Roger Taylor: The fall of Fyorlund

Dilrap’s hands butterflied up in spite of himself. Sylvriss looked at him. ‘Majesty… ’ he began awkwardly, ‘I… can’t ride.’

Sylvriss could not prevent a smile. ‘I’ve held more inept than you on a saddle at full gallop, Dilrap,’ she said, with a soft laugh. ‘You won’t enjoy it, but you’ll survive.’

Dilrap bowed his head. ‘I’m a poor support to you, Majesty. In constant need of encouragement and courage.’

Sylvriss’s hands took his and she looked directly at him, all humour gone. ‘No, Dilrap,’ she said. ‘You work daily by the side of that man, deceiving him, lying to his evil, cracked face, delaying and gently hindering him. And you do this in the face of your own fear. Your courage and strength have sustained me over all these dark months. You belong among the very greatest who’ve ever held your office.’

Dilrap stood. No courtier, he was at a loss what to say. He bowed deeply to hide his face.

Sylvriss stood up also. ‘There is one thing, however, that I must ask of you,’ she said. Dilrap’s eyes remained downcast. ‘If the King and I are thwarted in this, you must keep yourself clear of all blame. Speak against us if you must.’

Dilrap looked up sharply.

Sylvriss raised her hand to prevent his protest. ‘This is my order, Honoured Secretary,’ she said. ‘My Royal Command. I leave you no discretion. If all goes against us, it’s imperative that you stay by Dan-Tor as long as you can and work for a time when you can make links with the Lords in the east. You understand?’

Dilrap bowed again.

When he had gone, Sylvriss reached out and extin-guished the torches that illuminated her room. The darkness was restful. For a long time she sat on the broad sill of the window and stared up at the stars.

Now she would have to tell the King.

Although Dan-Tor now controlled Vakloss and various other towns and villages, he was not sanguine about the Lords gathering their forces in the east. He knew that, quite rightly, Arinndier and the other Lords would never trust him to honour any treaty he might offer, so armed conflict seemed inevitable. He had little doubt that his forces would ultimately be victorious, but while the prospect of these creatures slaughtering one another was not without its appeal, he would have preferred a quieter, more subtle approach. Chance rampaged too wildly through the ranks of war no matter what powers were ranged, and it was a way chosen by Him only as a last extremity.

Nor was his mind eased by the paucity of informa-tion that reached him from the east. With the birds bound he had, reluctantly, to rely on human spies, and these either never returned or brought him vague and contradictory information, thanks to the watchfulness and diligent deceit of the Goraidin.

Urssain fretted noisily. ‘We’ve men enough, Ffyrst,’ he said. ‘Trained, disciplined and willing. More than enough. We should move now and overwhelm the Lords before they can build up their strength further.’

‘Commander,’ said Dan-Tor benignly, ‘you must learn patience. Consider the consequences of such a venture. How many men would you need to keep this City subdued? There’s little point winning a great victory against the Lords to find your back assailed by a rebellious Vakloss. And how many would you need to protect our flanks as you moved through increasingly debatable areas of the country?’ Urssain looked inclined to answer but Dan-Tor continued, his tone becoming more severe. ‘And who do you think you’ll be facing? It won’t be their ornamental regiments. It’ll be the kindred of those you saw fight in Orthlund. And they were youths led by a youth. You’ll be facing skilled fighters on their own ground, led by battle-hardened veterans from the Morlider War.’ Dan-Tor brought his face close to Urssain’s. ‘And say you break them, what then? They’ll scatter into the mountains before they’re damaged beyond repair, and we’ll never be rid of them.’

Urssain bridled. This was defeatist talk. He would have killed any other man for less. The given word was that the Mathidrin were the new hope. They had brought peace back to the streets, and would now sustain a New Order that would make Fyorlund great again. The old High Guards had fled before them-unequivocal proof of the guilty part they had played in the decay of the country, and an unequivocal demon-stration of the invincibility of the Mathidrin. With difficulty he swallowed his reply.

Dan-Tor noted the conflict in his protege, and per-mitted himself a white-lined smile which made Urssain offer up a prayer to whatever spirit had bidden him keep his tongue still.

‘Surely we can’t leave them alone, Ffyrst?’ he risked.

Dan-Tor turned and walked away from him. ‘Can’t we?’ he said casually. ‘We’ll see what your fellows think, Urssain. Arrange a meeting of all the City Commanders. It’s time we discussed the matter. Perhaps it would be appropriate to call it a Council of War.’

Urssain spent the time waiting for the meeting pacing his room or sitting sprawled in his chair rapt in thought. He still couldn’t read the brown devil. What had he missed? Why had Dan-Tor so mocked the idea of attacking the Lords, and why had he answered so enigmatically when he’d suggested they shouldn’t be left there unhindered?

He had still reached no conclusion when he accom-panied Dan-Tor into the sparse, cold room where the Commanders were gathered, but he had determined to play a very cautious hand. This would be another time for watching and learning. He might not be able to read the man completely, but he could read him a damn sight better than any of the others.

He was disconcerted, however, to find that several of the waiting men were completely unknown to him, and he was only a little reassured when a quick glance at their faces showed that everyone, strangers included, seem to be unsettled to find themselves amongst unfamiliar faces.

As Dan-Tor entered, they rose as one, coming smartly to attention to greet their Lord. Like Urssain, they were all immaculate in dress uniform.

‘Sit down, gentlemen,’ said Dan-Tor affably, seating himself at the head of the long rectangular table, and motioning Urssain to sit at his right-hand side. ‘I’ve asked you here because I wish to have your ideas about our problem in the east.’

Straight in, thought Urssain. No introductions. What’s he doing? Who are these people? The questions thrust themselves into Urssain’s mind, but be dismissed them for later consideration. Now he must watch and listen.

‘Our discussion will be informal,’ continued Dan-Tor. ‘I’m expecting no great strategy to emerge, but with the City and much of the countryside reasonably under control we must begin to bend our minds to this problem, and we have to start somewhere.’

Urssain kept his own face neutral as he watched those now turned to focus on the presence beside him. Only Aelang understood. The others were relaxing. They were taking their Ffyrst’s affability at its face value.

The immediate consensus accorded with Urssain’s initial view. Attack now-hard-before they grow too strong. Dan-Tor listened with nodding interest as various company prides and promises were paraded before him. Urssain said nothing.

Then, as he had with Urssain, Dan-Tor dropped in the occasional comment about troop strengths, supply problems, lack of reliable intelligence, debatable loyalties etc, and slowly, his own strategy appeared. The Lords should be left, he suggested.

The idea was dismissed out of hand. With respect, Ffyrst, allow your enemy to build up his strength? The talk bubbled on again.

But in gathering his strength would he not also gather more mouths to feed, more bodies to shelter, more minds to keep busy? Dan-Tor offered tentatively.