Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

He muttered softly to himself then opened the en-trance a little to confirm his diagnosis. Then he started to wake the others. He had intended to do this gently, but each in turn sat up rapidly at his touch, familiar by now with his normal method of rousing the camp.

‘It sounds as though the wind has dropped,’ he said. ‘But we’re buried amp;mdashat least in part.’

Isloman’s eyes narrowed with a brief spasm of anxi-ety while Tirke’s widened in frank alarm. Dacu was reassuring. ‘It shouldn’t be too bad,’ he said. ‘We were well sheltered. It’s probably just some eddying, but we’ll have to dig our way out slowly and cautiously.’

He looked at each of the others in turn. ‘Everything is slow and cautious in these conditions,’ he empha-sized. ‘Not only will the terrain be disguised completely, but if you go rushing around you’ll sweat, your sweat will freeze on you and we’ll be heading for some real problems then. Just remember we’ve still a long way to go.’

It took them only a little time to dig their way out of the shelter and they emerged to be greeted by a soft misty snowscape. Everywhere was silent and still and large parts of the stern mountain scenery had been transformed by a swaddling whiteness. The sky to the east was a dull red, but to the north and west dark heavy clouds hung expectantly, and the peak of the mountain they stood on was still lost in the mist.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Tirke, his breath steaming.

‘It is,’ Dacu agreed. Without speaking, Gavor flapped off into the cold silence, black and clear against the misty haziness.

Hawklan took Tirke’s arm. ‘Come and help me feed the horses,’ he said. ‘Then we can eat.’

The horses had fared better than the shelter, Dacu having taken greater pains to place them well in the lee of the rocks. They were standing quietly together, scarcely touched by the snow that had eddied round and buried the shelter.

Hawklan examined each of them briefly and then consulted Serian.

‘They’re all right,’ the horse said. ‘But we should move soon. The weather’s liable to change again quickly and this is not good country for us.’

Hawklan smiled when Dacu subsequently offered him the same opinion.

‘This weather’s unseasonable,’ Dacu said. ‘It seems to be confined to the high peaks, but I wouldn’t like to say it was temporary. It could be the beginning of a very bad winter.’

He shrugged and set the grim thought aside. ‘Any-way, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find the gully in these conditions, but we must use every moment to look for it. I don’t want to spend another night here if it can be avoided. Amongst other things, we haven’t enough supplies for the horses to be away from grazing for too long.’

Thus, after a brief meal, the party struck out again.

Dacu was pleased as he looked at the small hum-mocks in the snow which marked the positions of the cairns they had made the previous day. It had been a useful day’s work after all, even though it now seemed a very long time ago.

He did not spend much time in reflection, however. The heavy clouds that dominated the horizon, domi-nated his thoughts also. Today was a day for being completely in the present. Each step must be taken with the right balance of speed and caution if progress was to be made. Both too slow and too fast would present equally serious problems.

‘This way,’ he said, pointing up and across the slope in the opposite direction to the previous day’s search. ‘We’ll make for that skyline there. We should be able to get a better view of the area than here.’

Dwarfed by the massive bulk of the mountain, the four tiny figures and their tiny horses began their painstaking way up its broad flank. High above, soaring in the cold winter air, Gavor watched their slow but relentless progress. The sun was beginning to appear, red over the eastern peaks, but to the north, great snow clouds still lowered and he could see swirling squalls in some of the distant valleys.

With typical thoroughness, Gulda had divided the region around the central camp into sectors and sub-sectors. Now, with equal thoroughness, the Orthlundyn were surveying them; painstakingly amp;mdashruthlessly, even amp;mdashin an atmosphere that could only be described as alarmingly disorienting: a bizarre mixture of battle frenzy and children’s game.

Loman was in charge of the most northerly of the three groups.

The strange warning note that had greeted their departure from the camp had stayed with them for some time, rising and falling monotonously, then it had stopped abruptly, only to be followed by some form of attack, as various riders suddenly began to suffer headaches, others began to hallucinate, and, inevitably, tempers began to fray for no apparent reason.

Gulda’s words to the departing force, however, had been unequivocal.

‘If anything untoward happens, it is their doing, and theirs alone. Remember that it is an influence from outside, just like the sun and the wind, and just knowing that will help you find a way to protect yourself from it. And remember above all that the Orthlundyn do not fight one another , nor ever have.’ She spelled out her last words very slowly and with great emphasis as if dinning it into her audience in such a manner that it could do no other than remain in the forefront of their minds.

Thus Loman had ridden straight to the group first affected and repeated Gulda’s words. ‘It’s them ,’ he said earnestly. ‘You have no headache except what they’ve given you… ’

‘… If you use your carver’s vision you’ll see the truth of what you think you’re seeing… ’

‘… They’re frightened of us. We must show them our friendship even though they’ve hurt us. Our real enemy lies elsewhere… ’

It had not been easy, but as others joined in with Loman’s gentle chiding, the unseen assault had gradually abated, and the predominant atmosphere slowly became one of laughter and pleasantness.

Similar attacks had, however, continued intermit-tently throughout that day, passing in waves through the ranks of the riders. But they were mercilessly chivvied by Loman and everyone else who was unaf-fected, until Loman allowed himself a brief note of triumph. ‘They can’t cope with the numbers, after all,’ he said. ‘We have them.’

‘No,’ said a voice very close to him. ‘We are with-holding our power because of our concern for your people.’

Loman looked at Jenna, but she appeared not to have heard anything.

The voice spoke again: ‘We will do this if we have to,’ and an ear-splitting shriek filled Loman’s mind. He jerked backward, his face grimacing with pain and his hands clamped to his ears.

Jenna started at this violent and unexpected move-ment. ‘What’s the matter?’ she cried out in alarm.

The noise left Loman as suddenly as it had come and, white-faced, he lurched forward in reaction to his previous movement. Jenna reached out and took his arm to steady him. ‘What’s the matter?’ she repeated urgently.

Loman did not reply immediately. Instead he fum-bled inside a pouch on his belt and eventually retrieved a metal bracelet. For a little while he looked at it intently. It was a delicate, intricately woven piece of work that he had made many years ago for his wife and which he had subsequently given to Tirilen. He had done far better work since, but it contained such youthful intensity and so many memories that it never failed to move him.

‘They’re learning,’ he replied eventually, carefully replacing the bracelet. ‘Using one of the Goraidin’s tactics amp;mdashattacking the enemy’s leaders.’ He described what had happened.

Jenna frowned. ‘I heard nothing,’ she said.