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Roger Taylor: The call of the sword

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Roger Taylor The call of the sword

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A hand grabbed at Hawklan’s shoulder and, without looking, he swung his fist back into the groin of its owner. There was a gasp and the grip vanished. Hawklan sensed more attackers behind him.

‘I don’t know where you learned those tricks, dear boy,’ said Gavor, jumping up and down agitatedly. ‘But I really think the man’s offering us good advice.’

Hawklan nodded. He spun round and laid out one more individual with an open handed blow under his chin, then ran towards the back of the tent. As he did so a small brown sinuous animal ran between his legs in the direction of the assailed entrance.

Drawing his sword, Hawklan slashed an opening in the tent wall, but before he stepped through it, he turned to see where his pursuers were. He saw one trip over the small animal, which ran on unhindered to the next man, stood on its hind legs and opened its mouth to reveal a massive and formidable set of teeth. It sank these into the man’s leg, and there was a sound of breaking bones that made Hawklan wince. The man let out a great scream and collapsed on to his fellow who was just getting up.

‘Come on, dear boy,’ Gavor flapped urgently. ‘If that’s Dar-volci’s pet, I shudder to think what he’s like.’

And with that he was gone, flying off toward the crowds and noise of the Gretmearc. Hawklan followed him, listening for any sounds of pursuit. But all he could hear was Dar-volci’s stentorian voice swearing roundly and filigreed about with thuds and screams.


* * * *

Within the hour, Hawklan had gathered his pack from the rest area, purchased a few supplies, and was making steady, inconspicuous progress down the road that would lead back to the mountains and to Orthlund. Gavor was flying watchful, high above him.

There had been no signs of pursuit after they had left Andawyr’s assailed tent, and the Gretmearc crowds had absorbed them into anonymity as effectively as a mountain mist, although part of Hawklan had wanted to draw the black sword and return to face those who had seen fit to so assault him and seek his downfall.

A deeper, darker voice sounded within him how-ever. These people are unknown to you, it said, and would have bested you like a child, but for Gavor and good fortune. Those who know them better told you to flee. To return might be to make vain any sacrifice they have paid.

Reluctantly Hawklan had bowed to this wiser coun-sel.

Gavor had had less sombre reservations. ‘Dar-volci’ll be all right,’ he said confidently. ‘Judging by the noises that were coming from that tent he sounds as if he’s twice the size of Isloman. And did you see that rat thing-with the teeth?’ His tone was awe-stricken, and he hopped involuntarily onto Hawklan’s head to be further from the ground.

Hawklan nodded, and grimaced at the memory of those bone-crunching teeth. ‘That was no rat,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it before. It must be some kind of a guard animal.’

‘Well, if he’s got that thing on a leash, at least we’ll have no difficulty recognizing Dar-volci if we ever meet him,’ Gavor concluded.

However, their journey was for the most part silent. Each was rapt in his own thoughts. In contrast to his peaceful journey from Pedhavin, Hawklan now found that his mind was troubled and his perceptions darker. He realized he was searching the faces of passers-by for signs of treachery and enmity. Running feet or hooves behind him would see his hand move gently to his sword hilt. A glade of trees overshadowing the road, beautiful though it was still, would become also a possible place of ambush, and part of him would peer into it, seeking out less innocent shadows.

He did not relish this new sight and he became in-creasingly anxious to be back at Anderras Darion, back amongst familiar surroundings with familiar faces and sounds around him, back amongst light and openness. But Andawyr’s voice kept returning to him.

‘Watch the shadows. Your days of peace are ended.’

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