Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

What breeze blows yet? Andawyr felt the question form around him.

Expectation, he answered, after a timeless moment. And with sure ease, he let it go.

The stillness became almost absolute. That it was flawed here and there reassured him.

Into it he formed the names of the Guardians. And around each name was the totality of his mind’s knowledge.

Share our stillness. Let us know your presence. You are needed. Your creation is threatened again.

Stillness.

Silence.

Then he was aware that he was listening to the Guardians.

‘… cannot be as it was. All things are changed.’

How long had the voice amp;mdashvoices amp;mdashbeen speaking? They were faint and distant amp;mdashtired? Weak?

Vague images formed in his mind. Three figures, as faint and distant as the voices. Or was it one figure? That they had no reality, he knew. They were images; his mind needed to accept the reality of the voices.

He let them form and change in the stillness, and he listened. ‘We are not… as we were. We sleep and… do not sleep. We are… ’

The emphasis of the last brief phrase eluded An-dawyr, but he ignored the temptation to pursue it.

‘Understand… ’

Then he was earth and water and air. Strong yet weak. Resolute yet fearful. Complete but incomplete. Lost. Searching.

Alone they were not enough. That thought was vivid. All could be lost. The sudden pain was unbear-able. Life must fight where life was assailed.

‘Ethriss.’ A cry, a plea? A recognition?

For the merest instant, his mind, the mind of the Cadwanol, touched a stirring form. But it was bound. Hidden? He sought it again, but it was gone.

Then the voices too were gone. They would not return. Lingering in the distant echoes of their passing was the sense of their need. Ethriss had to be found.

That evening, Andawyr and a few of the senior brothers sat in the Council Chamber. They had agreed before the attempt to wake the Guardians that they should meet and discuss whatever had been its outcome. However, while conscientious habit had brought them there, a meditative silence pervaded the room. The torches had been extinguished, and bright moonlight washed in through the window openings.

Andawyr stared out at the Riddin countryside, its familiar outlines subtly changed in the moonlight. An occasional night bird flew black across the tinted sky, to disappear into the darkness.

In the silence following the enigmatic passage of the Guardians, Andawyr had slowly guided the Cadwanwr back to the solid reality of the Work Hall until each was himself again. No one had spoken as the companionable silence of gathered friends gradually replaced the deep silence of their strange and unique communion. Then, without command, the gathering had quietly broken up.

Even now, so many hours later, the spoken voice seemed a coarse, inadequate means of communication.

That the joining of the minds of the Order had been a success was beyond doubt. A success the like of which had never before been achieved by the Order. But the contact with the Guardians had been strange and disturbing. What had they expected? Andawyr thought. The proud, armoured figures of children’s tales? The icy disdain of creatures too far above humankind to concern themselves further? He did not know. But he had not expected the faint, almost whispering voices with their enigmatic words. Nor had he expected the strange ambiguities he had sensed. Least of all had he expected to be suddenly as they were, sharing their vision and their concerns, and worst of all, sharing their doubts and fears.

Yet he had shared. They had allowed it. Indeed they had brought it about, for he couldn’t have achieved it. It had been thrust upon him. They had deemed it necessary that the Cadwanol understand something. Now each Cadwanwr must ponder what that was.

‘What did it mean, Andawyr?’ A soft voice echoed Andawyr’s thoughts. It was Oslang’s. Andawyr smiled in the moonlit darkness. Traces of the joining lingered still. Looking round he saw that some of the others were smiling too.

‘It means that we’re wiser than we were,’ Andawyr replied. ‘We’ve reached the Guardians, and they us. It was perhaps foolish to imagine that we could talk with them as if they were… ordinary people. But for all the strangeness of their words we know now that they live, my friends. They live. And we know that they, like we, search for Ethriss. We have allies that we knew nothing of.’ He paused. ‘But… ’

‘Put your faith in the Guardians, but keep your sword sharp,’ Ryath said.

Andawyr chuckled. ‘A Fyordyn expression I think,’ he said. ‘But apt. We’ve sought for guidance and it wasn’t what we expected, but we needn’t concern ourselves too much about that. It was guidance nonetheless and the lessons of today’s work may be years in coming.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘They may serve a purpose too subtle for our poor understanding. We shouldn’t forget that we’re their servants, not they ours.’ Gently he slapped his hands together. ‘The lessons of history, however, we know already. Tomorrow some of us go back out into the world, to listen and learn and teach.’

‘And to search for this man, Hawklan?’ someone said.

Andawyr nodded. ‘Above all to search for him. He is Ethriss as I live. And he is vulnerable.’

He paused. ‘He must be found, or we’re all lost.’

Despite his immediate concern about the long journey to Anderras Darion which lay ahead, and his continuing concern about Hawklan, Isloman found the first part of the trek relaxing and pleasant.

There being no great urgency in their errand, the party was able to travel at a steady and unhurried pace for several days as they moved generally southwards, leaving Eldric’s estate and passing through Arinndier’s, Hreldar’s and finally Darek’s.

Maintaining the quiet secrecy of their departure from Eldric’s, they travelled through the hilly grasslands that skirted the mountains, in preference to taking a somewhat easier route through the more fertile and populous plains below. They had no difficulty in avoiding such few people as worked this harsher terrain.

Only as they were about to move from Hreldar’s estate to Darek’s did they encounter any difficulty when, passing through a forest, a group of Hreldar’s High Guards emerged suddenly and surrounded them.

‘Whoops,’ said Gavor, waking with a start.

The Guards had a driven and stern look about them and would have detained the group had not Isloman eventually shown them the document that Eldric had provided for such contingencies. It did not identify them, but it gave them unequivocal right of way and was signed by all four Lords. Suspiciously, the High Guards parted to let them through, but kept them in sight until they were well clear of Hreldar’s estate.

As they rode away, Tirke gave voice. ‘They’d no right to stop ordinary travellers like that,’ he blustered. ‘It’s disgraceful. Lord Eldric would never have allowed such a thing. When we get back I’ll… ’

Dacu scowled. ‘Shut up, Tirke,’ he said angrily. ‘Un-til you’ve something worthwhile to say.’

The young man looked set for an equally harsh response, but seeing the expression on Dacu’s face he thought better of it and dropped back a little way sulkily.

‘You seem upset,’ Isloman said to Dacu after a while.

Dacu looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘I am, in a way. I was just thinking. Hreldar’s High Guard used to be a fine troop once, then he turned them into virtually a purely ceremonial group. Quite a lot of Lords did actually… some kind of reaction after the Morlider War we thought at the time.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Now we can lay it all at Dan-Tor’s feet, can’t we? Anyway, we used to have some fun laughing at their fancy liveries and silly drill displays whenever they appeared at the tournaments, but now… ’ He shrugged unhappily.