Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

‘They’ve changed a little?’ Isloman suggested.

Dacu nodded. ‘They’ve changed a lot,’ he said. ‘And it’s sad really. On the whole I’d rather have them as objects of mild entertainment than like that.’ He inclined his head towards the now distant forest where the encounter had occurred.

Dacu’s tone brought an old memory back to Islo-man. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I’ve not seen people looking like that since the height of the War. They looked very grim… weary inside.’

‘Over-training,’ Dacu said unequivocally, his face concerned. ‘Just another reaction, I suppose. Too far one way, then too far the other. Balance is a difficult thing.’

Isloman agreed with this diagnosis, but both men knew that they could do nothing about it and that little was to be gained by fretting over the idea. ‘It’ll settle down,’ Isloman said reassuringly, then in an attempt to draw Dacu from his passing melancholy he appealed to his professional judgement. ‘Mind you, they were quite impressive.’

The device worked. Dacu pursed his lips. ‘Not bad,’ he said, relaxing. ‘Not bad at all.’

‘Not bad,’ said Gavor, mockingly. ‘You never even saw them coming, dear boy.’

Dacu eyed the bird narrowly. He was about to make the excuse that they weren’t actually in enemy territory when he caught the amusement in Isloman’s face.

‘Yes, all right. I’ll admit that,’ he said. ‘And they hedged us in very neatly. To be honest, I’d never have thought that Hreldar’s bunch could have been made so capable so quickly. It was a commendable effort. Still,’ he added critically, ‘they should’ve had their archers ready in case we made a dash for it.’

Gavor yawned disparagingly. ‘Do you want me to have a look around?’ he asked, condescendingly.

‘No thank you, Gavor,’ Dacu replied, courteously, but with an ironic edge in his voice. ‘You husband what’s left of your flagging energies for the mountains, old fellow.’

Gavor, who was indeed beginning to nod again, opened one eye and examined him narrowly. ‘It’s no trouble, dear boy,’ he said menacingly through his closed beak.

Dacu chuckled.

However, Isloman noted, Dacu became noticeably more alert as they moved through Darek’s estate.

‘Don’t worry,’ Isloman said, patting his pouch. ‘We’ve got Lord Eldric’s pass, and we’re still among friends, aren’t we?’

Dacu looked straight at him. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But we amp;mdash I amp;mdashmade a mistake in that forest. I should’ve seen them coming. We’ll have to sharpen up. There’s no reason to think Dan-Tor will have men out looking for us in the mountains but I’d rather our safety rested on our wits than a piece of paper. It’s unlikely to impress a Mathidrin patrol, is it?’

Isloman concurred. The Goraidin was correct. Should they have to fight or flee, he was burdened with Hawklan, and Tirke was of unknown and slightly suspect mettle. Eldric’s last comment about the young man had been equivocal. ‘He’s a good enough soldier, and true enough deep down, I’m sure. He’s quietened down a bit these last few months and been a great help to Jal, but… ’ His nose wrinkled uncertainly. ‘He needs some rough edges knocking off yet. See what you can do on the way.’

Avoidance would thus have to dominate their pro-gress. True, Gavor would be invaluable, but it had become an unofficial rule among the Goraidin that, except in emergencies, he should be used only for confirmation of their own observations.

‘Where will we be when you leave?’ Yatsu had asked some time ago. ‘Lost, Isloman. Lost, if we start relying on Gavor for every little observation. We’re all slow enough after all these years, without voluntarily neglecting our basic skills.’ Isloman could only agree with this sentiment although Gavor subsequently began to affect an injured disdain from time to time.

Eventually the group came to the extreme south of Darek’s estate, where, in a pre-arranged cache, they found two pack horses and extensive supplies. Dacu looked at the supplies appreciatively. ‘These should see us through the mountains, provided winter doesn’t come too early,’ was his immediate reaction. However he began to check through them meticulously.

Gavor ‘helped’. As Dacu and Isloman spread the supplies out on the ground, he walked proprietorially among them, turning over for detailed scrutiny such packages and boxes as took his fancy, and wantonly discarding the less interesting ones.

Every so often he would find something of special interest and would execute a small hopping dance, saying, ‘Ah, party time.’

Finally he alighted on Dacu’s head, nodding and muttering knowingly as the Goraidin checked each item for the last time. Dacu glanced at Isloman, but the carver shrugged off any responsibility for the bird. In the end Dacu reached up to dislodge him, only to receive a sharp blow on the back of his hand for his pains.

‘Careful, dear boy. You’re making me lose count,’ came the reproach.

When finally the supplies were packed to Dacu’s, and Gavor’s, satisfaction, Dacu walked to the top of a nearby rise and looked up at the peaks dominating their position. Directly south but still high above them lay the entrance to the pass that would set them on their way to Orthlund.

He stood for a long time in silence, then he looked at the sky, and sniffed the air. Isloman joined him. ‘Any problem?’ he asked.

The Goraidin shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing special.’ He paused. ‘There’s a chilliness about, though. I think we’ll trim our rations. Just in case.’

Isloman looked at him quizzically. Sunlight fell warm on his face and bare arms and etched the mountain peaks sharp and clear against a blue sky. It was a splendid summer day with no hint of winter that he could feel. Yet who was he to dispute with this seasoned warrior travelling in his own land?

‘Whatever you say,’ he said. ‘It’ll do no harm.’ He patted his stomach. ‘We’ve been living well enough of late.’ Then, nodding towards the mountains, he said, ‘Shall we go? We may as well make the most of this weather while we can, and I’ll wager it’ll take us a large part of the day just to reach that valley.’

His estimate was almost correct and the evening found them camping only a little way into the valley after having spent the day toiling steadily up the long slope that led to its entrance.

As he had done on all other evenings, Dacu spread out his map and, in the gentle torchlight, they worked out where they should travel the following day. Isloman knew that Dacu was familiar with the earlier part of the route and that this was largely for the benefit of Tirke. He was impressed by Dacu’s subtle patience. As with most things associated with the Goraidin, though, he found it was double-edged.

‘The lad’s unsure,’ Dacu said to Isloman sympa-thetically, as they continued their journey the following day. ‘And he’s a long way from his own fellows. He’s bound to be a bit spiky. It’s important he learns as much as we can teach him on this trip.’ Then, without any change in tone, came the harsh realism. ‘Besides, if we get snow-bound we’ll need no passengers.’

He was less impressed by Dacu’s insistence that he and Tirke should keep their own journals of their daily travels. ‘This is vital,’ Dacu said, before any protests could be raised. ‘It’ll sharpen your powers of observa-tion, and the three books together will be invaluable to any… future travellers.’

Isloman noted the hesitation. ‘Such as an army?’ he asked.

‘Such as an army,’ Dacu confirmed, offering him a blank book. ‘Or anyone who finds our bodies,’ he added, with a laugh.

As each day passed, the terrain became more diffi-cult and they rose steadily higher and higher. For increasingly longer periods, Dacu decided that they should walk rather than ride.