Roger Taylor - The call of the sword

‘We have no complaints. Majesty. We seek only to find your reasons for your suspending the Geadrol and for your forming your own High Guard.’

The King seemed to waver between a passionate outburst and a more conciliatory reply. Eldric’s calm presence prevailed and Rgoric anxiously threw out a hasty reassurance.

‘Lord Eldric, I have no High Guard. You know the Law forbids that. This High Guard,’ he gestured around the room, ‘is that of the Lord Dan-Tor.’

Before Eldric could reply, Darek spoke harshly.

‘The people know these as your High Guard, Maj-esty. Where would they get such an idea from, if not from you? Besides, Dan-Tor is entitled Lord out of courtesy and respect for the services he’s rendered to you. He’s not Fyordyn and can never be a true Lord under the Law, thus he may not be granted the right to raise a High Guard.’

The point was valid, but the manner of its expres-sion unfortunate. The King’s manner reverted and his lip curled contemptuously.

‘Ah. Lawyer Darek. Your dilettante dabblings in the Law are well known. Doubtless your knowledge is adequate for discussions across the dining table, or for settling quarrels between stable hands, but is it appropriate here, I ask myself?’

The failure to address Darek as Lord was a consid-erable discourtesy, but to call him by a nickname, and in such a manner, was a massive and calculated insult. Darek’s face froze in disbelief. Eldric spoke quickly before Darek’s rage found tongue.

‘Majesty. Lord Darek’s anxiety expresses itself hast-ily, but a more trustworthy and honourable Lord you will travel far to find, as you know. We’re all of us concerned to hear the reasons for the suspension of the Geadrol and the forming of these new High Guards. The one is an act without precedent and the other, at First Face, appears to be a serious breach of the Law.’

Either Eldric’s tone, or the realization that he had indeed gone too far in insulting Darek, swayed the King away from a further caustic reply, and he took refuge in ill-health. He put his hand to his head as if in pain. Then he gesticulated vaguely.

‘Lord Eldric, you tax me. My fever has returned of late, as I’m sure the Honoured Secretary told you. I rely on the Lord Dan-Tor to determine legal niceties. The details of my actions are as prepared by him. I’m sure you’ll find that all is in order. He has a great respect for the Law. He’d allow nothing that wasn’t correct. If you could await his return, he’ll explain it far better than I can.’ He became almost jovial. ‘I was trained as a warrior, not a lawyer, Eldric, as you may recall,’ he said with an uncertain smile.

Eldric found the plaintive heartiness repellent, but he kept his face impassive.

‘When will he return, Majesty?’ he asked. The King shifted on the hard throne and looked down at his hands. They were trembling slightly.

‘Soon I hope,’ he muttered, half to himself. ‘He’s off on some expedition. With your son I believe.’

‘Jaldaric? Expedition? Where?’ Eldric exclaimed, surprised by this revelation.

The King grimaced and wrapped his arms around himself to still a surge of pain. His action was patently unfeigned and Eldric stepped forward anxiously.

‘Majesty, are you ill?’

The King grimaced again. ‘Yes, Sumeral damn you. Of course I’m ill,’ he shouted with unexpected violence. ‘Dan-Tor’s been too long away, and now you harass me with your petty questions. The realm is under threat from within and without, and all you’re concerned about is your debating house.’

He wiped spittle from his chin. ‘You lordlings are all the same. You care nothing for your King or for Fyorlund.’

Eldric took a pace backwards, stunned by this out-burst.

Arinndier spoke. ‘Majesty, that’s unjust and untrue, and is your illness speaking. If Fyorlund is under threat, tell us the nature of it. The Law provides for the defence of the realm. Precedents are established and are of proven worth.’

Rgoric craned his neck forward so that his head was almost lower than his shoulders. He looked like a great bird of prey as he pointed an angry finger at Arinndier.

‘I’ll tell you the nature of the threat, Lord Arinndier,’ he began. ‘We have rebel Lords on our northern borders.’ He turned suddenly to Eldric. ‘One, a neighbour of yours, I believe, Lord Eldric.’ Then turning again to Arinndier. ‘The Orthlundyn are preparing for war against us in the south, and my so-called Lords can do nothing but come bleating to me about their precious Geadrol. That’s the nature of the threat. Treachery to the north, aggression to the south and such faint hearts from those who should support me that I’m obliged to carry the entire burden alone. Small wonder my health is broken.’ He clutched at himself again.

Arinndier half turned and cast a significant glance at his friends. Even Eldric was having difficulty keeping the concern out of his face and voice.

‘Majesty,’ he said, with the aura of a last attempt, ‘the Lords in the North are, at worst, in error, but they represent no threat or disloyalty. Their conduct can and will be accounted for in due course.’

He walked a little way up the steps towards the King, who kept his eyes cast down. His voice was gentle and concerned. ‘And the Orthlundyn. Majesty. They’re a remnant race. You know that. A handful of artists and farmers tending their own lands. A gentle people, devoid of ambition. We’re their Protectors. It’s laid down so in the Law. What would it benefit them to make war on us? They’re few and their land is so lush and fertile that much of it lies fallow from year to year. We’re many and our land is harsh and rocky, albeit more than adequate for our needs.’

There was a long silence. The King did not move.

‘Majesty?’ prompted Eldric eventually.

Without lifting his head, the King spoke. ‘When did you last visit Orthlund, Lord Eldric?’ His voice was flat.

Eldric shrugged vaguely. ‘Many years ago, Majesty, but… ’

‘But nothing!’ thundered the King, standing up sud-denly. Eldric stepped back hastily and missed his footing on the dais steps. Arinndier caught him as he staggered back.

‘You know nothing, Eldric. Nothing. Dan-Tor knows. He has been there. He has heard their plotting and scheming. He has seen the engines of war they’re making, the armies they’re gathering. He doesn’t talk and squabble in front of me. He looks to my real needs and the needs of Fyorlund. He goes among my enemies and learns their ways the better to plan their downfall.’

His face became a mask of uncontrollable rage. ‘What do they want? I’ll tell you what they want. They want the metals and fuels from our mines. They seek to possess our land because they think I’m too sick to oppose them, and they know you’re too concerned with your talking and debating to realize what’s happening.’ He brandished his fist menacingly towards Eldric. ‘Well, they’ll learn otherwise, as will you. As will all my enemies.’

Arinndier stepped in front of Eldric. his face grim.

‘What mines?’ he demanded.

The King faltered and some of his control returned. ‘Don’t presume to question me, Lord,’ he said.

Arinndier was unmoved. ‘What mines?’ he said again, even more firmly.

‘I’ll not be questioned,’ cried the King, his voice a mixture of rage and fear.

Eldric spoke, his voice soft with realization and horror.

‘You’ve opened those ancient hell pits in the north-ern mountains.’

A chill seemed to fill the entire hall, damping even the warmth of the tainted spring sunlight. The four men felt themselves frozen in an eternal moment.

The response of the Lords to this pronouncement seemed to shake the King further out of his rage, and his uncertainty increased. He cast about.