Roger Taylor: The fall of Fyorlund

Even Gavor himself had been at a loss for words, taken aback at his own actions. Now, skimming the air currents, he discovered something else about the spurs. Instead of hindering his flight as he had expected, they improved it. His balance, his manoeuvrability, even his speed, all seemed to be better, and he knew deep inside that few flying creatures could attack him now and depart unscathed.

‘I’ll be a fearless feathered fighter now, dear boy,’ he said, alighting on Hawklan’s shoulder. Then, thought-fully, ‘Do you think I should take them off when I go to visit my friends, or leave them on to make a greater impression?’

Hawklan laughed. ‘How do you expect me to answer that for you, you fearless feathered lecher? Hawklan the innocent?’

Gavor nodded sagely. ‘True, true,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll have to experiment judiciously. I must admit, this recent protracted period of abstinence could well add a little freshness to the proceedings.’

‘Good,’ said Hawklan. ‘That’ll make it easier for you to school yourself to a further period of abstinence, as I doubt we’ll be stopping at the Castle for any length of time, if at all.’

‘Dear boy,’ said Gavor reproachfully. ‘I’m finding it hard enough to concentrate as it is.’

Hawklan was unsympathetic. ‘Go and roll in the snow for a while, that’ll sharpen you up,’ he said, nodding towards the more distant, higher peaks.

But it was difficult for them to maintain any spirit of light-heartedness. The reason for their haste and the probable questionable outcome of their journey weighed heavily on them all, nagging like a toothache.

As they wound their way down out of the mountains and viewed the wide fertile plains of Orthlund. Hawklan thought he could feel even the Great Harmony trem-bling, as if its very root notes were under assault.

As it transpired, they did not stop at the Castle at all, pausing only briefly in the village to see if any news had been received from Ireck and his party. But nothing had been heard and the village was strangely quiet. The sound of the horses’ hooves and the creak and clatter of their weapons echoed starkly around the three men in the sunny, shadow-strewn streets.

Hawklan stopped and dismounted at the heap of the tinker’s wares the villagers had discarded. Metal objects were turning red with rust, wood had lost its sheen, and cloths and silks were already green with decay. He wrinkled his face in distaste and shook his head sadly.

‘Why couldn’t we see these things for what they were?’ he said.

Neither Loman nor Isloman offered an answer.

Loman dismounted and joined Hawklan. Stooping stiffly, he picked up a rusting blade and held it for a moment. He smiled faintly and looked up at his brother. ‘The metal’s righting itself,’ he said. ‘Probably the other stuff is as well. But the misuse was great. It’ll take a long time.’

Isloman nodded.

Hawklan sensed the lingering aura of Tirilen’s pro-tective words, and renewed them with his own. On an impulse he drew his sword and held it over the little pile while he spoke them.

Then the three of them headed north along the Pedhavin Road.

Within half a day, they encountered Ireck’s party galloping purposefully towards the village. Sweating horses and stern-faced men milled around as the two groups met, and Hawklan took his horse to Ireck’s side to hear his news.

The villagers had met the Fyordyn only a little dis-tance away from the camp where Loman and Isloman had been held. The High Guards were neither pursuing the brothers nor fleeing homewards. Jaldaric had been coldly formal and dismissed the villagers with a casual indifference verging on contempt.

‘None of our business, he said. He had his orders and we’d be well advised to stick to our farming if we knew what was good for us.’ Ireck’s quiet voice was full of rage and frustration. He took Loman’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, Loman,’ he said. ‘I’ve let you down. I tried to talk to him, to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t even tell us how Tirilen was.’ He paused and looked upwards. ‘Eventually I threatened him. Told him we’d return, with you, and armed.’

‘And?’ asked Hawklan.

‘He laughed, Hawklan. Just looked at us and laughed.’ Ireck clenched his teeth. ‘I turned and rode away without any more ado. Some of the younger ones were getting too angry and there’d have been bloodshed there and then. I’m sorry, Loman,’ he repeated. ‘I don’t know if I did the right thing or not. My head says yes, but my stomach says no. We’re going back to the village now to get the rest of the men, and arm ourselves.’

Loman shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not until we’ve thought about all this a little more. You were right at the beginning and you were right when you left their camp. If violence is all we’re left with, then it mustn’t be in the heat of passion. That barrel’s not easily plugged once tapped. For our sakes and for theirs, we must overwhelm them completely before they can act. That way there’s less chance of death and injury. Hawklan?’

Hawklan nodded in agreement. He swung down slowly from Serian, and led the horse over to a nearby stream, his face thoughtful.

‘You didn’t see Tirilen?’ he asked.

Ireck shook his head in confirmation.

‘Did they give you any idea where she was?’

‘No,’ said Ireck.

Hawklan patted the drinking horse’s neck and gazed down into the stream. Quietly, one by one, all the men dismounted and left their horses to graze and drink. The air was full of bird-song and breeze-blown seed, and an atmosphere of unreality and uncertainty seemed to spread over the group as if the spring day would not allow them to sustain their anger once they were free of the pounding urgency of the unfamiliar horse riding.

Loman took Ireck’s arm and, together with Isloman, they joined Hawklan on the banks of the stream.

Eventually Hawklan spoke. ‘Horsemen, soldiers such as you’ve described, could have outrun you easily if they’d wished. It seems strange to me that you caught them in the first instance and then that you escaped them so easily. And now Ireck’s group has found them just as easily. We must presume that they’re neither running nor hiding, but waiting.’

‘For what?’ asked Isloman.

‘Not for what, Isloman, but for whom,’ replied Hawklan. ‘It’s me they want, or somebody wants. But who it is, or why, is beyond me. I’m driven across mountains to find an answer to some devilment I can scarcely even define, only to find more devilment and more questions. Then, when I escape that snare, a more earthbound, ordinary trap is laid for me.’

The three men looked at him silently.

‘I’m being lured into something, my friends. Some-one fears me, or at least fears what I might once have been. Someone evil. I’d be easier in my mind if I knew why I was so precious and why I’ve to be taken by stealth. But taken I have to be, there can be no doubt about that.’ He slapped his hand against his leg and straightened up briskly. ‘I weary of defence,’ he said. ‘Laying traps for me is one thing, using those I love as bait is another. We must move on to the attack and lay this villain by the heels before he does something even worse.’

In a nearby tree, Gavor flapped his wings noisily and laughed. The soft spell of the spring sunshine dispersed and the group seemed to take on a purpose again.

‘Ireck,’ said Hawklan forcefully, ‘Go back to the village with your men. Arm yourselves and then head for the High Guards’ camp. Make no effort at conceal-ment. Look as fierce as you like, but… ’ He raised his hand in a cautionary gesture. ‘Don’t attack them. Keep them at a safe distance, unless Gavor brings you a message expressly to the contrary.’