Roger Taylor - The fall of Fyorlund

Slowly he drew his sword and raised it in the air. ‘Halt,’ he shouted.

The approaching patrol stopped and one of the horsemen came forward. His whole posture showed the marks of fretful journeying but, even against the background of the restless Mandroc patrol, he exuded menace. Jaldaric imperceptibly tightened his grip on his sword to prevent his hand shaking.

The rider, however, ignored him and addressed the waiting Urssain.

‘Captain Urssain, why do you and your men lounge in the sun when you were ordered to find the Lord Dan-Tor?’

The sound of the words gave Jaldaric the purchase he needed to still his mind. He did not wait for Urssain’s reply. ‘The Lord Dan-Tor has returned alone to Fyorlund,’ he said. ‘And your friend lounges in the sun at my suggestion. He found it preferable to lounging in an eternal darkness, which is where his conduct nearly brought him.’

The rider turned and stared at Jaldaric as if only just noticing he was there.

‘The Lord Dan-Tor has left, you say?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Jaldaric replied.

‘Alone?’ The man cast a swift glance at Urssain, who nodded. A brief spasm of irritation passed over the rider’s sallow face and he lowered his head thoughtfully. Then, apparently reaching a decision, he turned again to Jaldaric.

‘You’re Fyordyn, I see,’ he said. ‘And you’ve the arrogance of a lordling. You’ll be the traitor Jaldaric I presume.’

Jaldaric did not reply, but held the man’s grey-eyed stare firmly. For all his menace, he was at least human, and his hostility deflected Jaldaric’s mind from the implications of the waiting patrol.

The man walked his horse over to Jaldaric and, leaning forward slightly, bared discoloured teeth in a humourless smile. ‘My name is Aelang, Jaldaric. Commander Aelang. Mark it well. It’s probably the last pleasantry I’ll exchange with you.’ Without taking his gaze from Jaldaric’s face, he levelled a finger at the seated Urssain. ‘You’ve assaulted a Captain of the King’s High Guard, and you’ve drawn your sword against his Commander. These are serious offences and will be added to whatever others you’ve to face when we get back to Vakloss.’

Gavor’s cry floated down between the two men, and Aelang cast a brief irritable glance upwards.

‘I presume the rest of your men are skulking in ambush,’ he continued in a more conciliatory tone, waving his arm towards the surrounding trees. ‘Tell them to come out and lay down their arms-now-and we’ll forget this misunderstanding. Don’t resist whatever you do.’ Conspiratorially he indicated the waiting Mandrocs with his eyes.

Aelang’s affectation of comradeship broke Jaldaric’s restraint. ‘What is this… this obscenity, Aelang? Mandrocs, armed and liveried! Mandrocs! ’ He could barely utter the word. ‘And pretending to be a King’s High Guard no less.’ His tone was acid. ‘Do you take me for a child? The Mandrocs are to be confined to Narsindal. The Law forbids them even to enter Fyor-lund, and you bring an armed troop of them into Orthlund-Orthlund of all places. If anyone’s to stand account in Vakloss, it’ll be you, if you’re responsible for any part of this nightmare.’

Waiting in the shade, Hawklan felt thoughts coming from deep inside him. Run, Jaldaric. Retreat. Regroup. Don’t stand. But he could not speak the words.

Aelang listened to Jaldaric’s outburst with an air of waning patience. ‘You don’t listen, Jaldaric. I’ve said I’ll not bandy words with you. You’ve been away too long. The King holds all power now. To defy me is to defy the might of the new Fyorlund, a might uncluttered by ancient Lords and their endless prating, a might which can defend Fyorlund against our real enemies.’ Then he leaned forward again and spoke more softly. ‘Use your sense, man. If you renounce the old order and join with us, there may be hope for you. If you resist… ’ He shrugged significantly.

The combination of wild-eyed fanaticism and self-seeking ambition in the man’s tone stunned Jaldaric and he stood for a moment in bewildered silence.

Then he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘This is mad-ness. You’re lying. How could the King seize all power to himself? And what enemies has Fyorlund that would require aid from… ’ He looked at the sinister waiting group. ‘The very reason for the existence of High Guards is the restraint of the Mandrocs.’

‘And to guard against the Second Coming of Sumeral,’ sneered Aelang. ‘You’ll believe fairy tales before you’ll believe political reality. That’s why the King’s taken power. Fyorlund can’t afford such as you guarding its interests.’ The jibe stung Jaldaric. He seized the horse’s bridle. ‘If the King’s done this, it’s because he’s a sick man and has probably been coerced by others. Such an act would break not only the Law but the faith of countless generations. But I don’t intend to argue the point. Consider yourself under arrest. Disarm these animals now, surrender your sword and prepare yourself to return with me to Vakloss to face the Geadrol and account for this horror.’

Aelang snatched the bridle from Jaldaric’s hand, causing the horse to shy and Jaldaric to step back.

‘I weary of you, boy, and I’ll not be thanked for delaying to remonstrate with the unredeemable. Surrender now or my patrol will root out your compan-ions and slaughter them.’

‘Hold,’ cried Jaldaric. ‘We’re no ordinary patrol. We’re the Lord Dan-Tor’s escort, and I also have archers with me.’ The man steadied his horse and looked uneasily from side to side. Jaldaric followed his thoughts.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you’re right. We could leave two dozen of your… your creatures dead before they even reach us, and that’ll improve the odds a little, won’t it? And we’ve allies from Orthlund.’

Aelang cast a glance at Urssain, who nodded again. Jaldaric continued quietly but purposefully. ‘But that’s of no concern to you, is it? Your Mandrocs are only here to absorb shot. They fight with crushing numbers and mindless ferocity if my… fairy tale books tell me true. More to the point is what you’ve already worked out. You and the other men will die first if we’re attacked.’

Aelang remained motionless in the middle of the road, peering into the trees on both sides in a vain attempt to assess the truth of Jaldaric’s words. Only Gavor’s persistent cry could be heard, sounding like an ancient funeral knell.

Finally, Aelang narrowed his eyes and swore vi-ciously. Slowly he dismounted. He was a little shorter than Jaldaric, but heavily built and obviously much stronger. Jaldaric stepped back a pace and levelled his sword at the man. Even from his hiding place in the trees, Isloman felt Aelang’s physical confidence.

‘Jaldaric’s in trouble,’ he whispered to Hawklan, but Hawklan seemed to be in a trance.

‘Hand me your sword… carefully,’ said Jaldaric. ‘Then order your… patrol to throw down their weapons.’

Aelang started to draw his sword with his left hand, fearing a hasty response from a nervous archer if he drew with his right. It snagged in his cape and he fumbled with it momentarily. Jaldaric did not move.

The sword came free awkwardly and Aelang casually tossed back his cloak with a flourish and a friendly smile. As the cloak billowed out behind him, he took a long swift step forward past the side of Jaldaric’s sword and, spinning round, struck Jaldaric in the face with his left hand.

The speed and power of the blow, weighted and hardened as it was by the clenched sword hilt, knocked Jaldaric senseless and, without faltering in his step, Aelang bent low underneath him and swung him up effortlessly across his shoulders. Then, with Jaldaric across his back like a great shield, he ran a weaving path back towards his patrol, crying out commands as he ran.