Roger Taylor: The fall of Fyorlund

‘We’re escort to the Lord Dan-Tor, Hawklan, but we know nothing of his purpose in being in Orthlund. What he ordered us to do here was contrary to everything that the High Guard should believe in and protect. I should have had no part of it. We betrayed freely and gener-ously given hospitality with foul treachery. I should have spoken up if only for the sake of my men. A High Guard should not obey orders mindlessly.’ Then, in reluctant admission, ‘But the Lord Dan-Tor has a way of…

His voice faded and there was an angry exclamation of disbelief from Esselt.

‘Enough, Jaldaric. You’re talking treason. This man’s an enemy of Fyorlund. Seize him now. There are enough of us to take them all.’

Jaldaric turned on him furiously. ‘I’ll not warn you again, Esselt. There’s been enough treachery. Besides, if memory serves me correctly, you were in charge of tonight’s guard, were you not? These "soil-tilling oafs" had little difficulty in slipping by your eagle-eyed watch, did they? And we could just as easily have been killed as knocked insensible for all the chance we had to defend ourselves. They’ve repaid our treachery with mercy, Esselt. You might care to ponder on that.’ Esselt glowered at him, but Jaldaric was warming to his work. ‘And pray, master of the guard, would you care to stroll out into the woods and see how many more such "oafs" might be waiting for us right now in these woods- their woods? Doubtless the Lord Dan-Tor will be most impressed by your contribution to this evening’s work.’

Hawklan raised a hand to his mouth to hide a smile.

Esselt fired a parting shot. ‘You use his name too lightly, Jaldaric,’ he said. ‘His sanction justifies all.’

Jaldaric gave him a look of contempt but did not reply. Then massaging his ribs he grimaced in distaste as he turned again to Hawklan. ‘I don’t know what to do, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘Personally, from what I’ve seen and heard, I can’t imagine that you or, for that matter, anything out of Orthlund could be an enemy to Fyorlund, but the Lord Dan-Tor has branded you as such, and this scheme for your capture was of his devising.’ He looked down, unable to meet Hawklan’s gaze. ‘Tirilen was to be used to lure you closer to Fyorlund. We were to move ahead of you so that you would follow until such time as his agents could safely take you prisoner. No one was to be hurt,’ he concluded, looking up again.

He tapped his fingers nervously on the table. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It was an error of judgement on my part to have anything to do with it. I think probably most of my men think so too.’

There were various signals of agreement from the others with the exception of a small group centred around Esselt.

‘What will happen to you?’ Hawklan asked.

Jaldaric shrugged. ‘We’ll return to Vakloss, report what’s happened and take the consequences. But what will happen to you? ’he replied. ‘I’ll be subject to military discipline, but you’ve no such protection. Dan-Tor will send others for you… ’ He hesitated. ‘And rumour has it that he has darker agents than us when need arises.’

Hawklan nodded. ‘I think I may have met some already,’ he said.

Jaldaric looked at him. ‘I don’t know what you can do,’ he said. ‘Other than be on your guard. You seem more than capable of looking after yourself, and you’ve a friend in every Orthlundyn I’ve heard speak of you, but… ’

Hawklan nodded again. He had known his future course of action from the moment that Tirilen’s safety had been assured. It was impossible that he should attempt to recapture his old life. Loman’s words about hands that wilfully destroyed harmony and balance had crystallized his thoughts. So obvious was it that he wondered how he could not have seen it before.

He used the word evil to describe the creator of these events, but he had used it as a healer, to whom evil is an inadvertent disharmony that needs correction, an accidental movement away from balance and equilib-rium. Now, he realized, or perhaps remembered, that evil could be an active force. That some people knew of balance and harmony but chose deliberately to destroy them. People motivated by he knew not what, to take, and to take only. People so tormented that they could not rest while others enjoyed tranquillity.

Such thoughts had not occurred to him in his twenty years in Orthlund and with them came other, darker thoughts. Could he himself contain the seeds of such a creature? Could the strange plateau that Andawyr had shown him imprison an evil that had rightly been locked away by wise hands? However, would Dan-Tor resort to such subterfuge to waken an ally? He felt reassured. But then, evil allies would not lightly trust one another, would they?

A vista of conflicting possibilities opened before him which defied his reason to reach a conclusion. And could he trust his intuition as it cried out, ‘No. There is no evil in you’?

He had no choice. He must trust it. Both intuition and reason found no evil in Andawyr, and there had been patently much evil in that corner of the Gretmearc and in the wares offered by Dan-Tor.

Then his own words came back to him. Ignorance is a voracious, destructive, shadow-dwelling creature that must always be destroyed. Destroyed by the light of truth, no matter what horrors it exposed.

So be it, he concluded.

A light touch on his arm brought him out of his reverie. It was Tirilen.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

He smiled and put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Just thinking about what to do next.’ He looked at Jaldaric’s concerned face.

‘It would seem that neither of us knows what’s hap-pening and that both of us, and my friends, are being used in some way. I’ll ride with you to meet this Lord Dan-Tor and seek an explanation from him personally. That way you’ll have fulfilled at least part of his instructions, which may lessen your punishment, and I’ll find out the truth of what’s been happening.’

This pronouncement silenced the onlookers for a moment, then there was a babble of voices. Isloman stepped forward and took him by the arm, his craggy face alive with alarm.

‘Hawklan, you can’t,’ he said in disbelief. ‘You might be imprisoned, or even killed.’

Hawklan shook his head. ‘Imprisoned? Why? I’ve offended no law that I know of. And I doubt I’ll be killed. I’m sure that could easily have been done many times over by now. This man wants to see me alive. And I’m increasingly anxious to see him. I’m sure these young men will protect me.’

Isloman gazed skywards as if for guidance and then slapped his hands on the sides of his thighs. ‘These young men, as you call them, are soldiers, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘They’ll do as their superior officers tell them. They may argue a little, but ultimately they’ll do as they’re ordered. And if they don’t, then more soldiers will be found who will.’

‘That’s true, Hawklan,’ said Jaldaric. ‘If it’s your choice, then you may ride under our protection but, once we’re in Fyorlund, I can’t guarantee your safety. I’m only a humble captain… probably less, very shortly.’

Hawklan looked doubtful. He turned to Loman enquiringly. Without moving, Loman looked at his brother and then at his daughter. When he spoke, his voice was strained.

‘You’ll have to go, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘You’re the centre of all this change, if not its cause. You’ve been chosen in some way, by some power we can’t begin to understand. Jaldaric’s right. Wherever you go, this Lord… tinker… will pursue you, and the next time he’ll use less scrupulous soldiers.’

Isloman turned angrily on his brother but stopped as he met Loman’s desperately sad gaze. Uncharacteris-tically he swore and struck the table violently with his fist as if such an outburst might assuage his doubts and pain.