Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Oslang raised his hand gently and when he spoke his voice was low and thoughtful, almost rhythmic. Drago leaned towards him attentively, as if he were listening to a voice that none of the others could hear. His anxious look gradually faded.

‘It sounds to me as though your leader is a fearsome fighter, Drago,’ the Cadwanwr said. ‘A man who cut his way up through the ranks of the tribe unexpectedly. A younger son perhaps? Killed his brothers?’

Drago shook his head, his manner becoming in-creasingly relaxed and calm. ‘He’s not one of us,’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea where he came from. A boat brought him from the battle shore during the war.’

‘A slave has taken charge of your people?’ Oslang asked in amazement.

Drago shook his head. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘He was a healer. He saved my old chief. Dragged him out from under a pile of bodies on the battle shore, got him to a boat and back to his ship and then nursed him until he was well again.’

Oslang nodded his head steadily. ‘And then?’ he prompted.

Drago shrugged. ‘He just became part of the tribe. Doctoring people, then advising, then tending to tribal matters when the chief was sick again.’

Yengar and Olvric exchanged glances at this brief telling, with its similarities to the progress of Dan-Tor through the government of Fyorlund.

‘Your chief’s illness kept recurring?’ Yengar asked.

Drago did not seem to hear him. Oslang repeated the question.

The Morlider nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Fighting fit one minute. Down the next. But never bad enough to be set aside by acclaim.’ He grinned, as if at old memories. ‘Any sign of any real opposition to his authority and he was out, axe swinging. Soon put paid to anyone looking to take his place.’

‘How did this Karios become chief of all the islands, Drago?’ Oslang asked softly.

Drago frowned, as if confused. ‘The chief was mur-dered,’ he said. ‘His other advisers were jealous of Karios. They turned on him for some reason… ’

‘Don’t you know?’ Oslang probed gently.

Drago hesitated, then shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I was at sea. It was all over when I got back.’ The alarm came back into his face. ‘It’s as well I was,’ he said. ‘A lot of the chief’s men died that day, one way and another, fighting for or against him… ’ He fell silent.

Oslang prompted him gently.

‘They say Karios protected him with his own body,’ Drago began again. ‘But there were too many attackers, and although they were all killed in the end, it was too late.’

‘And Karios took command?’ Oslang asked.

Drago nodded. ‘He was the only one who could,’ he said enigmatically. ‘But he was changed.’

‘In what way?’ Oslang asked.

Drago looked up, his eyes fearful. ‘He had… power,’ he said, as though the words were being dragged from him. ‘Terrible power.’ Then, anxious at even this slight betrayal of his leader, ‘But he uses it only on his enemies, those who oppose him. He’s changed many of our ways… for the better.’ His voice became strident. ‘Now we’re one people. He’s united us. Promised us our old country back.’

Oslang’s gesture prevented Urthryn intervening. Drago’s voice dropped and he became confidential.

‘He has power over the waves,’ he said. ‘Now the islands move at his will, not the whim of the tides.’

He fell silent again.

Oslang, now seemingly fully recovered from Olvric’s threat, went pale again at Drago’s last remark. He moved his hand gently from side to side, and the Morlider leaned back in his chair and fell asleep.

‘What have you done to him?’ Urthryn said, his voice low in amazement.

Oslang, preoccupied, started slightly. ‘Oh. Just de-ceived him a little,’ he said.

‘You have some surprising skills,’ Olvric said.

Oslang looked at him nervously. ‘He was frightened and alone,’ he said. ‘And his ways of thinking are simpler, more primitive than ours. Even so, it wasn’t easy. Have no fear, it’s not a device I could use on you.’

Olvric raised an eyebrow. Sylvriss looked between the two men. ‘You must understand, Oslang,’ she said. ‘Dan-Tor smashed houses, streets, people, with a wave of his hand. We’re ordinary people. We’re frightened enough by swords and spears, but these amp;mdashpowers amp;mdashthat you and he seem able to use, take us far beyond that fear and our thinking becomes primitive in its presence.’

Oslang looked at her. ‘I do understand, lady,’ he said. ‘And I’ll explain as best I can, but you must understand also: Sumeral will have to be opposed both with swords and spears, and the Old Power.’ He turned to the two Goraidin. ‘You know that, don’t you? You’d not have let me go if you hadn’t already asked your-selves how an army of men could stand against the destructive force that Oklar used against Vakloss.’

Olvric eyed him narrowly. ‘Have you the power to oppose Dan-Tor’s strength?’ he asked.

Oslang smiled ruefully. ‘To oppose, yes. To survive, no,’ he said, looking round at the others. ‘Not alone. Any more than you could oppose a cavalry charge and live. My skills, like those you possess amp;mdashriding, fighting, ruling amp;mdashare such as can be acquired by one man with a lifetime’s hard study and practice. Dan-Tor’s… Oklar’s… were acquired over generations, under the tutelage of Sumeral Himself. I’m little or nothing compared to him, but there are many in our Order and such skills as we have between us we will ally with yours to oppose Him. Your swords, our knowledge, are all we have, be they inadequate or no.’

Olvric leaned forward to speak, but Oslang contin-ued. ‘Now we have another consideration. Now we must ask whose power is it that can move the Morlider islands against the ways of the ocean?’

This abrupt reversion to Drago’s remark brought an uneasy silence to the room.

‘No riddles, Oslang,’ Urthryn said, cutting through it. ‘Let’s hear this tangled saga to its end, then we can debate conclusions.’

Oslang nodded an acknowledgement, but it was Olvric who spoke.

‘Karios barely disguises his real name,’ he said qui-etly. ‘He’s Creost the second of the Uhriel. He could be no other. Who else could oppose the tides? And his rise to power and his control over such a people parallels almost exactly that of Oklar over the Fyordyn.’ In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, he put his hands to his head. ‘Every step we take along this road sinks us further and further into ancient horrors.’

No one seemed inclined to dispute Olvric’s opinion, and the room become silent again.

Then Urthryn leaned forward and conspicuously pinched himself.

‘Just making sure I actually woke up today,’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘Unfortunately, it seems that I have.’

He sat back and surveyed his guests. ‘I said before, it was children’s tales we were listening to and I’ve not changed my mind. However, children’s tales or no, they appear to be true.’ He looked at his two advisers who had remained virtually silent throughout. ‘However ludicrous it all seems I can’t doubt either my daughter’s word or the words of two Goraidin. That, plus this fellow’s tale,’ he nodded towards the sleeping Drago, ‘and Oslang’s party tricks, set aside any serious doubts we’re entitled to.’

Agreth spoke. ‘I fear you’re right, Ffyrst,’ he said. ‘I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to laugh all this to scorn; it defies reason. But, as you say, the witnesses are too weighty by far. We can’t do other than accept what they say at its face value, ridiculous though it seems. I think all we can do after that is find out from Drago here what the strength of the Morlider is, when their invasion is due, and then make plans accordingly.’