The Return of the Sword Read online

  Antyr replied by indicating his empty plate. At the same time Andawyr retrieved his own empty bowl. He stared at it with a puzzled expression.

  ‘I’ll get you another,’ Antyr said, without explanation.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Andawyr said, when the Dream Finder returned. He tapped the papers significantly but deliberately avoided looking at them.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Antyr told him. ‘Though, to be honest with you, despite my travels with Yatsu and Jaldaric, early morning isn’t my . . . strongest . . . time – it’s the nature of my job as much as anything. I don’t wish to seem churlish, but unless it’s something really urgent, like, say, the end of the world, I’d rather let the sun get well on its way before I greet it.’

  Andawyr looked briefly contrite, then began bolting down his food as though it were a rather regrettable necessity.

  ‘I’m afraid I tend to forget the time of day,’ he admitted, speaking with his mouth full. ‘One of the penalties of being incurably curious. And living underground much of the time.’ Finishing, he smiled broadly, wiped his hands down his robe and stood up. ‘Bit of a walk, I’m afraid,’ he said extending an inviting arm towards the door.

  Leaving the gradually filling refectory, he indicated an arched entrance on the far side of the hallway and Antyr found himself following him down a wide, spiral staircase. Tarrian and Grayle padded ahead of both of them. Though it was difficult to gauge accurately, Anderras Darion being built on wildly uneven terrain, Antyr judged that this would take them below ground. At the bottom of the stairs Andawyr settled to a comfortable pace along a deserted corridor.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Antyr finally asked.

  ‘Down here,’ Andawyr said unhelpfully, pushing open a large wooden door to reveal yet more stairs. These were set out in a series of short straight flights winding round a walled core. Antyr wondered idly whether this was solid or hollow and, if the latter, what might lie inside it. He ran his hand along the wall as he followed Andawyr’s relentless descent, passing by open passageways and doors on almost every landing. Like everything else in Anderras Darion, the workmanship was superb. The joints in the masonry were tight and straight, and the blocks themselves were well dressed. He noted too that there was no hint of the dampness and the stale mustiness that should have been an inevitable feature of such a deep cellar. For they were, without doubt, some considerable way below ground now. It was another of the many small wonders that had gradually unfolded themselves as he had grown used to the castle. He remarked on it.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Andawyr said. ‘Like the Cadwanen, there’s more than just light carried to every cranny in Anderras Darion.’ He patted the wall. ‘And there’s no denying that the people who built it were very capable – at least as good as any we have today.’

  ‘It feels different from the rest of the castle, though.’

  They were walking along a wide passageway. In common with the stairs and passages they had used since leaving the refectory, it was well lit, but it was deserted.

  ‘It’s much older,’ Andawyr said. ‘There are some who say that parts of Anderras Darion existed before even the Orthlundyn princes came here, but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Who’s to know?’

  It took Antyr a little time to identify something else that was puzzling him.

  ‘There are no carvings,’ he said abruptly.

  Andawyr glanced around as if he had never noticed this before. ‘No great surprise, I suppose,’ he said. ‘Considering where we are. The Orthlundyn aren’t a particularly vainglorious people, but they do like their carvings to be seen, and precious few are going to be seen down here. Then again, I wouldn’t pretend to understand them when it comes to carving. Maybe the light’s not to their taste, or there might be something about the stone – they’re extraordinarily fussy about so many things. To you and me, a rock’s a rock, but that’s just because we’re rock-blind, as they call it. To them, a single stone can warrant an entire saga. I’ve known Isloman search for months, even years sometimes, before he came across a piece that suited him for a particular idea he had in mind. Once . . .’

  He stopped.

  ‘Here we are.’

  ‘Here’ was a broad, stone-floored chamber. Simple and spare in design, it was obviously from a different era than the rest of the castle and it had a dull, forbidding look that the lighting did nothing to dispel. There was also an aura about it that made Antyr feel uneasy, an unease that was not helped by ragged and disordered piles of weapons stacked here and there against the walls.

