Roger Taylor: The fall of Fyorlund

Again the idea was dismissed without consideration. Urssain continued to say nothing, and began to sit very still. He noticed that Aelang was doing the same.

Inexorably, however, tangled in the snares and traps that Dan-Tor had strewn, the meeting drifted into repetition.

The Lords must be attacked.

But that would be very dangerous.

They couldn’t be left because they’d build up their strength and…

‘And?’ asked Dan-Tor.

And they’ll attack us, obviously.

Dan-Tor spoke very quietly. Who then would have the long supply lines to maintain? Who then would have the odium of living off the land they passed over, local disaffection ever threatening their flanks? Who then would have to assault fresh troops in entrenched positions after a long journey? Aren’t these the very reasons why it’s too dangerous for us to attack them?

A silence descended on the room. One of the globes spluttered fitfully.

Dan-Tor stood up. ‘Gentlemen, ponder this before we meet again: the consolidation and cautious expan-sion of the territory we hold and the building up of a conscript army to defend it. Will not this, together with the pressure of maintaining their own growing army, eventually force the Lords to leave their mountain strongholds and attack us? And when they arrive, tired and extended, should we not offer them first our conscripts, whose destruction will tire them further and rack their consciences with its pointless horror? Will that then not leave us with the simple task of holding our ground until they are so weakened and demoralized that we can destroy them utterly at little cost to ourselves?’

No one spoke.

Dan-Tor continued, his voice icy. ‘Ponder this also, gentlemen. If I can defeat your strategy with mere words, have no illusions what the Lords and their High Guards will do to you. There is enough uncertainty in combat without adding mindless folly to it. For your future guidance, do not speak at these meetings unless you have something pertinent to say. And save your barrack-room bravado for the youth corps.’

Then, suddenly and terribly, his presence filled the room.

‘You are the Commanders of my Mathidrin. Faithful servants who will be rewarded as my power grows; grows beyond limits you can imagine. But you are bound to me and by me. You can be expunged at my whim. Serve me well.’

Urssain stood outside the Westerclave watching his fellow Commanders leave. He was glad of the overcast sky and the failing light which made it easier for him to keep his eyes in the shade. What a massacre! Lessons within lessons there. He would need to think about what had happened very carefully. Those strange faces? Faces themselves surprised to be among strangers. I alone know my resources, was Urssain’s reading of the message. You are all dispensable-there are others who can replace you.

‘Weather’s a little more like home, eh, Urss?’ The voice was unmistakable and brought Urssain very sharply to the present. There was one lesson for a start. He’d been too long at the Palace. Too long away from the treacherous and dangerous in-fighting that was the stock-in-trade of ambitious Mathidrin. That was a serious mistake.

He turned to look at Aelang, his erstwhile sponsor and Commander at Narsindalvak. Feared throughout the ranks of the Mathidrin, Aelang’s vicious cruelty and ruthless scheming were almost legendary. It had come as no surprise to Urssain when he learnt that the Sirshiant the Queen had killed had belonged to one of Aelang’s companies.

‘Indeed,’ said Urssain, trying to focus on Aelang’s eyes. However, like his own, they were shaded in the poor light by his helmet. Standing watchfully behind Aelang were two aides. Urssain knew well enough the trail of disappearances and accidents that had marked the rise of Aelang, and the presence of the two men reminded him that he too must be more careful in dark and lonely places with so many high-ranking Mathidrin now in the City. His nearness to Dan-Tor was as much a provocation as it was a protection. ‘Indeed,’ he repeated. It was some measure of Aelang that he thought of Narsindal as home. ‘But I’m afraid I’ve grown used to the mellower climes of Fyorlund.’

Aelang smiled, revealing an array of discoloured teeth with prominent canines. Urssain remembered that in their bolder moods, and well out of earshot, the troopers used to call him Mandrocsson.

‘Ah. You always had your eye to softer billets, Urss,’ Aelang growled jovially. ‘Always anxious to rise above us humble foot soldiers.’

Part jibe, part congratulation, part threat, part call-ing in of old debts, thought Urssain. Don’t turn your back.

‘It’s not quite as soft as it looks, Aelang,’ he replied with equal joviality. ‘As you’ll find out now you’ve managed to find your way about here.’

Aelang laughed knowingly. ‘Well you’ve not changed, I’ll say that. I should’ve known better than to bandy words with a courtier.’ He stepped closer and spoke softly, confidentially. ‘Things are happening that we’d hardly dared to imagine, Urss. Our… beloved Ffyrst has used the King’s folly to considerable effect. Plenty of opportunities now for those who can see them… and more to come if I’m any judge.’ Urssain did not reply. Aelang continued, his voice even lower. ‘You’re the Ffyrst’s man in Vakloss.’ Thanks to me, said his eyes. ‘I’m his man at Narsindalvak. But there were strange faces amongst us today, Urss? The Ffyrst looks only for the most… capable, does he not? I think that with all these changes going on, you and I should protect one another’s backs, don’t you?’

Urssain scrutinized Aelang’s shaded face. He must be feeling insecure, he thought, to suggest that. Or was it a threat? Join me, or else. Urssain’s eyes turned to the departing Commanders. Either way, it made sense. He and Aelang were well placed, but they would indeed be targets for any ambitious sparks looking to improve their lots. And he did know Aelang for what he was. It could do little harm to have him… in partnership… as it were. At least he’d be able to keep an eye on him.

Slowly he nodded. ‘I’d be only too happy to give you any assistance that you might expect from a brother officer, Commander,’ he said with a smile.

Aelang chuckled. ‘Brother officer,’ he said approv-ingly. ‘You have been here a long time. Still, as I said, you’ve not changed. It’s been good seeing you again.’ And, slapping Urssain’s arm affectionately, he strode off towards his waiting carriage, followed by his two companions.

Urssain cursed silently, and placing his left hand casually behind his back flexed his fingers frantically. Aelang had struck a nerve with his heavy gold ring and Urssain knew the arm would be dead for over a minute. It had been Aelang’s signature on their agreement.

That could have been poison, it said. Or I could have disembowelled you while you groped for feeling in that arm. So look to me. These things happen so easily. Urssain cursed again.

Aelang, reaching his carriage, turned and threw a jaunty acknowledgement to him with a flick of his hand. Urssain let his sleeve knife fall into his right hand and returned the same friendly gesture making sure that the light caught its blade as he let it slip back into his sleeve again. Aelang’s Mandroc grin and his grim laugh reached him, then the carriage was driving away, merging into the failing light.

Urssain turned and strode briskly through the maw of the Westerclave. His left arm was easier, but Aelang’s message had shaken him. Fear of Dan-Tor was one thing. That was deep and abiding, the fear of the rabbit for the lion. There was no question of resistance, so superior was the one over the other. But fear of Aelang-the old barrack-room fear-that was insupportable.