Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

As she listened to the soft rise and fall of the sleep-ing Isloman’s breathing, she found her eyes being drawn towards the edge of the copse, looking for the shadow that would be the pursuing Rgoric seeking her out. That he could not possibly have ridden as fast or as far as they had that day, she knew, but still she looked. He would be out there somewhere, striving to come near to her as desperately as she was moving away from him.

Then she found her mind living sunlit future days with him, hopeful and tender. She pushed the thoughts away fearfully, glancing round as if to see whether some malevolent sprite of providence might have caught them. Overhead the trees fluttered against the darkening sky reminding her of the great tree in the Crystal Room where she had taken Dilrap as her ally in her new intent against Dan-Tor. Abruptly her throat tightened and she felt tears forming in her eyes. ‘No,’ she whispered softly to herself as she tried to hold them back.

‘Don’t be afraid of your fear, dear lady,’ said a voice, soft and gentle in the shadows. It was Gavor.

There was such compassion in his voice that it overwhelmed Sylvriss’s restraint utterly and with a little sob, she dropped her head on to her knees and let the tears of months flow silently down her face.

As her low sobbing gradually faded, she leaned back and, resting her head on the tree trunk stared up at the stars beginning to litter the sky. They were streaked and unfocussed and she lifted her hand to wipe her eyes.

‘Here, dear girl,’ Gavor said. He had left his sentry post and was standing by her side holding a kerchief in his beak. ‘It’s Hawklan’s,’ he said. ‘He won’t mind you borrowing it.’

The incongruity of Gavor’s words made Sylvriss smile unsteadily, and taking the kerchief she wiped her eyes until the stars above were sharp and clear.

‘Who are you, bird?’ she asked, after a while, her voice uncertain through her aching throat.

‘Hawklan’s friend,’ replied Gavor, turning away and returning to his vigil.

‘But… ’

‘Rest, Sylvriss,’ Gavor said before she could continue her question. ‘Serian won’t allow you much time.’

‘I can sleep while I ride,’ Sylvriss objected.

‘Rest anyway,’ Gavor replied. ‘We’ve some way to go, and plenty of time for talking.’

Sylvriss, however, could sleep only fitfully. Fear for her husband weighed too heavily, as if when she slept Rgoric was in some way unguarded.

When Isloman awoke, he was alert and aware al-most immediately. The first thing he saw was Serian standing at the edge of the copse, black and solid through the darkness. Gently he touched Sylvriss’s arm and she wakened with a slight start.

‘We must go now,’ he said, standing up and stretch-ing. Sylvriss struggled to her feet slowly and ungracefully as her sleepiness and the stiffness caused by her unusual sleeping position multiplied her aches and pains mercilessly. She shivered.

‘It’s too dark for safe riding,’ she said.

Isloman was bending down to pick up Hawklan. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’ll not travel as quickly, but we’ll make good progress.’ Reaching the waiting horse, Isloman breathed deeply and savoured the cool night scents. His brief sleep had refreshed him considerably and despite the worries that still fretted him, he felt less lost, more hopeful.

He became aware of Sylvriss moving uneasily to her horse. ‘I needed that rest,’ he said casually. ‘How are you?’

‘Dreadful,’ she replied crossly, ignoring his offered hand. ‘Mount up.’

A bright but narrow moon illuminated the night, though not greatly, and as they rode steadily through the darkness Sylvriss found that she had to trust Serian as blindly as she had previously advocated to Isloman. It was not easy, and it took her some time to refrain from snatching nervously at her horse’s reins when occasion-ally the tree-shaded darkness seemed to close about her like blindness. As before, Serian was setting the pace but now, Sylvriss noticed, Isloman was holding his reins lightly and sitting very easily as he gazed at the road ahead.

Gavor was perched on Isloman’s shoulder, and in an attempt to draw her mind away from the strangeness of the journey, Sylvriss spoke to him. ‘Did you see any riders pursuing us, Gavor?’ she asked self-consciously.

Gavor turned to look at her, and his black eye shone bright in the faint moonlight. ‘No, dear girl,’ he said. ‘But I wasn’t looking that way. I was looking for patrols ahead. Nothing behind was going to catch us.’

Dilrap had chosen this road because it was seldom used and was thus presumably infrequently patrolled. However, it was a presumption, as he was not privy to the operational schemes of the Mathidrin, and Sylvriss was a little shocked to find that she had let the Mathidrin and their patrols become so slight in her considerations after leaving the City. True, it was understandable. More pressing problems had domi-nated the journey from the outset, with the earth-shaking roar that had nearly lost her mount, then her frantic and painful encounter with her new companions, and the strange and terrible things that they had told her of. Nevertheless, understandable though it might be, it was not excusable. She had been careless, and carelessness in these new times might prove disastrous.

Then another thought came to her in the wake of her self-reproach. As Gavor had said, nothing behind could catch them, but what of Rgoric and Eldric? They could be caught. She drew in her breath sharply as the thought struck cold to her heart.

‘What’s the matter?’ Isloman said, without taking his eyes from the road ahead.

‘I’d forgotten about the patrols,’ she confessed. ‘I hope Rgoric and Eldric don’t run into any. They’ll be less able to outrun them than we are.’

Isloman nodded. He could offer little reassurance. Travelling with the two Goraidin, he and Hawklan had seen no Mathidrin on their journey to Vakloss, but then they were travelling over the countryside, well away from any roads. And he recalled Yengar’s surprise at the number of Mathidrin that had apparently been used to occupy the city on the night of Eldric’s arrest at Lord Oremson’s. Perhaps Dan-Tor had called in all his resources to ensure that he could contain any difficul-ties that would arise from this treachery?

He was about to mention this possibility when he recalled also that a small patrol had seen Yengar and Olvric leaving the City and had pursued them relent-lessly across the country until they themselves were killed or captured. He realized the Queen had not been alone in her complacency.

‘They’ll have to fend for themselves,’ he said regret-fully, after a pause. ‘But you know your husband, lady, and from what I know of Lord Eldric, he’s a resourceful man, not given to foolishness. The best we can do for them is reach Lord Eldric’s and let them know what’s happening.’

Sylvriss did not reply. Isloman’s summary had been gentle, but brutally accurate.

They rode for the remainder of the night in silence. Isloman peering into the moonlit shadows ahead, gently touching Serian’s reins from time to time, and Sylvriss wilfully turning away from thoughts of events that she could not influence so that she would not burden her horse with her doubts. It was trusting Serian, she must trust it. Gavor slept.

Gradually the clear depths of the night sky faded into an untidy grey dawn, and with the light came a breeze that brought in low leaden clouds and squalling showery rain.

The two riders pulled up their hoods and the note of the steady drumming hooves changed as the horses began to splash through puddles forming in the uneven road surface. Free of his responsibilities as guide, Isloman became once again a little more ill at ease on his mount, though Sylvriss noted he was far more relaxed than he had been the previous day. To her surprise, she found herself admitting that he rode remarkably well amp;mdashfor an outlander.