Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Ryath resumed his seat, his face pale but satisfied. Andawyr glowered round the circle. ‘Does anyone else here agree with brother Ryath?’ he asked stonily.

Oslang raised his hand immediately, and one by one so did each of the brothers, some more tentatively than others.

Andawyr’s grim look gradually faded into one of resignation. ‘You’re right Ryath,’ he said quietly. ‘I am too emotional. I’m probably off-balance after everything that’s happened if the truth be told. I apologize to you all for my outburst.’

The tension in the room eased.

‘Let’s get down to business then,’ Andawyr said purposefully. ‘We’ll work out the details later, but these are my first thoughts. We must send someone to Anderras Darion as a matter of the greatest urgency to find out what’s been happening there and, if possible, what’s happened to Hawklan.’ He turned to Oslang. ‘Have a word with the local Muster Lines, they’ll probably be willing to help us across country.’ Oslang nodded.

‘Then I think someone’s going to have to footslog through the mountains to Fyorlund.’

‘What?’ said Oslang in disbelief. ‘It’ll be winter soon.’

Andawyr waved the objection aside. ‘Details later,’ he said. ‘It’s been done before. And we’ll have to tell Urthryn down in Dremark. He’ll probably need some convincing, but at least the Muster won’t need much sharpening up. Next, we’ll have to establish watching stones along the Pass.’ He paused and breathed out noisily. ‘That’s going to be dangerous at the north end, but we can’t avoid it. We must have some eyes into Narsindal.’

‘The felcis might help there,’ Atelon intruded.

Andawyr nodded. ‘Indeed they might,’ he said. ‘We mustn’t forget our ancient allies. They could prove to be invaluable.’

He stood up. ‘Brothers, forgive me. I’d like to go to my quarters. I need to rest and meditate for a little while. Could I ask you to stay here and begin planning these journeys immediately?’

He paused as he moved out of the circle towards one of the open doors. ‘Three things remain,’ he said. ‘As Ryath has suggested. If it can be taught, I’ll teach you all I can of my new knowledge, or at least start to teach it, though Ethriss knows how. Secondly we must begin to accept that we are at war, and in great danger. Sumeral felt my presence and will suspect our existence. And Oklar will know that it was no village bird catcher that bound the eye of the Goleg and struck down the keeper of his Vrwystin A Kaethio. They’ll be searching for us constantly now. We can look to some trials of strength and cunning. Be open. Be aware.’

‘And the third matter?’ Oslang asked.

‘Yes,’ said Andawyr slowly. ‘The third matter. While we seek to marshal our physical resources, we must remember that they will be as nothing unless Sumeral and His Uhriel can be truly opposed.’

The room became very silent.

‘Brothers,’ Andawyr concluded. ‘We must go to the heart of our duty. We must seek for the Guardians and awaken them.’

The glow of the furnace further reddened Loman’s already flushed face and went on to paint his shadow grotesquely across the wall and ceiling of his forge. There, another shadow mingled with it to complete the painting and turn it into a small dark mountain range.

The acrid tang of hot metal filled the forge and the furnace murmured restfully to itself, the radiant stones occasionally chuckling and rearranging themselves in a small flurry of sparks.

Loman straightened up and wiped a grimy arm across his glistening forehead. He did not like to be disturbed when he was working.

‘What?’ he asked, irritably.

The mountains shifted ominously as Gulda, scowl-ing, lifted her head to look at him beadily. The master smith rested the head of his hammer on his anvil and, leaning on it, met her gaze. ‘I beg your pardon, Memsa,’ he said, with painstaking slowness and great insincerity. ‘I didn’t catch what you said.’

‘I said, "Do you have any children around here who can sing properly?"’ Gulda repeated, echoing his tone and manner.

Loman looked at her carefully for a moment as if still uncertain that he had heard correctly. ‘Singers?’ he said tentatively. Gulda raised an eyebrow and fidgeted with her stick.

Loman sniffed, and applied his foot to a bellows pump, making the furnace roar contentedly. The radiant stones turned quickly from red to yellow and in their waxing light Loman smiled faintly. Gulda’s eyes narrowed.

‘What in the world do you want singers for, Memsa?’ Loman shouted.

Gulda craned forward crossly to hear him.

‘Don’t answer my question with another one, young Loman,’ she shouted. ‘And stop that noise.’

As asked, Loman stopped pumping abruptly, leav-ing the forge suddenly silent. Gulda, however, continued at full volume for a moment. ‘Just tell me… ’ Loman looked at her innocently as the rest of her reply slid through an involuntary and incongruous diminuendo to a whispered conclusion, ‘… if you’ve any children round here who can sing well.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Try Otaff,’ he whispered back, before she could recover fully. ‘He looks after the Festivals. Usually manages to wring some semblance of a tune out of the raucous little devils, though don’t ask me where he finds the patience. Not our strong point really, singing,’ he added pleasantly.

Then, smiling, he turned away from her and began rattling noisily through the metallic clutter littering a nearby work-bench. Gulda eyed his back suspiciously, then, muttering something to herself, turned and clumped towards the door.

She paused at the door as if to say something, but Loman was seemingly engrossed in some task and she thought better of it.

As she closed it behind her, Loman smiled to him-self broadly.

‘Not in here, Memsa,’ he said, pumping the bellows mightily and placing a strip of metal on the glowing stones. ‘You might own the rest of the world, but there are more tricks to smithing than just shaping metal.’

Although Loman had rightly anticipated Gulda in saying that they must seek out the Alphraan, that had effec-tively been the end of his contribution. Apart from wandering vaguely through the mountains, shouting, as one might search for a lost child, he had no other inspiration as to how it should be done, and he knew better than to voice such a proposal in front of Gulda. If these… people… existed, they’d been in the moun-tains for unknown generations and wherever they lived was hidden well beyond chance finding.

Gulda, however, had been little wiser than he, and their discussion into ways and means had soon foundered. ‘Is there anything in the book that might help?’ he had suggested eventually.

Gulda had pouted thoughtfully. ‘I’ll have another look, but I doubt it,’ she had said. And that had been that, for the time being.

Then, just a couple of days ago, stepping through the wicket in the Great Gate, Loman had glanced round to see a group of apprentices anxiously holding the bottoms of three long ladders. His first reaction had been to deliver an instant and severe rebuke for what he presumed to be some prank or other, but his eye had been drawn inexorably upwards, both by the sloping ladders, and by the intensity of gathered apprentices.

At the top, stepping resolutely from ladder to lad-der, was Gulda. She was apparently examining some of the carvings on the Great Gate. Loman’s mouth fell open.

Recovering himself, he walked across to the group. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded sternly. Startled, two of the boys spun round. Loman looked skywards. ‘Don’t let go of the ladder, young men,’ he said quietly. ‘Memsa will not be pleased.’