Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Another sinister memory came to him, and he waved his hand anxiously as if to erase his questions. ‘No, no. Don’t tell me anything about yourselves,’ he said. ‘I won’t be able to keep any secrets from the creature that Dan-Tor has become if he seeks to look for them.’

The two Goraidin exchanged glances; the remark both surprised and impressed them. ‘Very well,’ said the first. ‘No names, nor any reasons why we came here originally, but now, after what’s happened, we have to get everyone away while we can.’

‘Everyone?’ Dilrap interrupted.

‘The King, the Queen, the Lord Eldric. Perhaps his son, perhaps you,’ said the Goraidin without pause.

Dilrap put his hand to his head. This was the second time these people had struck into the very heart of Dan-Tor’s domain to do him hurt. They were like water running through a mailed fist. There was so much hope in such people and such deeds. Another small inspira-tion to help him through darker days.

‘Events are moving too quickly for you, Goraidin,’ he said sadly, then briefly he told them the events of the day, his voice relentless and matter-of-fact to prevent their interrupting and to cover his own emotions. ‘You’ve done all you can do here,’ he concluded. ‘Take this news back to the Lords, and delay for nothing.’

As the tale unfolded, the men became increasingly agitated although they remained silent. When it was finished however, one of them burst out, ‘It can’t be true.’

Dilrap rounded on him angrily before he could continue. The reliving of the day had harrowed him. ‘Take the message, Goraidin,’ he said, glaring at his doubter. ‘Let others judge its worth. I saw what I saw. Why should I lie about such things? What was Dan-Tor is now Oklar, the worst of Sumeral’s Uhriel. Our King rose up whole and sound to oppose him, and was cut down for his pains.’ His face distorted as the emotion of the events started to overcome his fatigue. ‘Damn you both. I’m frightened enough as it is without having to argue with those I’m trying to help. The man is Oklar. I know it’s against all reason. I know these are children’s tales, but our King named him in his death throes, and I’ve looked into his eyes.’ He struck his chest in emphasis then, angry again, he pointed in the general direction of the destruction at the front of the Palace. ‘And could a man have done such a thing to our city?’

One of the Goraidin laid a hand gently on his shoul-der. ‘We don’t doubt you, Honoured Secretary,’ he said. ‘Other things have happened elsewhere that confirm what you say. It’s just that your news was a shock amp;mdasha terrible shock. We understand what you say and we’ll carry your message faithfully, don’t worry about that. Just tell me what the King said again. It made no sense.’

Dilrap repeated the King’s last words.

‘Nothing shall end the reign of your Master?’ said the Goraidin, echoing Dilrap’s words and shaking his head. ‘That’s a grim prophecy for us all if it was some vision of the future. What did he mean?’

Dilrap shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘He did say his words weren’t what they seemed. And there was no despair in his voice. Just a kind of… bitter… dark amusement. And he was laughing even as he died, and that creature was powerless under his gaze… it couldn’t move.’ He frowned. ‘It’s beyond me. I’ve told you, leave it to others. Just tell the tale as I’ve told you. Tell everything as I’ve told you. Now go while you can.’

His tone was final and the men were still for a mo-ment, uncertain. Then they moved to the door.

‘Shall we take you with us?’ said the first man, turn-ing back to Dilrap.

‘No,’ said the Secretary shaking his head slowly. ‘I promised the King I’d stay. I can do more here than anywhere else. Besides, this is all I know. Find me again when you need me. I’ll do what harm I can here and I’ll tell you whatever I learn.’ Then, looking into the man’s eyes, ‘But tell me nothing that would endanger others if you can avoid it. I don’t know how much time I have.’

Distress showed on the Goraidin’s face. Dilrap looked at him. ‘Tell the Queen about Rgoric gently,’ he said. ‘And tell her her husband died his true self. Quite free of his old foe, and fighting him to the end. Mocking him, in fact.’

Then the Goraidin were gone and Dilrap was alone in the silence of his room. Fatigue closed in on him again to damp down the exhilaration that he felt at this contact with the forces who would oppose Dan-Tor.

Turning, he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and shied away from the sight. Though no lover of his own image at the best of times, the bleary-eyed vision that he had glimpsed seemed to be an unnecessarily cruel caricature and he shook his head in a momentary surge of self-pity. His robe slipped awkwardly from his shoulder and resignedly he hitched it up.

‘Shall I do something with that robe of yours, Dil-rap?’ Alaynor had said to him, only a few hours previously when a hasty gesture on his part had swept a table clear of plans and papers. The remark had been made quietly and gently and was sincerely meant. At the time, he had fobbed it off with a friendly gesture. Now it seemed to be more significant for some reason. He slipped his robe off and, holding it at arm’s length, examined it critically. It was a traditional garment and wholly inappropriate for his portly figure, indeed it had been the bane of his life since he came to office. However, to continue to wear it would be to show that threads of the old ways persisted while still showing him to be the same old harmless Dilrap. But would that serve his needs? The threads of the old ways would surely be ruthlessly cut as time passed, and would there be a place for harmless ditherers in the New Order? Probably not, he decided. Chillingly, he realized that part of his worth in the future would lie in the assessment of how troublesome and inconvenient his removal would be.

For the first time in his life, he looked at the robe with affection. Then, laying it down on a table, he folded it carefully. The duty of the King’s Secretary lies in his heart not in his clothes, he thought. He would give it to Alaynor, to ‘do something with’, then he would lay it aside until it could be worn with renewed dignity and honour at some future time.

Isloman stood very still. The two arrows still quivering slightly in the nearby tree were sufficiently close together to show that the archer knew his craft. Although he had no idea where the man was, he might have risked a sudden dive for cover had he been alone, but with the Queen and Hawklan in his charge, that was out of the question.

Gavor moved discreetly into his line of sight and, cocking his head on one side, raised his spur-clad wooden leg in a gesture both incongruous and menac-ing. Isloman shook his head almost imperceptibly and mouthed, ‘Not yet.’ Not until he knew more precisely what they were dealing with. Gavor retreated and Isloman caught a glimpse of his black shadow rising up through the trees beyond.

Slowly and carefully he raised his hands in the air. ‘Muster lady,’ he whispered, very softly. ‘Do you know these cockroaches? Can you talk us out of this?’

‘I’m their Commander-in-Chief, for what it’s worth,’ came an uncertain reply from behind him. ‘But I don’t know how I can explain our being here. They’ll almost certainly want to escort us back to Vakloss.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Isloman said. ‘Just pull rank and keep talking. We’ll see what turns up.’

‘Don’t shoot,’ he shouted. ‘We’re lost. We mean no harm, and we’ve nothing worth stealing.’

There was a brief pause, then, ‘Put your club down and walk towards my voice, slowly.’