Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Athyr reached the rocky outcrop that he had chosen as his observation post and, making himself as comfort-able as he could, he leaned back to watch the performance of his students.

Shouldn’t be too long, he thought. It had taken him longer than he had anticipated to reach his vantage point and it had been a peculiarly draining trek, but at least the attacking group would be well under way by now and he would have less time to stand around waiting.

Looking around, he soon found his fellow observers on nearby slopes. Yrain was looking at him, her hands raised high in what he judged to be mock applause at his slow progress up the hill. He waved a fist at her, then settled back against the hard rock to begin his vigil.

The exercise they were supervising was routine enough. The small attacking group was to penetrate a larger enemy group, remove a flag to confirm their success, and escape, preferably unnoticed. The enemy group had, of course, been advised of their intention and the terrain had been chosen for its lack of cover.

The only special features about the exercise were that it was being done in daylight and it was the first the Orthlundyn had undertaken in the mountains since the encounter with the Alphraan. Accordingly, many of Loman’s Elite force were discreetly involved with it. Ostensibly they were there as observers, but Loman had instructed them secretly to be ready to evacuate the trainees quickly in the event of any action by the unseen mountain dwellers. Then, at Gulda’s insistence, he told them to go unarmed.

From where he stood, Athyr could see the enemy camp clearly. It was well placed and well guarded. He nodded approvingly. The two observers who would subsequently report on the exercise as seen from ground level could be clearly distinguished by their bright yellow jackets.

Methodically he began scanning the surrounding terrain for signs of the approaching attack group. After two thorough passes, he began to frown. He could see nothing.

Somewhat reluctantly he reached into his pack and drew out the polished seeing-stone that would enable him to see distant images more clearly.

But even with this, another pass over the area again yielded nothing. He looked down at Yrain. She too was using a seeing-stone, and her face was concerned. The attacking group were all good students, and if they acquitted themselves well enough in such a difficult daytime exercise they would be eligible to begin training for the Elite corps. But they weren’t this good! It was unlikely that they could have escaped detection by both him and Yrain under normal circumstances, and it was impossible that they should have done so when being sought through seeing-stones!

He glanced up at the sky. The attack group should be very near by now if the exercise was to be completed in time for them to return to their main camp before nightfall. He looked around at the other high observers. The result was the same. Most of them had resorted to using seeing-stones and were now searching randomly.

This was unbelievable. The attack group must be lost. Some elite group they’d make!

Athyr raised his fingers to his mouth to signal the others when a distant whistle reached him. It was Englar, newly appointed to the Elite corps and on his first exercise as an observer.

‘Due east,’ came his message. Turning his seeing-stone towards him, Athyr saw Englar confirming the direction with a pointing hand. He followed it to find himself examining the slopes of a mountain on the far side of the valley. Touching the edge of his seeing-stone he made the image larger.

There, excellently disguised and very difficult to see, were the members of the attack party. In three separate groups they were slowly and skilfully approaching a small plateau. A plateau they must surely be able to see was quite deserted.

Athyr felt his mouth dropping open in bewilder-ment. What were they doing? Before he could react however, a cry floated up to him from the camp below. Lowering the seeing-stone, he looked around for its cause. It did not take long. Down in the waiting camp there was a flurry of movement, and he needed no seeing-stone to see it was a fight.

He watched as the two yellow-clad observers con-verged on the conflict like angry insects. More cries and shouts drifted up to him, then, to his horror, he saw the turmoil spread as members of the group turned on the two intervening figures.

Furiously, Athyr thrust his fingers into his mouth and blasted of a series of shrill whistles. Englar and a couple of the other observers were to retrieve the attack group from the empty mountain they were assailing and the others were to get down to the camp and find out what in thunder’s name was going on.

Glancing round, he was pleased to see that his last command had been anticipated and several of the observers were making for the camp as quickly as the terrain would allow.

When he himself finally reached the camp he was angry enough to face a cavalry charge. An extremely wide avenue opened up spontaneously through the trainees as he strode towards the waiting observers.

The look on Yrain’s face however dispelled his anger almost immediately.

Taking his arm before he could speak, she said, urgently, ‘We’ve got a serious knife wound. I’ve patched it up, but we’ll have to get it back to the castle immedi-ately. They’re rigging a carrier now on one of the horses. And I’ve told them to break camp,’ she added.

Athyr winced. ‘Who’s been hurt?’ he asked. Yrain shrugged. ‘I don’t know their names. Two lads from Halyt Green, I think.’

‘Two?’

Yrain nodded. ‘The other’s got a badly cracked head. He’ll have to travel back slowly.’

‘Where are they?’ Athyr said. Yrain indicated a small group standing watching them nearby. As they walked towards it, he noticed she was limping.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I twisted my foot coming down. It’ll get me home if I keep my boot on and take it easy.’

Athyr frowned slightly. Yrain came from a mountain village and was as fleet and nimble as a goat. Such an accident was out of character. Before he could pursue the thought, however, he was standing by the two casualties. Both were unconscious.

Kneeling down, he gently examined the wounds and confirmed Yrain’s diagnoses. He glanced around the wide and shamefaced circle of which he was now the centre. A large number of minor injuries became apparent.

‘What else have we got?’ he asked grimly, standing up.

‘Nothing much,’ Yrain said, affecting an indifference which Athyr judged to be for the protection of the gathered students. ‘Cuts and bruises. A few bloody noses.’

‘And your foot,’ Athyr said. If Yrain wanted to hide some of the antics that she had helped stop, she could take a little of the odium.

‘And a pair of disjointed fingers,’ Yrain added quickly, deflecting the comment and deftly implicating one of her fellow observers.

Reluctantly a deformed hand appeared in front of Athyr. He took hold of it gently and shook his head resignedly. ‘When are you going to learn not to use your fists, Tybeck?’ he asked.

The man started to speak. ‘Tirilen will be able… ’

Athyr lifted a finger to silence him and smiled. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Tirilen’s got enough on her hands at the moment. This’ll yield to field treatment, I think.’

The hand jerked back, like a startled animal retreat-ing to its burrow, but Athyr’s gentle grip forbade it and his smile turned into a grin. Suddenly he jerked his head forward as if to butt Tybeck in the face. Reflexively the man moved back and as he did so, Athyr gripped his wrist with his free hand and gave the damaged fingers a fierce tug.