of the tides?’ Yengar concluded.

Drago looked down. ‘I don’t give a damn whether you believe it or not,’ he said softly. ‘You’ll find out soon enough when his heel’s on your neck as well.’

Yengar looked at him shrewdly. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘That’s it, is it? One of the tribes on your island has conquered the others and forced you into some kind of alliance.’

Drago turned away from him.

‘What’s this chief called, then?’ Yengar continued. ‘Which tribe did he come from?’

‘I’ve said enough,’ Drago replied. ‘I’ll tell you noth-ing further. Take me back to my men.’

Yengar and Olvric exchanged glances. Yengar’s casual and seemingly irrelevant probing had yielded all it could for the moment; another approach could now be tried.

‘Let him go,’ Olvric said caustically. ‘He’s just an-other loud-mouthed ruffian, full of wind and sea-water. They’re all the same.’ He gestured towards Sylvriss. ‘One good woman’s worth a dozen of them, fancy new chief or not.’

Drago’s eyes narrowed at Olvric’s tone. ‘You won’t be so brave when you look into his face, Fyordyn,’ he said menacingly.

Olvric sneered. ‘Nasty stare, has he?’ he said. ‘Well, it wouldn’t take much more than a stern look to intimi-date someone who lets his men do infantile tricks like Symm did with his biiig knife. How’s his toothache, by the way?’ He smacked his fist into his hand and laughed scornfully.

Drago gripped the arms of his chair, goaded by Olvric’s tone. The Goraidin sneered again and, holding out his hands, palms upwards, mockingly beckoned him forward. Drago snarled at this further taunt then leapt up before his two guards could prevent him.

Three strides would have brought him to Olvric, but he had scarcely completed one when he staggered backwards as if a great blow had struck him in the chest.

There was a collective gasp from everyone in the room. No one had touched him.