Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Then she knelt down. ‘Do you want such a Queen, Lords?’ she said quietly, bowing her head. Eldric drew his sword and offered it hilt first to her. She laid her hand on it. Each of the Lords did likewise and Isloman remembered how they in turn had knelt before the Goraidin and the High Guards to seal such a pledge.

While Sylvriss was still kneeling, Eldric moved to the front of the platform. ‘Is this the will of you all?’ he said simply and quietly.

Isloman started visibly as a great cry burst out from the previously silent crowd. Then, spontaneously, from no source that Isloman could see, they were all singing. A rhythmic and stirring song unfamiliar to Isloman but obviously to no one else. Despite that, however, the massed voices were so powerful that he felt his pulse racing in excitement at the sound.

Then on a climactic chord the song was finished and the ordered harmony fragmented into equally loud cheering and shouting. Isloman looked round at the others on the platform. Without exception they were flushed and damp-eyed. Eldric cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Didn’t expect that,’ he said to the others. ‘Marvellous.’

Isloman turned to Arinndier.

‘It’s the Emin Rithid,’ Arinndier said, anticipating his question. ‘Supposed to have been sung by the warriors of the Iron Ring at the Last Battle.’ He was obviously deeply moved. ‘It means a great deal to us as a people. That was most unexpected. I… ’

He cleared his throat noisily and, with a nod, di-rected Isloman’s attention to Sylvriss, now rising to her feet. She sheathed Hawklan’s sword and held it out to Isloman.

‘Thank you,’ she said to him, then, to the still noisy crowd. ‘This sword must return now to its true owner, but we have swords of our own which will serve our needs well enough. I’ll leave you now to your Speaking. Let it be open and honest, and when at the end you turn your faces forward, let it be not only with the hope you’ve just expressed but in the knowledge that more than just Rgoric’s spirit lives on.’

She placed her hand on her stomach again. ‘I carry his child. Spread the word through the countryside. The line of the Lords of the Iron Ring is unbroken. Let it be a thread of brightness in these dark times, a thread to weave the rope that will bind the awful creature that would seize not only our land but our very hearts.’

The council chamber of the Cadwanol was sparsely decorated, low-ceilinged and circular with many doors around the wall; all were open. Between them, mirror stones brought bright clear window images of the surrounding Riddin countryside into the room. Rolling foothills spread out to the south like a heaving sea caught by some great whim of nature and held mo-tionless, while to the east, sparse grasslands shimmered into the distant horizon, where a thin bright line betrayed the presence of the ocean. Dominating the scene however, were the surrounding crags and peaks of the approaches to the grim Pass of Elewart; a daunting sight even in the bright sunshine that had greeted Andawyr’s awakening.

Not given to excessive protocol at the best of times, the senior brothers of the Cadwanol were almost childlike in their enthusiasm at the return of their leader, bustling around him, applauding, laughing, all talking at once, and generally impeding his progress.

Smiling broadly, Andawyr shook as many of the proffered hands as he could and acknowledged such comments as he managed to hear before finally reaching his chair of office.

‘Brothers, brothers,’ he shouted, laughing as he sat down gratefully. ‘A modicum of dignity please. Rest assured I’m as happy to be here as you seem to be to see me. There’s been many a time in the past when I’ve roundly cursed some of you, but there’ve been more of late when I thought I’d never live to see any of you again, and was the sadder for it.’

The din abated a little and he closed his eyes and luxuriated in the comfort of his chair. ‘I always thought of myself as someone who valued truly what he had, but I think that can perhaps never really be the case, try as we may. Suffice it that I value many simple things even more highly than I did, and whatever resolution I had in the past to fulfil my role here as your leader is increased tenfold.’

He smiled at the familiar faces surrounding him. Then reluctantly, he pressed on, ‘However, take your seats brothers. I’m afraid we have weightier matters to discuss.’

Subdued somewhat by the change in his tone, but still happy, the brothers moved to their respective seats arranged in a wide circle at the centre of the room. Discreetly, Andawyr watched each in turn as they settled down. As usual, all of the senior brothers were present.

There was a brief silence, during which he squeezed the remains of his nose between his thumb and forefinger reflectively, then a surge of questions welled up from nowhere and broke over him like an ocean wave and he had to lift his hand for silence.

‘After so long in the darkness, it’s a true joy to be here again, amongst such friends,’ he said, pushing himself upright in his chair. ‘But you’ll have to listen in silence a while if I’m to answer any of your questions. After that I suspect we’ll have plenty to talk about.’

The questions ebbed away.

Andawyr twisted round in his chair and, resting his head on his hand, looked round at each of his friends in turn. His battered face became thoughtful and anxious.

‘It’s odd, really,’ he said, almost to himself, ‘but the hardest question I’ve had to face over the past weeks… months,’ amp;mdashhe waved his free hand vaguely amp;mdash‘is "Why me? Why now?"’ His eyes continued their progress around the circle. ‘I’ve found no answer. Possibly there isn’t one, other than the ancient soldier’s consolation amp;mdashwe do what we do because we are where we are. For what it’s worth, as your leader, I counsel you not to accept the burden of these questions, however tempting it may seem, but to bring your minds as quickly as you can to the real, immediate and dangerous problems we face.’

Someone coughed impatiently. Andawyr eyed him narrowly. ‘I accept your rebuke, brother Ryath,’ he growled insincerely. ‘I’m blathering amp;mdashavoiding the issue. I’ll come to the point. And quickly.’

Oslang leaned forward to speak, but Andawyr stopped him.

‘I’m afraid there’s no gentle way this news can be broken,’ he said. ‘And it may as well be told quickly as slowly.’ Then he paused and took a deep breath. ‘Brothers, our worst fears have been fulfilled. The Second Coming is upon us. Sumeral is risen again. His Uhriel are abroad and probably have been for some time, doing who-knows-what harm. Derras Ustramel is rebuilt and, I presume, is growing daily with His power. Brothers, we are at war.’

Uproar filled the room the instant he finished speaking and several of the brothers leapt to their feet. Andawyr made no effort to stop the confusion, but sat motionless until, gradually, under the weight of his silence it died away. He looked regretfully at his now agitated companions.

‘Come now, my friends, this can’t be so great a shock,’ he said gently. ‘There’s been an unease growing for many years now. You all know that. We’ve all felt it, but none of us amp;mdashmyself included amp;mdashhave dared to face what we knew might have been its real cause. Now, starting with my own personal ordeal at the Gretmearc and my sudden return bearing my unexpected… attacker… circumstances have begun to force that reality on us unequivocally.’

Ryath stood up suddenly. ‘Really, this kind of non-sense is too much, Andawyr,’ he said. ‘We’ve all discussed what might have happened to you at the Gretmearc while you were in Narsindal, and while I don’t want to seem unkind, I for one feel you should rest more before you come to the Council.’