Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Gavor preened himself nonchalantly. ‘I’m really getting to like these fine people’, he said. ‘They have such appreciation. And such a natural sense of respect.’

‘Gavor,’ Hawklan said warningly, concerned for the continuation of the tale.

The voice interceded. ‘No, Hawklan,’ it said. ‘Offer your friend no reproach. He has spared us the pain of the worst part of our story, for it was from your great victory amp;mdashthe victory of men amp;mdashthat the second destruc-tion of our people came. Sumeral’s creatures were indeed dread and powerful, though they quailed before the wrath of men and they travelled far and deep to hide from it. Some came upon our Heartplace and, slaughter-ing all they found, made it their own, their… nest.’ There was such loathing in the voice that for the second time, Hawklan had to turn his face away.

‘And no one helped you?’ he said.

‘Faint songs came from the north of great battles in the ways there, but most men were content to entomb what they could not find and destroy.’ The voice was quiet and resigned.

‘Ethriss was gone, and none helped us because none knew of us,’ it said simply. ‘That was of our own doing and is our cruellest burden.’

The wind blew Hawklan’s hood back. As he tugged at it, Dacu spoke. ‘Could your people not defend themselves against these creatures?’

‘No, warrior.’ There was a bitter humour in the voice now. ‘Our wars against the Mandrassni had been so fearful, that we had turned utterly from violence, and such arts of war as we had were long forgotten.’

Isloman and Hawklan exchanged glances at this ominous parallel with the Orthlundyn.

Dacu’s face wrinkled in pain and bewilderment. ‘But how could you ignore the lessons that you must have learned so bitterly?’

‘You seek to judge us again, Goraidin,’ said the voice, though not unkindly. ‘You must wait until your own people have been utterly destroyed before you can begin to understand.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Dacu responded. ‘You’re right. I was judging you. I was wrong. But if my people were destroyed I think part of me would seek out vengeance.’

‘Ah.’ This time, the Alphraan’s sigh was full of reali-zation and understanding. ‘Yes, Goraidin. Part of you would,’ the voice said, very gently. ‘Humanity was Ethriss’s greatest creation and his most flawed. That is why in each of you there is the darkness that yearns towards His way. Your balance is subtle far beyond our understanding.’

Then, a strange stirring urgency filled the air.

‘This has been a great learning for us,’ said the voice hurriedly. It was fading. ‘And a strengthening. But we must leave you now.’

‘What’s the matter amp;mdashwhere are you going?’ Hawklan asked anxiously, leaning forward.

‘To our trial, healer,’ said the voice. ‘If our courage… and our fortune… holds, we shall speak again… on the other side of the mountain.’

‘No!’ Hawklan shouted. ‘Wait. We must help you.’

‘Gavor, if we do not speak again, tell our kin that we have gone into the ancient Heartplace. By your telling they will know the truth of our fate.’

‘No!’ Hawklan shouted again. ‘Stay with us.’

The voice was very faint now, for the first time seeming to be carried away by the wind. ‘We cannot, Hawklan,’ it said. ‘We will need our every resource.’ Then, fading utterly, ‘… where we go… Sumeral’s creatures… may… yet… live.’

As the voice disappeared into the increasing noise of the wind, Hawklan found himself gazing around, searching desperately for the unseen speaker, a sense of desolation pervading him.

The whole group had stopped, stunned by this sud-den and unexpected departure.

Dacu was the first to speak, though not about the suddenly departed Alphraan. He pointed ahead. ‘We’ll need our every resource as well,’ he said. ‘If we’re to get past that.’

Hawklan looked up. Dominating the horizon was a mountain that overtopped all those around it. Its peak was hidden in mist but two broad, curving spurs ran down from its snow-covered shoulders to arc round like the arms of a great chair. Its grim presence however, offered no sense of comfort.

Instinctively, Hawklan turned away from it and looked to the north. There, another mountain domi-nated the scene. A growing mountain of heavy grey cloud, pregnant with the first of the real winter snows.

For the first time since Hawklan had left there had been serious dissension among the Orthlundyn.

None could deny the vulnerability of their country as revealed by the visit of Dan-Tor and the subsequent slaughter of the High Guards by armed Mandrocs. And most agreed readily to the restraints placed on their ordinary lives by the need to build up sufficient skill at arms to mend this weakness. However, no small part in this agreement was played by Gulda’s organizing skills, which ensured that these restraints were modest and reasonable and that, for the most part, few had had to leave their homes and farms for any length of time.

Now, however, with the proposal for wholesale movement of almost all training into the mountains, the disruption promised to be considerable and, unexpect-edly, Loman and his colleagues found themselves spending long hours first persuading village elders of the real threat raised by the Alphraan’s action, and then helping them in their turn persuade their villagers.

‘The Riddinvolk don’t have this much trouble, I’m sure,’ Loman said one evening, slumping into his chair and gazing up at the carved ceiling. By an irony, it showed a scene of an orator skilfully swaying a great throng. Pulling a rueful face, Loman closed his eyes. ‘I must have spent half the day up at Oglin just sorting out who should tend whose fields, who should feed whose stock, who should collect whose stones from the quarry, mend this, mend that’ amp;mdashhe slapped the arms of his chair and uttered a strangled growl amp;mdash‘who should scratch whose backside… ’

Gulda looked up from the book she was reading and, surprisingly, laughed. ‘The Riddinvolk are different,’ she said. ‘They’re born to it. Their whole society pivots around the Muster and has done for generations. They have their family homes and lands, but they’re much more used to mobility and the kind of communal sharing that goes with it.’

Loman nodded. ‘I know, Memsa,’ he said more qui-etly. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’m only venting my frustration through the rafters. I’m just worried. This is taking much longer than I thought. It was hard enough changing the training schedules, but this reluctance, by people… ’

He sat up, leaving his comment unfinished.

Again surprisingly, Gulda did not seem to share his concern. ‘There’s nothing else you can do, is there?’ she said, her voice still mildly amused. ‘You can’t drag them up into the hills one at a time and make them train.’ She laid down her book and looked at him. ‘The Orthlundyn are every bit as mobile as the Riddinvolk, Loman, but in a different way.’ A long finger rose to tap her temple. ‘In here. In their minds.’

She turned her book over and gently ran her finger over its ornate binding. ‘I’ll confess, this delay is unsettling me a little as well,’ she said. ‘But it’ll be for the best in the end. Once people accept the changes freely, they’ll commit themselves to them, you’ll see. In the long run, we may thank the Alphraan for what they’ve done. They’ve shown us again how vulnerable we are to the whims of outsiders, and also made us face the problem of the social upheaval that goes with self-defence.’ She looked at him significantly. ‘An item I fear we’ve shied away from previously if the truth be told.’