Roger Taylor: The fall of Fyorlund

Seeing his opponent regaining his balance, the King raised his hand. ‘Forgive me, Lord Dan-Tor,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Before you begin, there’s an important matter I must attend to so that you’ll be spared the embarrassment of retailing my folly to my face. Guards.’

The power in the command startled Dan-Tor. He turned hastily, half expecting to see an escort of High Guards approaching him purposefully. Even the appearance of the two Mathidrin door guards did not totally reassure him. The Mathidrin were by nature corruptible. Or were they High Guards in disguise again? A voice deep inside counselled patience, but its tone was shrill.

‘Fetch me the Lord Eldric and his son Jaldaric im-mediately,’ said the King. The two men hesitated, blinking at the sight of the King, powerful and whole, on his throne, while their Lord stood stark and alone like a lightning-blasted tree.

‘Immediately!’ thundered the King. The two men disappeared hastily.

Dan-Tor spun round and stared at the King as the sound of the retreating guards faded into the distance. ‘Majesty,’ he cried. ‘The Lord Eldric and his son are dangerous traitors. They and their co-conspirators have plunged the City, the whole country, into anarchy and turmoil. Even now… ’

A sharp gesture from the King cut him short. ‘I’m aware of recent happenings, Lord. And due reparation will be sought from the offenders, sooner than they imagine.’ He turned and looked Dan-Tor fully in the face. ‘Have no fear. Our Law is only a reflection of natural justice. It can no more be set aside by man than the tides can be stopped.’

‘Majesty, I implore you. Beware these men.’

‘Enough, Lord,’ said the King firmly. ‘Illness may have marred the greater part of my reign, but nothing shall mar what remains. I’ll interrogate these men and end this horror that threatens to destroy our land.’

‘But Majesty, the matter’s complex… ’

The King’s tone became menacingly soft. ‘Lord Dan-Tor. This is a matter which I must attend to before I come to your Accounting and my reward to you for your trials. It irks me to be thus badgered.’

Dilrap stepped back a pace as he felt the two per-sonalities clash. Dan-Tor tightened his fist behind his back with such force that Dilrap heard the bones cracking. He felt as though the grip was choking the life out of him.

Enough of this, screamed part of Dan-Tor’s mind. Caution, whispered another. There’s deep treachery here. It had been an error to move so precipitately at the King’s unexpected bidding. He must find a way out of the hall… contact Urssain.

He slumped slightly and raised his hands apologeti-cally. ‘Forgive me, Majesty,’ he said, in a tone that rang alien to his own ears, ‘I’m still concerned for your welfare… as always.’

The King nodded, but did not speak.

‘It’ll be some time before the guards can bring the prisoners to you, Majesty,’ Dan-Tor continued. ‘May I take the opportunity to gather some documents which will summarize present conditions for you admirably?’

The King waved him silent. ‘That won’t be neces-sary, Lord. I’m not interested in niceties at the moment. As I said, a simple telling will be sufficient.’ He smiled broadly. ‘However, I’ll admit that I’m looking forward to examining your Stewardship in detail in due course. I’m sure there’s much to be learnt from the way you’ve handled things during this period of unrest. But for now, stay by my side, as you’ve done for so many years.’

Dan-Tor bowed a silent acknowledgement and, stepping to one side, turned to face the door through which Eldric and his son must enter. As he did so, his eyes skimmed the balconies and archways searching for strange shadows. He saw none, but the openness of the place in the torchlight disturbed him.

The King leaned back in the stone throne, finding, to his surprise, that it was oddly comfortable. He rested his hands on the brilliant polished arms and felt a great relaxation pass through him. His wife’s tale, his own memories, his observations of Dan-Tor, all came together in a vivid whole and he saw what lay before him.

Strange, he thought, to be so at ease in the face of such a testing.

The silence hung, sun-filled and peaceful, in the hall, like the quiet of an ocean poised at the turn of the tide when the great forces that determine its destiny are balanced equally. Then, like the first swell of a new wave, came the distant sound of marching feet. As they approached, so the deep peace he felt faded like a glowing memory.

Presently, four figures appeared in the doorway.

The King dismissed the guards and ordered Eldric and Jaldaric forward. For a moment Eldric hesitated as if unable to believe either his eyes or his ears. He caught hold of his son’s arm.

‘Eldric,’ said the King. ‘You were not wont to be so sluggish.’

‘Majesty,’ whispered Eldric, ‘forgive me.’ Then in-stinctively straightening his soiled uniform, he marched forward to the foot of the throne. Jaldaric followed him, his face set, but his eyes uncertain.

For a long moment the two men looked at one an-other. The King felt some of Eldric’s ordeal and was sickened, while Eldric felt the King’s new health and was heartened. Tiny glimmers of hope began to flicker tentatively into life.

‘My Lord Eldric,’ said the King, ‘we’ve been born into a time of great change, it would seem. Darkness and strife stalk Fyorlund. Ancient ways fade into memory, institutions crumble, kin takes arms against kin as your fellow Lords arm themselves in the east. Is it their intention to move against this City?’

‘Quite probably, Majesty,’ replied Eldric without hesitation.

Damn these people and their loathsome openness, thought Dan-Tor.

The King showed no surprise at Eldric’s response. ‘War is not a matter overburdened by logical considera-tions, Lord Eldric,’ he said. ‘But someone somewhere usually has a semblance of a reason for it. As you seem to be the first mover in this unhappiness, perhaps you’d tell me what demands you’d make of me.’

Eldric searched the face of the King again, fearfully aware of his last interview in this hall when he had been swept away in a grim black tide. There was tiredness in the King’s face, but strength also. And his eyes, those traitors to the inner self, betrayed no instability.

He bowed. ‘Majesty, I make no demands of you. I’m one of your Lords. A servant to you, the Law, the Geadrol and the people. I would make only a request.’ He paused but the King gestured to him to continue. ‘I would request an Accounting, Majesty. An Accounting before yourself and the Lords of the Geadrol.’

Before the King could reply, there was a clamour outside the hall and, abruptly, a Mathidrin officer burst in. Eldric and Jaldaric turned round to examine this intruder while the King folded his arms and discreetly laid his hand on his sword hilt. Dan-Tor, however, almost staggered. The unease that had been increasingly tormenting him over the past days suddenly burst upon him like a raging flood. For a moment he felt as though his mind was like a boat torn from its moorings and tossed to and fro at the whim of some unregarding storm.

‘Your request is granted, Lord Eldric.’ The King’s voice was soft, but it filled the hall and cut through Dan-Tor’s whirling thoughts.

He spun round to face the King. ‘Majesty,’ he said, starting forward. His hands were opening and closing as if to grasp the reins of power he could feel slipping away. ‘No… ’ He stopped, mouth agape, paralysed by indecision. He must strike the King down now before it was too late. But this Mathidrin was no ordinary harbinger. He was riding on an evil tide.

Unbidden, the man spoke. ‘Ffyrst,’ he said, ‘a great crowd surrounds the Palace. A man at their head seeks audience with you.’