Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Jenna pointed.

Loman leaned forward, his eyes intent. Slowly weav-ing its way along the valley was an unsteady thread of mottled light and shadow that slowly resolved itself into a long line of riders. It was too far away to form any judgement about their condition.

‘Halfway from the camp,’ Loman said. He looked again at the peaks which housed the signalling stations. Nothing. Just darkness.

‘They were in the shade before,’ Jenna said. ‘That’s why we didn’t see them sooner.’

Loman stared pensively at the distant riders.

‘Should we signal them?’ Jenna asked. Loman caught the flicker of the same request from above.

‘No,’ he replied to Jenna. Then taking her torch he dismounted and signalled a formal reply to the signaller. ‘No. Continue original message as ordered, but report the sighting and our actions back to central camp.’

‘Signals won’t tell us anything about them,’ he said, remounting and handing Jenna’s torch back to her. ‘If they’re hostile in any way, they’ll only lie. We’ll approach openly, as we did at three.’

‘And be ready to run?’ Jenna said.

Loman nodded earnestly, and the two moved for-ward again.

‘This is difficult,’ Jenna said, after a while. ‘I’m try-ing to be at ease, but I’m too tired and anxious to think about carving, or to look at the moon shadows. Or anything except… ’ She nodded ahead.

‘Yes,’ Loman agreed reluctantly. ‘Me, too. I think that’s the best we can do this time. Be concerned. It’ll suffice. At least it’s not warlike.’

In the deceptive perspective of the mountains the route towards the approaching riders seemed like a gently undulating slope, but as Loman and Jenna moved gradually down into the valley, they found that the column disappeared for long periods behind large local variations in the terrain.

Eventually Jenna raised her hand. ‘We’d better wait here. We might pass them if we go much further.’

Loman agreed and they positioned themselves on a conspicuous outcrop washed with bright moonlight.

The mountains around them were patched with shining silver and subtle moon-hazed shade. Here and there, tumbling streams caught by the moonlight shone more brightly than they did on a summer’s day. The whole scene was hauntingly beautiful.

‘I can sympathize with anyone wanting to keep war and violence away from here,’ Jenna said, keeping her voice low, as if it were an intrusion.

Loman nodded. ‘Better here than in the villages,’ he said sadly. ‘At least the mountains are oblivious to our antics. They were here before we were, and they’ll be here when we’re gone.’

‘I know, but… ’

Loman turned to her. ‘I understand,’ he said. But in his mind was the thought that just as the mountains were gradually changed by forces they knew nothing of, so might that not also be the case for humanity also? It was a dark, frightening thought, and he did not welcome it.

As if disturbed by its rider’s sudden unhappy preoc-cupation, Loman’s horse stirred slightly, its hooves scraping on the rock. Moonlight glinted off its harness, catching Loman’s eye like a brilliant evening star. He smiled and patted the animal gently. At the worst, he thought, if he couldn’t see his chains, at least he felt free. At the best, he was free.

Slowly the soft night noises of the mountains were joined by the faint clinking and rattling of the approach-ing column. But no voices could be heard.

Loman’s horse whinnied.

Jenna reached out and took Loman’s hand. The lead rider came over the rise immediately by them. His head was bowed. Behind him came the rest of the column, silent and ghostly in the white moonlight.

The four men stood in silence for some time, staring up at the mountain that barred their way.

Tirke voiced the predominant apprehension. ‘We don’t have to go… over that, do we?’ he asked, pointing hesitantly towards the mountain’s cloud-covered peak.

Dacu chewed his bottom lip. ‘Damn near,’ he said, and, without further comment, he mounted his horse and rode forward. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We must get as far as we can before that lot arrives.’ He inclined his head towards the darkness shadowing the clouds to the north.

The others mounted and rode after him.

‘There’s no way round?’ Isloman asked.

Dacu waved his hand in a sweeping gesture. The mountain rose out of a long series of high peaks and ridges which faded into the grey, rain-swept distance.

‘Wouldn’t west take us straight through to Orthlund?’ Isloman said.

Dacu nodded. ‘Just about,’ he said. ‘But it’s precious little shorter and I’ve no idea if we can get through that way.’

‘What do you know about this way?’ Isloman asked, nodding towards the mountain. ‘Did you ever get this far when you were training?’

Dacu shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, slightly sur-prised. ‘Of course not.’ He patted one of his pockets. ‘But according to the map and what we could glean from the records at Eldric’s, there’s a way through up there.’ He pointed up at the broad spur swinging down on the right hand side of the mountain.

Isloman looked at it. ‘The map,’ he said uncertainly.

A small spasm of irritation shone in Dacu’s eyes. ‘The map’s fine, Isloman,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s got us this far without any problem. There’s a lot missing from it, but what it shows has been correct.’

Isloman frowned. ‘So far,’ he said. ‘If the Goraidin never came this far south, then probably no one has for years. There could be anything around the other side of that spur.’

Dacu’s jaw came out. ‘I’m aware of that. But we’ve got our wits, haven’t we?’ He slapped his map pocket again. ‘And no reason to suppose there isn’t a way through when we get up there. At least we have some semblance of a route. Who knows what we’ll run into if we turn west?’

Isloman turned to Hawklan. ‘Do these mountains mean anything to you, Hawklan?’ he asked.

Hawklan shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing. But we’ve had no real certainty about a route since we came into the mountains. Why the sudden concern?’

The question was unexpectedly sharp and seemed to startle Isloman. For a moment he did not speak.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually, slightly flustered. ‘I’ve got bad memories of being lost in the snow… I… ’

Hawklan rode alongside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten. But they were different times, Isloman. And you survived those against both the elements and an enemy. Don’t let the Morlider destroy you now, twenty years later. Not when you’re heading home with friends.’

‘I know. I’m sorry,’ Isloman repeated. ‘It was just a shock coming on that mountain so suddenly. It’s so big. Just give me a little time.’ Then he urged his horse forward to ride just behind Dacu at the front of the small procession.

For the rest of that day, the quartet rode on in com-parative silence. Isloman’s unexpected moodiness gradually passed, unable to sustain itself against his natural disposition now its cause had been named, but the blustering showers confined everyone to their cloaks and hoods, and the absence of the Alphraan left them all with an indefinable sense of loss.

Dacu pressed forward steadily but relentlessly and by the end of the day they had crossed the valley and made good progress up the huge rocky spur.

Sitting in the quiet warmth of the shelter their spir-its began to return, though concern about the following day’s travel and the fate of the Alphraan returning to their mysterious Heartplace, tended to dominate their thoughts.