Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Olvric, half standing, in anticipation of Drago’s assault, gazed in amazement at the sprawling figure. For all his size, the Morlider would have been no match for Olvric, and the intention in their impromptu interroga-tion had been for Yengar to intervene and rescue Drago from Olvric’s brutality.

Now the Morlider was struggling to rise as if a heavy weight were pressing down on him.

‘Get up slowly, Drago, and take your seat again.’ The voice cut quietly through the confusion. It was Oslang’s.

Urthryn looked at him sharply.

The two guards, as stunned as everyone else, bent down to help Drago, but he shook them off angrily and staggered to his feet unaided, his face riven with fear and rage. He pointed a shaking hand at Oslang and his mouth opened and shut several times before he managed to speak. Yengar frowned in sympathy with the man’s massive distress.

‘You’re the same,’ Drago managed eventually, his voice hoarse and cracked. ‘I’ll… ’

Oslang lifted his hand and Drago fell silent. ‘Take your seat, Drago,’ he said again, gently.

The Morlider did as he was bidden.

Oslang caught Urthryn’s eye and looked quickly at the guards. ‘It’s all right, lads,’ Urthryn said to them. ‘You can wait outside. I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble.’

As soon as the two men had left, however, Olvric made a brief signal to Yengar then, drawing his knife, he swung round and held it to Oslang’s throat. The movement was hypnotically fast, and no one reacted except Yengar who, at the same time, drew his sword and levelled it at Drago.

Urthryn started up, but Sylvriss restrained him.

‘Explain,’ Olvric said grimly. ‘Very quickly. Make no movement. If I feel any force acting on me, I’ll kill you without further warning.’ Oslang’s eyes widened in terror at the simple unemotional resolve in his voice and in the cold steel against his throat.

‘I’m sorry,’ he managed after a moment. ‘It was a reflex. He startled me when he jumped up. I didn’t mean to… ’ His voice faded.

‘Goraidin, you abuse your rights here,’ Urthryn said angrily, but still Sylvriss restrained him, though she too was wide-eyed and anxious at this sudden development. Yengar and Olvric had been so sensitive to her needs on their journey, tendering her many subtle kindnesses, yet now they were threatening this seemingly harmless old man. But was he harmless? Something had knocked the Morlider down. She realized abruptly that it was the Goraidin’s very sensitivity that gave them such appall-ingly clear vision and the freedom to act on it.

Olvric ignored Urthryn’s outburst, his gaze never once wavering from Oslang’s frightened face. ‘The only person we know who can deliver a blow at a distance without a weapon is Dan-Tor,’ he said quietly but coldly. ‘This one just did the same. Perhaps he too could raze a city if he wished. We can’t afford the risk of him being one of Dan-Tor’s lackeys. I’ll give him the opportunity to explain himself, but a hint of any such power again and he dies.’

‘Please… ’ gasped Oslang.

‘Are you here to do Dan-Tor’s will?’ Olvric asked simply.

‘No,’ Oslang replied, swallowing. ‘Truly. We oppose him and his Master, utterly.’

‘But you use his weapons,’ Olvric pressed.

‘Yes amp;mdashno amp;mdashthey’re not his weapons. They’re any-one’s. Anyone with the knowledge of how to use them,’ Oslang replied. ‘You could kill friend and foe alike with your dagger, couldn’t you, Goraidin?’

Olvric did not reply.

‘You’ll not face Dan-Tor, let alone Sumeral, with any chance of victory without those beside you who can use the same power,’ Oslang gasped. ‘You must have learned that already.’

Olvric’s eye narrowed, then he withdrew the knife. Oslang slumped forward and buried his face in his hands. He was shaking violently. Only Sylvriss and Yengar noted that Olvric’s hand too was shaking as he sheathed his knife.

When Oslang sat up, he was white-faced and still trembling. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, almost plaintively. ‘I’m a student of lore, not a warrior. I feel sick amp;mdashlet me have a moment to recover myself.’ He looked at Olvric. ‘You’re a terrifying man, Goraidin,’ he said softly.

‘I take no pride in it,’ Olvric replied. ‘It’s one of the more unpleasant aspects of our calling. But it’s saved my life and others’ before now. Another aspect is to use my instinct and it’s that which has saved your life. But we still need an explanation from you.’

Oslang nodded. ‘In a moment,’ he said, still dis-turbed.

Urthryn looked on doubtfully, still angry at the Goraidin’s savage threat to his guest. Only his daugh-ter’s silent support for Olvric had restrained him from calling to the guards waiting outside. Yet he too was alarmed by the demonstration of power that Oslang had inadvertently given.

‘I’ll have the Morlider taken away before we do any more talking,’ he said. ‘We can deal with him later.’

‘No, Ffyrst,’ Oslang said, anxiously. ‘With your per-mission I’d like to ask him something.’

Glancing first at Olvric, Urthryn nodded his assent.

Drago, still with Yengar’s sword at his breast, looked at Oslang like a trapped animal.

Oslang cleared his throat. ‘Why’ve you come here, Drago?’ he said gently. The Morlider did not reply. Oslang looked puzzled. ‘Just twelve of you, in that little boat. Your raiding parties used to be much bigger.’

Drago shot an anxious glance at Urthryn. ‘You have our boat?’ he asked.

Urthryn nodded, then in response to the almost paternal concern in the man’s voice said, ‘Don’t worry. It’s unharmed. We want you away from here as soon as we can. Just tell us why you were here. Did you get lost or something?’

Drago seemed grateful for Urthryn’s news about his boat but curled his lip at his last remark. ‘Lost,’ he said. ‘I’m Morlider. I don’t get lost at sea. For what it’s worth to you amp;mdashwhich is nothing amp;mdashwe were here looking for suitable landing places for our fleet.’

Urthryn’s eyes widened at this unexpected admis-sion.

Drago looked at him. ‘I’m not a fool, Ffyrst,’ he said. ‘I know what I’ve told you. But it’ll make no difference. Not this time.’

Urthryn seemed inclined to pursue the matter but Oslang spoke again. ‘Tell us about your new chief then, Drago,’ he said casually. ‘You’re a quarrelsome and fractious people if history tells aright. I’d be interested to know about a man who could bring together not only the tribes of one island, but the tribes of all the islands.’

Drago started. ‘I said nothing about that,’ he said defensively.

Oslang shrugged. ‘What else could you have meant?’ he asked. ‘You allied yourselves after a fashion last time when chance brought you together. Now I presume what Yengar said is true: one of your chiefs has taken over an entire Island. He’s also persuaded some of the other islands to join him in another assault on Riddin.’ He looked impressed. ‘It’s not the first time that a strong man has brought disparate tribes together,’ he went on. ‘And I don’t suppose it’ll be the last. But it’s rare, and the men who achieve it are usually fascinating people. Is he a young man? A great fighter in personal combat? Or is he a thinker? An organizer?’

‘It’s more likely to be an old woman,’ Olvric inserted acidly.

Drago gritted his teeth, and levelled his finger at Olvric. ‘If you were my greatest friend, High Guard, I’d drag you behind my ship for the sharks before I’d wish Karios’s attention to fall on you,’ he said viciously. Then, suddenly, he looked desperate, as if the very mention of his leader’s name were likely to bring some dire punishment down on his head immediately.