  ‘From the war,’ Andawyr said, answering his unspoken question. ‘A lot were put back in the Armoury but . . . it was difficult . . .’ He seemed reluctant to continue and Antyr did not press him. His attention, in any event, had been drawn to the far end of the hall.

  ‘Careful.’

  Tarrian’s and Grayle’s voices, unusually speaking together and both almost fearful, filled Antyr’s head. He looked down to see the two wolves close beside him, ears flattened, tails down.

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

  Neither of them replied.

  Not that a reply was necessary, for it needed no great sensitivity to feel the ominous presence of the rows of closely spaced columns that Antyr found his gaze now drawn to.

  ‘That’s the Labyrinth,’ Andawyr said, answering another unasked question. ‘It leads to the Armoury.’

  Antyr stared in silence for some time at the columns and the darkening gloom that they disappeared into. As he did so, he began to feel that something was watching him in return.

  ‘It’s not remotely like anything else I’ve seen in the castle so far,’ he said weakly. ‘It’s . . .’ His voice faded.

  ‘Frightening,’ Andawyr said bluntly. Then he was walking towards it. Antyr followed him hesitantly. The two wolves remained where they were. Antyr felt them withdrawing all contact from him. As he drew nearer to the columns, it seemed to him that they were much larger than he had first thought – as if they had been further away than they first appeared. He tried to reassure himself that this was just another optical illusion, typical of many that were to be found in the ingenious carvings that decorated the castle, but it did not help – the effect was disorientating. Nor did it help that, while every other place he had been to in the castle was well lit, either by radiant-stone lanterns or mirror stones capturing some part of the landscape, there were apparently no lights within the Labyrinth. Worse, the light from the hall faltered and faded into nothingness after the first few columns – columns that, he saw now, were placed quite randomly.

  Rather to Antyr’s relief, Andawyr stopped. Antyr thought briefly of making some jocular remark to lighten the sense of oppression he could feel growing within him, but the waiting columns froze the words before they formed.

  Then he realized that Andawyr was speaking. His voice sounded distant and faint.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Antyr said, his own voice ringing raucous and harsh in his ears. ‘I was just distracted.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Andawyr said. ‘This place is disturbing, I know. It commands respect.’

  It was an odd phrase to use about an architectural feature but, looking at the columns, Antyr understood what it meant. Andawyr was continuing. ‘I was saying that the Labyrinth guards the way to the Armoury – the place where weapons from the wars of the First Coming are stored and where Hawklan found the black sword. It’s the only way in and the only way out. But I didn’t bring you here to show you the Armoury. I wanted you to see the Labyrinth itself.’ He raised a finger to forestall a question. ‘Bear with me, please.’

  He reached deep into a pocket and, after some earnest rooting, withdrew his hand to reveal a collection of oddments that included several small lengths of string, various crumpled pieces of paper, a rusty key, the remains of a pen, two or three fragments of wood and no small quantity of dust and stones. He selected a pebble, carefully replaced the remaining debris in his pocket, then threw the pebble gently past
the first columns. Remembering his training in siege warfare during his obligatory service in Serenstad’s army, Antyr watched the pebble intently, half expecting to see some powerfully sprung trap scythe out from one of the columns. But nothing happened except for an innocuous click as it landed and rolled a little way along the stone floor.

  A click that echoed.

  And echoed . . .

  Over and over . . .

  Antyr found himself craning forward as the sound did not fade away but began to multiply, resonating to and fro, growing in intensity from the hiss of wind-carried sand blown across a beach, to the rattle of jostling corn stalks, to the hammering of hailstones on a slate roof. Then, with appalling suddenness, it was a screaming cacophony that defied description. Antyr was uncertain afterwards whether he staggered back or whether Andawyr pulled him, but by the time he recovered his wits, he was much further away from the columns than he had been, and his hands were clamped tightly over his ears. The sound from the Labyrinth was fading as rapidly as it had grown but even as it died it rose and fell like the hiss of a predator frustrated of its prey.

  ‘What . . . what was that?’ Antyr stammered, wide-eyed.

