Roger Taylor: The waking of Orthlund

Jaldaric, riding by his father, looked down at the ground and then to left and right along the widely spaced ranks of troopers vanishing into the mist.

‘We’re destroying someone’s land,’ he said.

Eldric turned to him, and Jaldaric looked at him uncertainly as if perhaps expecting some small rebuke for this almost unintentional remark.

But Eldric simply nodded. ‘We’re destroying the crops, Jal,’ he said quietly. ‘The land’s beyond our hurting.’

‘Fortunately,’ he added after a brief pause.

Dan-Tor joined Urssain on the rocky outcrop in front of the Command Post. Some way back from them stood messengers and signallers, restless with anticipation.

Immediately below them, the camp was becoming relatively calm and orderly, following the frenzy of activity that had accompanied the rousing of the various companies and their noisy dispersal to their stations on the battle line.

Dan-Tor gazed out towards the approaching army. It was now more clearly visible as the mist too had dispersed. He raised his hand to shade his eyes and then smiled. ‘I think it will take a little more than the morning sun in our faces to sway this day their way, Commander,’ he said. ‘I fear the Lords will regret their final hasty night’s marching before the sun shines in their faces.’ He chuckled.

Urssain froze.

‘Indeed, Ffyrst,’ he managed. Then, cautiously, as if the movement might offend, he raised his seeing stone to his eyes.

‘What are they doing?’ he asked, after a moment. ‘What kind of a formation is that?’

Dan-Tor did not reply.

Urssain peered through the seeing stone intently, raising a hand in front of it to shield it from the sun.

He could see pikemen and various other infantry; and there were riders; and they were in some semblance of rank and file, but… widely spaced? He screwed his eyes up and allowed himself a small inward curse; he had a far better seeing stone back in his quarters, but it was one of the old ones; the one he was using had been made in the Ffyrst’s workshops and was noticeably inferior.

Nevertheless, it confirmed the eccentric disposition of the enemy clearly enough. The Lords’ army was advancing in small groups, about eight in each, he judged, each individual standing well clear of his neighbour, and each group substantially clear of the next.

His brow furrowed. ‘They fear your power, Ffyrst,’ he said, his voice low but excited at seeing into the heart of his enemy’s intent; it was a good omen. ‘They daren’t close ranks because they fear they’ll meet the same fate as the City. It’s making them walk towards us as if they were strolling in the park. We could just… ’

He lowered the seeing stone and looked at Dan-Tor.

He had been about to say that if they maintained this formation, then a sudden, massed charge would scatter them like leaves in the wind, but it occurred to him briefly that such insolent challenging by the Lords of his master’s awesome power might actually bring that selfsame power down upon their heads. However, following the chilling, ambivalent response to his earlier reference to such a possibility he remained silent and, like a child awaiting a gift at Festival time, merely tried to will the deed from this lean, enigmatic and fearful creature to whom he had bound his fate.

But Dan-Tor gave no response, though his mind was similarly occupied.

Scorn and anger whirled inside him. You would defy me in your arrogance, Ethriss’s creatures? Me , the first of the Uhriel! His greatest servant! Who has raised mountains and rent open valleys, turned forests to deserts, drawn forth the terrible inner heat of this world to destroy whole lands and the peoples on them. Who tore the Morlider islands asunder. You would judge me by the petty spleen I vented on your miserable City, and would seek to avoid my wrath by such antics?

Involuntarily, in his anger, Oklar put forth his power, deep underneath the approaching army, until he could feel the earth shaking to their tread.

‘There he is,’ Hreldar said, his voice soft and menacing. ‘On that outcrop right above the centre of their line.’

The other Lords raised their seeing stones to follow his gaze. Eldric focussed on the tall figure of the Uhriel. It was still wearing the spartan brown robe of office that it had worn as the King’s physician and adviser. He shuddered. Even though the image was still small and distant, it seemed as though its eyes were staring straight into his soul.

Then abruptly they were rushing nearer and nearer.

Suddenly, a tremor shook the ground. Eldric tore his eyes away from the stone as his horse shied.

‘Ffyrst!’ Urssain’s voice was alive with alarm as Dan-Tor suddenly staggered and clasped the arrow in his side. Urssain stepped forward and caught his arm.

‘Are you… ’ The Uhriel turned towards him and, with a terrified intake of breath, Urssain’s words stopped and he jerked his head away from the vision that was now his master’s face. Unashamedly afraid, he screwed his eyes tight shut as if the darkness might hide him from such terrors.

He felt the Ffyrst leaning heavily on him, then a voice drew him back to the light.

‘I am well, Commander,’ it said, without explana-tion.

Dan-Tor straightened up. His body was riven with terrible pain and Hawklan’s arrow hung gleefully in his side. End these Lords here, Uhriel, it taunted. Use your vaunted earth-rending power to its full, that I may return it and in turn rend your own miserable frame with it.

Your wisdom and mercy are without bounds, Mas-ter, Dan-Tor intoned to himself inwardly, as the agony slowly began to fade.

Mindful of Eldric’s orders, the advancing army faltered.

‘He staggered!’ Hreldar cried out, turning to the others, his face alive with a furious triumph. ‘He staggered! He tried to use his power and he couldn’t.’ He stood up in his stirrups. ‘Close ranks, and halt,’ he roared. Eldric, still struggling with his alarmed horse, shot him an angry look, then his own words returned to him, ‘Use your judgement, it will be the same as mine.’ He looked from side to side. Hreldar’s powerful command was echoing along the ranks as successive officers took it up; the brief hesitation passed and purposeful activity was replacing it.

Urssain, too, watched as the disparate groups began to merge into clear, identifiable patterns in the distance. As they did so, he recalled Dan-Tor’s words, ‘Men must fight men. The new Fyordyn must prove themselves in battle if they are to be of any value to me.’ He felt an inner hope die and realized that despite his best endeavours, a large part of him had indeed expected to see Oklar revealed again, his awesome power cutting through the Lords and their army as it had cut through the City. Now he knew with frightening clarity what the words meant, and that this salvation was not to be. Something in the Orthlundyn’s arrow prevented it, though Urssain knew that to inquire about this would be to court an immediate and unpleasant destruction, favoured Commander or not.

Unconsciously he rested his left hand on his sword hilt and loosened the weapon in its scabbard.

Bringing his mind back to the present realities, his eyes narrowed. The distant army had completed its manoeuvre. It had taken only minutes. That betokened discipline of a very high order.

The logic of what he had just seen unwound itself. The Lords had known that an appalling destruction might await them at Dan-Tor’s hands, yet they had come prepared to face it. That betokened great courage. Now, in some way they too had learned that his power would not be used against them