Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Relief spread over Andawyr, more comforting even than the soft sheets and the muted torchlight that covered him. It had been no dream. He was home. Not in his own room he noted, but home, without a doubt. Like most of the rooms at the Cadwanen, it was plain and simple except for a panel on the wall to his left. This was decorated with a finely painted pattern of intricately intertwined leaves and stems.

Sitting up, he reached out and passed his hand in front of the panel. Noiselessly, the pattern gently fragmented and unwound itself like an opening flower. Daylight flooded into the room revealing to him the splendid and familiar panorama of the mountains that marked the northern boundary of Riddin.

Andawyr turned his face away from the sudden brightness, and there was a cry from Oslang followed by a thud as he fell off his couch.

‘Sorry, Oslang,’ Andawyr said, as his friend, rescuer and Under-Leader of the Cadwanol struggled to his feet. ‘I thought it was still night-time.’

Oslang looked up at him blearily, then struggled to his feet and sat down on the edge of Andawyr’s bed. His high-domed and balding head slumped forward, and his right hand rose to massage some wakefulness into his eyes.

Andawyr looked contrite. ‘Sorry,’ he repeated.

Oslang stretched and yawned again. His long narrow face looked tired and worn, but happy and relieved. ‘How are you feeling now, brother Andawyr?’ he asked, emphasizing the name and title.

‘Dreadful,’ Andawyr said. ‘I’m starving… ’ His tongue protruded and retreated and his mouth twisted into an extensive moue. ‘And I’ve got a mouth like a felci’s… ’

Oslang raised an eyebrow.

‘Like a felci’s,’ Andawyr concluded, marginally peni-tent again. Oslang grunted and shuffled to a table by the bed. He poured water into a carved wooden beaker from a similarly carved jug, and offered it to his friend.

Andawyr downed the contents in one long noisy draught and held the beaker out at arm’s length. Oslang smiled. ‘In service, we guide. In service, we learn,’ he said as he obeyed the unspoken request and refilled the beaker.

Andawyr took a smaller, more leisurely drink and then placed the beaker back on the table. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘We become so learned, Oslang, we forget the wisdom to be found in simple pleasures,’ he said, leaning back and looking out at the sunlit mountains.

His face clouded abruptly and he turned back to his friend. ‘Just to be able to see, Oslang, just to be able to drink… such gifts. I’ve been so long in the darkness. You can’t imagine the agony of having the Power and not daring to use it to sustain yourself in extremity. You can’t imagine it. When… ’

Oslang leaned forward and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Relax, Andawyr,’ he said. ‘There’ll be plenty of talking soon enough. Enjoy your simple pleasures, now they’re available to you again, and take some pride that you resisted whatever you had to resist, and completed your journey safely. There’s nothing so urgent that your resting a little more will alter.’

Andawyr’s face darkened further as the word urgent brought his memories flooding back. ‘Yes there is,’ he said. ‘We mustn’t delay. We must start… ’ Oslang raised an admonitory finger, and reluctantly, Andawyr subsided. Somewhat sulkily he looked round the room again. ‘Where am I, anyway? Why am I not in my own room?’ Then, suspiciously, with a closer look at the mountains reflected in the mirror stones of the window opening, ‘How deep are we here? And how long have I been here?’

Oslang looked at him steadily. ‘You’ve been back several days, Andawyr. You were totally exhausted. As to depth, you’re on the twentieth level, for reasons I’m sure you understand.’

Andawyr closed his eyes. ‘Several days,’ he said quietly. ‘And that deep. You must have been very frightened.’

‘Cautious,’ corrected Oslang. ‘You were in a strange mood after your spectacular return from the Gretmearc with that… abomination, and your tales of Ethriss dormant, and… Him, risen again. Then you went off into Narsindal against all our advice. And you were gone so long.’ He hesitated. ‘With all that, and other signs… ’

‘You had to be certain I was what I seemed,’ An-dawyr finished Oslang’s remarks.

The tall man nodded. ‘And that you carried no cor-ruption or taint,’ he added.

‘And?’

‘You’re fine,’ Oslang said, a smile lighting up his long face. ‘Quite unchanged.’

‘You’re sure?’ Andawyr added.

Oslang’s smile broadened. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘We put you well below the twentieth level when we brought you in.’ He laughed nervously. ‘We could have bound Sumeral himself there.’

Andawyr scowled. ‘Don’t blaspheme,’ he said an-grily, suddenly leader of the Cadwanol. ‘From henceforth, that name is to be held in the awe it merits. It’s suited for neither casual oath nor dry academic debate.’

Oslang’s smile faded at this unexpected rebuke. Andawyr swept aside his sheets and swung off the bed. ‘I’m sorry, Oslang,’ he said. ‘If I’m any judge, you’ve probably nursed me yourself since you found me, and I’m sure you’ve taken every precaution for both my well-being and the well-being of the whole community. I appreciate it. But times are changing rapidly and from now on we’ll have to be truly watchful. Foolish, so-called harmless habits acquired over the years may be fraught with all manner of hazard.’

Oslang’s eyes narrowed, slightly resentful. ‘We’ve watched and treated you meticulously, Andawyr,’ he said. ‘Be assured. You’re completely recovered, and without any taint other than that which is naturally yours. I’m not oblivious to the changing times.’

Andawyr nodded dismissively. ‘I know that,’ he said. ‘But I’ve learned so much in such a short time, and much of it has been about myself. Believe me, I’m much changed, as will you be in due course. As will everyone. Everything.’

He made an airy gesture, then stretched himself and yawned lavishly. ‘May I leave?’ he said abruptly, with a smile to dissipate the unease that had grown between them.

Oslang started. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, indicating the door.

‘And my robe and cord?’ Andawyr said.

‘They’ll be in your quarters when you arrive, brother,’ Oslang replied.

The door to Andawyr’s temporary cell opened on to a large high-ceilinged hall, octagonal in shape. Like the small room he had just occupied, it bore little decora-tion, but he nodded appreciatively as he looked around. Although buried deep beneath the mountains, mirror stones in the ceiling and walls made the hall seem as though it were as high above the ground as it was in reality above the deepest explored levels of the cave system. As a result, it was bright with sunlight bouncing off its polished stone walls and floor.

Air too, moved through the caves, bringing the scents of the seasons of the mountains to all levels.

Andawyr looked through one of the window open-ings. ‘It’s very pleasant down here,’ he said. ‘Feels secure. I don’t think I’ve been this deep for a long time,’ he added pensively. ‘That’s remiss of me, really.’ Then, almost anxiously: ‘How deep did you say you took me at first?’

Oslang looked at him. ‘I didn’t,’ he said, simply. ‘But it was as deep as we dared.’

Andawyr blew a long breath and turned towards one of the broad passageways that led from the hall. That was more than caution, he thought. That was fear bordering on terror.

He hesitated as he came to the threshold of the pas-sage, looking at the symbols glowing softly on each side. The whole of the Cadwanen caves must be on Full Watch. ‘You must have been frightened out of your wits,’ he said, stepping forward determinedly.