  ‘That was the Labyrinth,’ Andawyr replied. ‘It not only leads to the Armoury, it guards it. It can take the least sound and double and redouble it until it becomes a crushing weapon. What we just heard was the merest echo of what you’d have heard had you been inside it.’ He hesitated. ‘It can do other things as well, almost none of which we understand.’ It impressed Antyr that the Cadwanwr made no effort to conceal how shaken he was by what they had both just experienced, but the look Andawyr was now giving him was disconcerting. ‘I think you may be more familiar with it than you realize.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Antyr retorted. ‘I’ve never been . . .’ But Andawyr was taking his arm and leading him back towards the columns. ‘Come with me.’

  Antyr resisted after a few paces, bringing the Cadwanwr to a clumsy halt. ‘I’m not going in there,’ he said categorically.

  ‘Don’t worry, there’s a safe pathway, obviously. Right the way through it,’ Andawyr replied. ‘But I only want to go a little way into it – just a few paces. It should be more than enough.’

  ‘Enough for what?’

  ‘To test my idea.’

  Antyr raised his eyebrows. ‘You haven’t told me what this idea is yet.’

  Andawyr bent down to pick up something. It was the pebble that he had thrown into the Labyrinth. Something had thrown it back. He dropped it into his pocket without comment.

  ‘For the simple reason that I’m going to need an honest response from you. One uncluttered by what you think might be expected of you,’ he said.

  Antyr turned to Tarrian and Grayle for support, but though the two wolves were watching the exchange closely, they were still wilfully avoiding contact with him. He swore at them mentally, then reluctantly responded to Andawyr’s renewed urging.

  ‘Stay close to me,’ Andawyr said needlessly as he stepped between two of the columns. ‘It’s quite safe.’

  Antyr took a deep breath and followed him cautiously.

  As he stepped into the Labyrinth, it seemed to him that it too was drawing in a breath. He eyed the nearest columns nervously as though, despite Andawyr’s assurances, they might suddenly close in on him. Unexpectedly alarming was a sense of oppression from above. Looking up, Antyr found that he could not see the ceiling. In the entrance hall, the columns spanned starkly from floor to ceiling without base or capital, but here they faded into a dark haziness. For a moment, he thought that he caught sight of those columns around him tapering giddyingly high above him but the impression was gone almost immediately.

  ‘Just a little further,’ Andawyr said, his voice oddly resonant, as though the Labyrinth were testing it, savouring it. Antyr padded after him, placing his feet with exaggerated care to avoid making any noise that this place might seize upon.

  Andawyr stopped and spoke very softly. ‘This should be far enough,’ he said. Antyr looked at him suspiciously. ‘I want you to try something for me. I just want you to close your eyes and stand very still for a few moments.’ Antyr’s look became even more suspicious. ‘Don’t worry,’ Andawyr said, taking his arm again. ‘I’m not going anywhere and in any case you’re truly in no danger while you’re on the path. Please indulge me in this; I wouldn’t have dragged you all the way down here for anything trivial.’

  ‘What is it you’re hoping to find?’ Antyr asked nervously.

  ‘I’m not hoping for anything,’ Andawyr replied. ‘I just want your honest response.’

  Antyr gave a slight shrug and, feeling more than a little self-conscious, straightened up and closed his eyes.

  ‘What have I to do now?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing. Just be quiet and listen.’

  As the faint echoes of Andawyr’s voice faded, a silence folded around the motionless Dream Finder. Gradually, alone in his darkness, Antyr became aware of his breathing and of his heart beating.

  What was he doing here? he mused. He had no reason to doubt Andawyr’s protestation that he would not have brought him here for any trivial reason, but he would like to have known what was expected of him. Was he supposed to be listening for some sound unheard by others? Voices like Tarrian’s and Grayle’s that, normally, only he could hear, or those of the Great Forest that apparently spoke to Farnor? His brow furrowed and he leaned forward, striving to hear something, but the effort made him feel faintly ridiculous and, after a moment, he gave up, letting out a noisy breath.

