Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

She pulled up the hood of her gown so that her face was completely hidden, then leaned back and stared out over the ridges and towers of the castle, bright in the summer sun, her stick laid across her knees.

‘Loman, I must think,’ she said, her voice uncharac-teristically soft. ‘I can’t answer any of your questions. Truly. Go back to the Armoury. You’ll find the labyrinth is open again. It knew enough not to kill you, or even darken your soul. You’ll be safe. Trust me.’

Loman hesitated. ‘But Hawklan…?’ he said.

Gulda made a slight movement with her hand, part dismissal, part plea.

‘Please, Loman,’ she said. ‘Do as I ask. Then go out into the wind and light and renew yourself.’

Loman looked at her, now motionless and silent. The memory of the figure he had seen when he first entered returned to him. He looked down at his hands and wondered if his carving skills could capture it. Suddenly he missed Hawklan and his brother.

‘Very well, Memsa,’ he said.

As he opened the door, Gulda said, ‘Loman, I think we too are assailed. In your quieter moments, ponder your anger of late, and that of your people. We must be eternally watchful with these old skills we’re re-learning.’

Loman paused. The comment stirred unspoken concerns of his own. ‘I will, Memsa,’ he answered quietly. ‘I will.’

Dilrap walked wearily along the quiet, almost deserted corridors of the Palace’s private quarters. He looked down at his errant robe. It was grimed with dust. As were his hands. As was everything, he reflected. It would be pleasant to bathe, albeit briefly, and then rest safe in soft sheets and soft darkness even if it was only an hour or so until dawn. His fatigue overrode his fears about what kind of a day he might waken to. Whatever future lay ahead, this day was one he could take some pride in. He had helped the Lord Eldric and Jaldaric escape and been instrumental in helping the people of Vakloss recover themselves and draw some semblance of order out of the chaos that Dan-Tor had unleashed on them. Further, he had managed to take a small step away from his own destruction and into the service of Dan-Tor by a combination of his organizing skills and an unexpected confrontation with Urssain.

Head down and preoccupied, as he turned the cor-ner that would bring him to his own rooms he almost tripped over two men who were lying asleep on the floor. One was leaning against the wall, mouth agape, and holding the head of the other in his lap. They made an incongruous sight, looking to Dilrap like large, dirty children picnicking in a forest and, despite his tiredness, he smiled.

As Urssain had originally feared, a great many ‘in-truders’ had indeed entered the Palace, and were now to be found sleeping in a variety of places and postures. They were a mixture of exhausted helpers, sleeping wherever they found themselves when fatigue overtook them, and those frightened and homeless who had not yet been drawn into the gentle nets of order that Dilrap had been casting over the City.

Several times through the day, uncertain of his role in the work being undertaken, Urssain had pestered Dilrap about ‘all these people, wandering about’. Finally, in exasperation, Dilrap had hissed at him: ‘All these people, as you call them, are Fyordyn citizens, not thieves and robbers. The Palace is as safe with them as it is with some of your guards. Just make sure the Throne Room and the Ffyrst’s quarters are guarded.’ Then, very softly, ‘And wherever you’ve put the King’s body.’

For a moment he thought he had gone too far, but driving his nails into his palms, he held Urssain’s gaze, tempering the bluntness of his words with a look of pleading urgency in his eyes. It had worked, but Dilrap had reminded himself to win no more such victories for the time being. Very soon his value would become less evident and small acts of defiance such as that could then float to the surface to wreck the fragile vessel of his survival.

Looking down at the two sleeping men, it occurred to him that he should seek a very public opportunity to thank amp;mdashno, praise amp;mdashCommander Urssain and his men for their vital contribution to today’s rescue efforts. That should smooth down any ruffled pride and also assure Urssain that the Honoured Secretary knew his place. He nodded to himself. That would be something for tomorrow. Sometime perhaps when the Rede and the Guild Master and a few senior officers were present.

As Dilrap tucked the thought away, an eye cracked open in the dusty face of the man leaning against the wall. Its partner joined it almost immediately. Neither showed any sign of a confused and unexpected awaken-ing and, momentarily, Dilrap found his own taunt returning to haunt him amp;mdashthieves and robbers?

In the heightened awareness of his intense fatigue, Dilrap felt the man take in his total surroundings with a flicker of pretended bewilderment. Then the second man was awake, and both were standing. Again they showed no sign of fatigue. Dilrap stepped back uneasily. His first question was to have been, ‘Who are you?’ but instead he said, ‘I’m sorry I woke you, gentlemen. Settle down again if you can, it’s still a couple of hours to daybreak and you look as if you need the rest.’

Without speaking, but with a friendly nod, one of the men, yawning and scratching, walked into the junction of the corridors that Dilrap had just come round. He looked casually from left to right, then turning, he glanced significantly at his companion. Dilrap found his alarm mounting though neither of the men seemed to offer any particular menace.

Before he could clear his thoughts, the first man spoke. ‘Honoured Secretary, we must speak to you urgently.’

Dilrap was flustered. ‘If it’s about working parties… ’ he began, gesticulating vaguely in the direction he had just come. The man shook his head and, taking Dilrap’s arm, gently ushered him towards his room. He spoke again, softly and calmly, but very clearly and urgently. ‘Honoured Secretary, we’re Goraidin in the service of Lord Eldric. We know you’re to be trusted and we need your help.’

Despite himself, Dilrap twitched and hitched up his gown, his fatigue and the shock of the man’s words making him feel disorientated. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘What are you talking about?’

There was a brief flash of impatience in the man’s eyes, and the grip on Dilrap’s arm became more urgent. ‘Honoured Secretary. We’ve no time for niceties. Suffice it to say that we were with the group that released Lord Eldric and the others from the Westerclave and got them to Lord Eldric’s estate. It was the Queen herself who told our commander that you’d been her great support and were to be trusted.’ Dilrap’s mouth went dry. This was a trap! He had been betrayed! But no sooner had the thoughts occurred than he dismissed them. Neither Dan-Tor nor Urssain would now need to use such subtle tactics to expose his help to the Queen and the Lords.

They reached the door to his rooms and, opening it, he ushered the two men in. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said as he closed the door and gently threw the bolt. ‘Who’s sent you? What do you want?’ Then, as one of them started silently opening the other doors in the room, and peering through them, he added, ‘There’s no one else here.’

The man nodded and completed his search.

The first waker looked at Dilrap searchingly, causing him to remember that one of the functions of the Goraidin was the assassination of the enemy’s senior officers. Again however, he dismissed the thought. What would killing him gain for anyone? Certainly nothing that valuable soldiers such as the Goraidin would be risked for. No, these were brave men, and in need. They were no threat to him and he must help them if he could.