Roger Taylor: The call of the sword

After a moment, Andawyr straightened up. ‘The slowest apprentice couldn’t have missed them. They positively shouted their whereabouts to anyone with the ears to hear. And the pavilion? Well… put simply, that was a trap-an appalling trap for a considerable prey. And that brings us back to the real question. Who are you that so much effort should be expended on your behalf? Why are they so frightened of you that you have to be so bound?’

He peered deep into Hawklan’s face again. ‘Show me your sword.’

Hawklan drew it and laid it gently in Andawyr’s extended hands. ‘Careful, it’s very sharp,’ he warned.

The old man did not move, but stared down at the sword, slowly moving his eyes along its length. Then he let out a long slow breath.

‘When I heard Gavor’s tale, I couldn’t believe it,’ he said, softly. ‘But it’s here. Actually here. In my hands. I still can’t believe it.’ He looked up at Hawklan. ‘You don’t know what this is, do you?’ he said.

‘It’s a very fine sword I believe,’ Hawklan offered, tentatively.

Andawyr shook his head in amused amazement. ‘A fine sword,’ he echoed to himself. Then his voice fell to a whisper as if the walls themselves should not hear. ‘This is his sword. Ethriss’s sword. Left at Anderras Darion when he went to face Sumeral at the Last Battle. Small wonder it slew the heart of that… trap, and protected your arm.’

Abruptly, his face broke up as if he were in great pain or about to weep uncontrollably. Gavor flapped his wings uneasily.

‘Why me?’ said Andawyr. ‘Why me? Why now?’

Hawklan watched him uncertainly, then carefully lifting the sword from the still outstretched hands, replaced it in its scabbard.

‘What’s the matter, Andawyr?’ he asked.

The pain in Andawyr’s face faded into some kind of resignation and he bowed his head away from the gaze of the green eyes.

‘Everything’s the matter, Hawklan. You may be our greatest hope, but at the moment I’m your greatest hope, and you, along with everyone else, are in great danger.’

Despite Andawyr’s obvious distress, Hawklan’s impatience broke through again. ‘Andawyr, what are you talking about? Tell me what’s happening. I’m a simple healer; who would want to harm me?’

Andawyr started at Hawklan’s unexpectedly au-thoritative tone and, leaning forward, took hold of his hands.

‘Someone who appears out of the mountains-im-passable mountains in mid-winter if I recall Gavor’s tale correctly. Someone with no memory. Someone with the key and the word to open Anderras Darion. Ethriss’s own castle. Someone who knows the castle as he walks through it, even the passage through the labyrinth that guards the armoury. Someone who sees an ancient corruption in a tinker’s toy, and then has the Black Sword of Ethriss fall at his feet. That someone is more than a simple healer, Hawklan. Isn’t he?’

‘Who am I, then?’ Hawklan almost shouted.

‘Close your eyes and relax,’ Andawyr said, abruptly and decisively. ‘Trust me.’ Hawklan hesitated, but Gavor closed his claw reassuringly on his shoulder.

Hawklan nodded and closed his eyes. As he did so he thought he glimpsed again the flickering white light within the old man. Andawyr reached up and placed the palms of his hands on Hawklan’s temples then he too closed his eyes.

The room was very quiet; not a vestige of sound from the Gretmearc penetrated into it. Gavor fidgeted.

Hawklan felt himself floating free in a great space filled with countless swirling images and whisperings. Occasionally, tiny portions of the sounds and the scenes would come together and make sense, but they slipped away before he could catch them, like morning dreams. Then abruptly he was standing on something solid.

Andawyr’s voice said, ‘Open your eyes, Hawklan. You’re quite safe. Don’t be afraid. Just tell me what you see.’

Hawklan opened his eyes. He could still feel the pressure of Andawyr’s hands holding his temples, but he could not see him. Instead he found he was standing in the middle of an apparently endless plain. Looking around he could see no distinguishing features at all. The ground beneath his feet was smooth and flat and unblemished in every direction. And everything was silent and still. He described it to Andawyr.

‘The ground you’re standing on, what’s it like?’ came the question.

Hawklan looked down and tapped his foot. The sensation was strange.

‘It feels very solid. Like… rock perhaps… only more solid… more permanent,’ he said.

He felt Andawyr sigh. ‘I feared so,’ he said. ‘Close your eyes. I’ll bring you back.’

Then he was floating free again through the shifting scenes and sounds until Andawyr said, ‘All right. Open your eyes now,’ and the pressure went from his temples. He was back in Andawyr’s room.

‘What was all that about?’ he asked rather irritably. Andawyr’s face was screwed up with doubt and disappointment, and he was squeezing the remains of his nose between his thumb and forefinger pensively. He jumped slightly.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, scratching his head, but he of-fered no answer.

‘Sorry!’ Hawklan spoke heatedly. ‘Andawyr, you’re a complete stranger to me and I’m in your debt. You’ve saved me from something extremely unpleasant-probably even saved my life. You destroyed a man and a building with a flick of your hand.’ He looked at his bandaged hand. ‘You’ve treated an injury, the like of which I’ve never even seen. You bring us to a room in a tent that feels as if it’s in the very heart of a castle, with its timbered ceiling and stone walls. You say, "Trust me," then transport my mind who knows where. Then you say, "sorry".’

He stood up suddenly, and banged his fist down on a nearby table. ‘What’s going on, Andawyr?’ he shouted.

Gavor cleared his throat. ‘Steady, dear boy.’

Andawyr looked up at the green eyed figure tower-ing over him. ‘I don’t know where to start,’ he said plaintively.

Hawklan bent forward, almost menacingly. ‘Find a beginning, then. Somewhere. Anywhere. And start there. Tell me what’s happening in plain simple language that a plain simple healer can understand, without any more conjuring tricks or mysterious commentaries.’

Although not spoken, Hawklan’s final cadence said ‘Or else’ quite unequivocally.

Andawyr continued staring up at him thoughtfully for some time, then motioned him to sit down.

‘I’m sorry, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘As I said, I’ve had a trial of my own today, a severe one, and I’m caught in a maze of questions at least as bewildering as yours. I can’t tell you everything that’s happening, because for all my knowledge, I’m afraid I don’t know.’ He shrugged apologetically.

Hawklan’s eyes narrowed, but Andawyr returned his gaze sternly.

‘Hawklan, I understand your impatience, but you’re a principal player in this, and your naivete and igno-rance are weapons in the hands of our enemies. Just listen while I do my best.’

Hawklan bridled at the word ‘ignorance’. Something lurched inside him.

‘There is no more voracious, destructive and shadow dwelling creature than ignorance,’ he said, his voice strange. He leaned forward and took Andawyr’s arm in a powerful grip. ‘It must always be destroyed, but only the light of truth can do it-only the light of truth-no matter what horrors it exposes.’

Gavor cocked his head to one side, listening in-tently. Andawyr looked into the piercing green eyes with a mixture of fear and awe.

‘Have you studied the Great Gate of Anderras Darion, Hawklan?’ he asked, rather hoarsely.

‘No,’ said Hawklan. ‘I know some of the tales from it, but I doubt a lifetime would be long enough to study even the visible part of it, let alone those parts that the blind can read or, according to village legend, those parts that sing in the wind. Gavor knows more of it than I do.’