  The sound drifted away and Antyr felt the Labyrinth taking it, twisting it, magnifying it, slowly filling the air around him with a myriad such sighs and transmuting them into other, stranger sounds – sounds that reached inside him, stirring up ancient, unspoken fears . . . memories . . .

  ‘This was where I came!’

  The words burst out of him, sweeping aside his intention to stay as silent as possible in this place. Andawyr jumped and cried out as he found himself witness to this unexpected and loud revelation.

  ‘You frightened me to death!’ he snapped, slapping his chest.

  As the two men stared at one another, their brief exchange rose up around them, then came babbling back out of the darkness as a clamorous wave of sound, in the middle of which Antyr thought he could hear taunting cries and cruel laughter. Briefly it reached a peak, then it fell away rapidly, sinking into a sulky grumbling. Though the sound had been little louder than their own voices and posed no threat to them, it was sufficient to remind both men where they were.

  Andawyr grabbed Antyr’s hand and led him quickly out of the Labyrinth.

  ‘This was where I came!’ Antyr repeated breathlessly as they emerged. ‘When I slipped away – passed through a Gateway – back at the Cadwanen.’ He jabbed a finger towards the columns. ‘There wasn’t even a vestige of light, but it was here!’

  Andawyr was looking both smug and excited.

  ‘It came to me from nowhere, in the night.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I remember thinking at the time you described it that there was something vaguely familiar about it but I didn’t pursue it. And now . . .’ He clapped his hands. ‘We must find Gulda.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ Antyr asked as they left the hall and began the ascent out of the depths of the castle.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Andawyr replied. ‘But it’s important.’ He patted the pocket containing Usche’s papers. ‘It’s another facet of events showing itself. Something else to help us penetrate the mystery of your strange abilities, something to help us get to grips with what’s happening.’

  ‘It’s good, then?’ Antyr said.

  ‘It’s progress,’ Andawyr replied. ‘Whether where it leads us is good or bad remains to be seen.’

  It took them some time to find Gulda but they were eventually directed towards a room opening on to one of the smaller parks. As they neared the door, the sound of a keyboard instrument reached them. One of the aspects of Ande
rras Darion that particularly appealed to Antyr was the music that was frequently to be heard there. It was rarely possible to walk far without encountering the sound of voices or instruments or both drifting through its hallways.

  Andawyr was about to knock on the door when Antyr stopped him. Putting a finger to his lips for silence the Dream Finder gently opened the door and motioned his companion inside, still urging silence. Gulda was at the far end of the room and, for a moment, his eyes dazzled by sunlight streaming in through the high windows, Antyr thought he was looking at a tall, handsome figure seated at the instrument. As he blinked, the impression passed, and he dismissed it as he moved quietly to a nearby chair.

  Gulda sat motionless as she played and the music she was making demonstrated both a power and a delicacy that held Antyr spellbound. The piece finished with a bubbling scurry up the keyboard, a momentary silence, then a soft chord. Gulda looked down at the keyboard for a few seconds, then nodded to herself and turned to examine her uninvited audience. Antyr extended his hands and clapped them, almost inaudibly.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  Andawyr shuffled uncomfortably.

  Gulda bowed, then looked straight into his eyes. ‘Thank you, Dream Finder,’ she replied, standing up and walking towards him. Her stick flicked towards Andawyr. ‘Unfortunately, Andawyr, despite his many undoubted talents, has little ear for music. Can’t tell a violin from a kicked cat. A strange deafness, really, music transcending so much, as it does.’

  Andawyr contemplated a rebuttal of this charge but abandoned it.

  ‘Antyr came to the Labyrinth when he passed through a Gateway at the Cadwanen,’ he blurted out without any preamble.

  Gulda’s gaze turned back to Antyr who nodded his confirmation.

  Shortly afterwards Antyr found himself standing in the hall before the Labyrinth again. With him were Andawyr and Gulda, together with Hawklan and a rather irritable Loman, these two having been swept up along the way by a silent but commanding Memsa.