Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Isloman was suddenly wide awake. Some caution closed his eyes to the narrowest slit almost immediately. Without moving, he could see the horses and the inert forms of Dacu and Tirke, and he could feel Hawklan by his right-hand side. But to his left, something moved.

As Isloman had said, Yengar, Olvric and the four High Guards appointed by Eldric to escort the Queen to Riddin found themselves slipping further and further behind her as she galloped relentlessly away from Eldric’s stronghold.

The two Goraidin exchanged concerned looks, but the High Guards, more used to Sylvriss by dint of their occasional Palace duties, seemed highly amused.

‘You may as well slow down,’ said Kirran, the most senior of the four. ‘She’ll stop when she’s ready and if we keep on like this we’re not going to last half a day.’

Yengar scowled, then blew out his cheeks in resigna-tion. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten how the Muster used to ride. Slow down. We’ll trot, and hope she remembers us soon.’

Some while later they caught up with the Queen, now walking. She smiled as they fell in on either side of her. ‘Sorry,’ she said simply. ‘I forgot.’

Yengar could do no other than respond to the smile with his own, but Eldric had given him charge of the group and the incident could not be allowed to pass unremarked.

‘Majesty,’ he said pleasantly. ‘If you could manage to stay with us, I’d appreciate it. Particularly as we move further into the mountains. We’ve some difficult terrain to pass through and we can’t afford to have anyone hurt through travelling carelessly.’

The Queen bridled a little. ‘I don’t ride carelessly,’ she said, her smile fading.

‘No, Majesty,’ Yengar replied without a hint of apol-ogy. ‘But we would if we tried to ride like you do.’

The Queen’s smile returned. ‘I accept your rebuke, Goraidin,’ she said. ‘I was wrong to do what I did. It won’t happen again.’

Nor did it.

The following day the group collected supplies and pack-horses that Eldric had arranged, and began their journey into the mountains proper.

Eldric’s stronghold being already in the mountains, there was, unlike Isloman’s route, no leisurely overland approach. Indeed, the earlier part of the route was quite difficult, obliging the men to dismount and walk their horses quite frequently. Sylvriss however, on her Muster mount, was able to stay mounted for much longer, a fact which relieved both Olvric and Yengar who had had ‘the delicacy of the Queen’s condition’ thoroughly impressed upon them by Eldric before they set off.

Again, Kirran, a married man with children of his own, was more sanguine. ‘Don’t fret,’ he said. ‘Babies are tougher than you think, and the Queen’s a strong healthy woman with sound instincts. She’ll not do anything foolish.’ He nodded in her direction. ‘Look at her. She’s safer on horseback over these rocks than you or I’d be in a flat field.’

That, the two Goraidin had to agree with, but Yengar in particular found his concern for the unborn child remarkably persistent. Despite his training, he found himself constantly looking towards the time when they would ride down out of the mountains on to the plains of Riddin, and, he hoped, into the care of the Muster.

It was a dangerous way for a Goraidin to think, and he knew it. Quietly, he sought reassurance from Marek, the High Guard healer chosen by Hylland and Eldric to care for the Queen. Marek confirmed Kirran’s com-ments and told Yengar what he already knew.

‘I understand your concern, Yengar,’ he said. ‘But you’ll serve the Queen and her child best by helping her to feel secure. And that means doing your job, not constantly looking over your shoulder at her with a worried look on your face.’

Yengar gave him a reproachful look at this mild caricature, and Marek laughed. ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘If you go around looking like that, you’ll have us all sick.’ Then, more seriously:

‘Listen, Yengar. For a man, I know a lot about preg-nancy and childbirth, but it never fails to humble and amaze me. There’s a tremendous… ’ amp;mdashhe searched for a word amp;mdash‘momentum for life to continue and survive. Sometimes against the most incredible odds. Believe me, in her present condition, the Queen’s personal resources are greater than they’ve ever been, and they were already considerable, as you know. The only thing that’s going to upset her is doubt about you, and your ability to get us through these mountains.’

He looked up at the peaks surrounding them, grim and harsh against a grey sky. Yengar nodded, but still seemed to be uncertain. Marek eyed him narrowly and then struck a blow he knew the Goraidin would appreciate. Leaning forward, he spoke slowly and with heavy emphasis.

‘If any problems arise with the Queen or the baby, I’m the only one who can deal with them, so you’d be better worrying about me, rather than her.’

A look of alarm passed briefly across Yengar’s face as this revelation unfolded in front of him. Marek contented himself with raising a knowing eyebrow.

Gradually, Yengar found himself more able to set aside his excessive concerns for the Queen, partly because of Marek’s comments, but mainly because of the conduct of the Queen herself. She continued to be able to ride over terrain that was forcing the men to walk, and when she did walk, it was generally because circumstances dictated a leisurely and cautious pace. In addition, she remained cheerful and helpful; a good travelling companion, he realized after a day or so.

The route to Riddin was used more frequently than the one being taken by Isloman’s party to Orthlund, but it was still little used and was ill-marked. Thus the two groups spent their evenings similarly: discussing the day’s progress, planning the following day’s, making notes on maps and, after some initial reluctance by the High Guards, writing daily journals.

As the days passed, they settled into an easy routine. At night, the Queen would superintend the bedding down of the horses, then, until they began to retire, she would share the men’s communal shelter. She talked freely about Dan-Tor and his years of scheming, and, to Marek’s relief, she talked equally freely about her husband and their happy times together.

Later, in the silence of her own shelter, as she drifted in and out of sleep, she would think also of Dilrap, alone and defenceless at the heart of Oklar’s domain, except perhaps for Lorac and Tel-Odrel, sent back to Vakloss by Yatsu to continue the mission they had had to abandon to bring back the news of the King’s murder. The memory of Tel-Odrel invariably made her clench and unclench her right hand as a small atone-ment for the blow she had struck him in her pain. Regret is a persistent thorn.

The images of Isloman and Hawklan too would come and go. She missed the carver’s reassuring bulk more than she would have imagined, but the absence of Hawklan’s strange presence left some deeper gap that she could not begin to fathom. It had the character of that left by the death of Rgoric, but it both heartened and frightened her. She had some measure of the power that had come out of Narsindal, but what might yet come out of Orthlund? And what would be the fate of those caught up in the meeting of these powers? Memories of the distant image of Vakloss raked by two converging scars of destruction persisted, rendered more vivid by the descriptions she had heard subse-quently from the Goraidin.

Despite these many distractions however, her in-nermost quiet was preserved by the knowledge of Rgoric’s child fluttering inside her. Other events would take their course independent of anything she did. Her concern now was to preserve her child. That, and to bring to the people of Riddin the news of Oklar’s usurpation of the throne of Fyorlund and all that that might imply to them.