Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

‘Don’t cry out,’ he said softly while Tybeck was still drawing in a very long breath. ‘It’ll set a bad example to the children here.’

‘Your concern’s very touching,’ Tybeck managed, through clenched teeth, hugging his throbbing hand to his chest.

‘My foot’s fine,’ Yrain said hastily.

Ireck walked briskly down the corridor towards the hall where the weapons from the Armoury were being stored. He was a little late, but he knew he would probably be the first to arrive. Moving the weapons from the hall up to the impromptu armouries recently established at ground level was hard work and little relished.

Relished even less was the prospect of trailing be-hind Loman through the labyrinth to fetch more weapons from the Armoury proper, and that was what they would be doing later on when Loman had finished his meeting. Even with Loman’s close guidance, the winding journey through the whispering columns tended to produce sleepless and disturbed nights.

Still, Ireck consoled himself, such expeditions were becoming less frequent. Many more weapons would have to be removed in due course as the people armed, but when this last batch had been taken upstairs they would have sufficient readily accessible for their immediate training needs.

As he neared the hall, a sound interrupted his thoughts. Children? Playing? Singing? He frowned. Children played all over the Castle, and the Castle took their ringing voices and seemed to celebrate them. But Ireck had never known any to venture so far down. His frown deepened. If they were in the hall then there was every possibility that one of them might be hurt, playing amongst those arrays of lethal edges and points. And there was the labyrinth. Above all, children should not play near that. Concerned, he quickened his pace.

Turning a last corner he came into the hall suddenly and silently. There was a hurried scuffling, and he caught a brief glimpse of two small figures flitting behind one of the stacks of weapons that were arranged in neat rows across the floor of the hall.

He smiled to himself. ‘Come on, children,’ he called out. ‘There are better places than this to play in. You’re going to get hurt.’

‘Ho!’

A voice along the corridor behind him made him turn. Glancing around he could not see immediately where the call had come from.

‘Help me with this, will you?’ it came again. This time Ireck identified a nearby junction as its source.

‘Just a moment,’ he shouted in reply, then turning back to the hall, ‘Come on, you two, out of it. I can see you.’

‘Hurry up, it’s heavy,’ called the voice again, more urgently. With a last glance at the stack behind which he thought he had seen the children, Ireck turned and went to assist the unknown caller.

When he turned the corner, however, there was no one in sight.

‘Hello,’ he shouted, but there was no reply. The corridor was deserted. Puzzled, he looked up and down once or twice, then, concluding that the caller had managed whatever it was he had needed help with, he shrugged and turned to return to the hall.

As he did so, he caught again a fleeting glimpse of two small figures disappearing around a bend some way ahead of him.

Little devils, he thought with a smile. Still, at least they were away from the weapons and the labyrinth.

Perhaps he should have a word with Loman about keeping children away from here. But he dismissed the thought immediately. Apart from being impossible, such a ban would actively encourage the imps and then a real accident was highly likely. Better they be shown the dangers and allowed to come and go as they wished. He would mention that to Loman.

Still smiling, he strode forward towards the waiting weapons.

‘What in Ethriss’s name is happening?’ Loman stood up and began pacing up and down the room. ‘Our best students attack the wrong mountain in broad daylight, and the others start their own personal war. What am I going to tell that lad’s parents if he dies of that knife wound?’ He levelled a finger at Athyr. ‘And he might well. Tirilen’s nearly unapproachable dealing with him. It’s bad.’

‘Don’t blame me, Loman,’ Athyr protested. ‘You know damn well what happened. I’ve done nothing but think about it since we got back. It must have been the Alphraan. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. Even I couldn’t think of anything after I’d fixed Tybeck’s hand except, get away, quickly. It just kept going round and round in my head… ’ He hesitated. ‘Like a bouncy little dance tune. Anyway, that’s exactly what I did.’

Loman nodded. Athyr’s forced march of the group through the night was already becoming a small legend. He slumped down into his chair again and started raking through the ashes of the discussion, looking for something that might enable him to avoid the conse-quences of Athyr’s conclusion.

‘And the attack group said they’d heard signals changing the location of the camp?’ he asked.

Athyr nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But we sent none.’

Loman brought the terrain to mind. ‘Didn’t they see this new campsite was deserted?’ he said in exaspera-tion.

Athyr looked unhappy. ‘They’re a bit confused about that,’ he said. ‘Some of them said the signals told them it was an ambush they were approaching. Others thought they heard voices ahead, and at least two thought they saw something.’ He extended his hands apologetically.

Loman changed tack. ‘And we’ve no explanation for the fighting at the camp?’ he said.

‘None,’ Athyr replied. ‘Tybeck and Jenna both say the same thing. One minute everything was fine, then all of a sudden this fight came out of nowhere. And when they moved in to stop it, they were attacked as well.’

‘What did Tybeck and Jenna feel?’ Gulda’s blue eyes fixed Athyr. He met her gaze squarely. He had antici-pated the question. ‘Surprised and then a little frightened,’ he replied, echoing the response he had received from both of them.

‘But no anger?’

Athyr shrugged slightly. ‘A little, obviously. Particu-larly when things started to get heated,’ he said. ‘That’s why Tybeck got a bit rough. But nothing at the begin-ning and nothing… unreasonable… at any time.’

‘How’s your foot?’ Gulda turned abruptly to Yrain. Slightly surprised, the woman leaned forward and rubbed it gingerly.

‘Sore,’ she said. ‘But it’s only sprained. It’ll be all right after a little rest.’

‘It’ll slow you down for weeks, and trouble you on and off for months,’ Gulda replied, coldly. ‘You were carrying that boot knife again, weren’t you? After I specifically told you to go unarmed.’

Yrain’s face clouded. ‘How did you…?’ Gulda’s long fingers flicked out to cut her short.

‘How did I know?’ she said. ‘I didn’t. Though I sup-pose I might have expected it. Suffice it that they made you face the consequences of your disobedience. I’ve told you before, Yrain. Think. And learn to listen, or you’ll die.’

Yrain scowled and Gulda’s eyes opened menacingly.

Loman, looking on anxiously, laid a hand on Gulda’s arm. ‘It’s bad enough that our people are fighting one another in the mountains,’ he said. ‘Let’s not us start quarrelling here.’

The two women subsided uneasily and for some time no one spoke. Loman stared down at the floor, and Gulda gazed out of the window at the motionless grey sky, high and pale.

Yrain, too, stared pensively out across the moun-tains. Surrounding the window was a large landscape carving, with a sweeping mountain range in the background. As she shifted her head a little she saw that these mountains coincided with the real mountains outside, bringing an eerie, disturbing perspective to the scene. The device was unusual, and familiar though she was with the intricate deceptions inherent in all Orthlundyn carving, she felt momentarily disorientated.