The Return of the Sword Page 40

  Chapter 30

  Hawklan eventually found Loman, sitting dark and lonely by his cold forge. He looked up as Hawklan entered.

  ‘Was it all for nothing, Hawklan?’ he asked, before the healer could greet him. ‘All those men and women torn from their hearths and their loved ones. All that horror. All that gut-wrenching fear. All those bodies broken and lives casually snuffed out. Was it all for nothing?’ The brutal suddenness of the question made Hawklan stop, leaving the door to the forge ajar. Loman closed his eyes and sat back so that a shadow hid his face. ‘You know, I still wake up sometimes, shaking all over – can’t stop myself.’ He waited on no reassurance. ‘I know what it is well enough. It’s physical exhaustion shot through with stark terror. I’ve been at the heart of the battle again – that killing time before we found ourselves facing the Uhriel – my ears are ringing with the dreadful din of it all. Not dreaming, you understand, but there again – there – touching, feeling, everything as real as you are now. It’s as if it’s still happening and part of me – part of all of us – is trapped there forever.’

  Hawklan found his bleak tone almost unbearable. He did not speak.

  ‘And now we find that the cause of it all wasn’t destroyed after all? That it was all just a . . . temporary setback for Him? That He’s going to return – worse than ever!’ He struck the wall a shuddering blow with the edge of his clenched fist, then leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve anything more in me, Hawklan,’ he said after a long silence. There was no hint of self-pity in his voice. ‘I can’t go through that again, or anything like it. I’m spent. Doing it once was asking too much.’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ Hawklan said. ‘But you don’t need me to tell you it wasn’t for nothing, or that there was nothing casual about the deaths of those who didn’t return, do you?’

  Loman levered himself upright and began wandering about his forge, touching things.

  ‘No,’ he replied grimly, as he needlessly arranged some tools hanging from a rack. ‘We’ve all rehearsed our words – our excuses. No real choice – self-defence is an absolute right – evil prevails when good men lie abed – the consequences of not fighting would have been infinitely worse – our duty to those unborn. Not forgetting the soldier’s eternal solace – we did what we did because we were there.’

  ‘Reasons, not excuses.’

  ‘Reasons, excuses – I don’t know – I’m not sure I can tell the difference any more – if I ever could.’

  ‘They are reasons, Loman,’ Hawklan said. ‘As valid now as they were before we fought and didn’t have the benefit of knowing the outcome – when there was only darkness and terrible uncertainty ahead. And when the words aren’t enough we take what comfort we can from our actions. It’s the nature of war to plunge us into the depths of what we can do and, in the end, maybe the only difference between us and Him is that we laid down our arms when it was over and reached out to make some semblance of a just peace.’ He paused, watching his old friend intently. Then he pointed to the silent forge. ‘But it’s no small difference, is it? You’ve marred more than one piece of iron with a pinch too much of this or a pinch too much of that, haven’t you?’ He shrugged. ‘The fact is we’re all scarred in many ways. But then, I don’t think there’s a law somewhere that says doing the right thing has to be either easy or pleasant.’

  Loman picked up a short-shafted hammer, spun it deftly, then laid it quietly on his anvil. ‘Hardly a new debate, is it?’ he said softly. His manner was resigned. ‘I’m sorry, inflicting it on you again, but this business seems to have hit me harder than I thought. It’s all come out of nowhere – and so quickly. I’m finding it hard to face up to. I can’t do what I did before. I . . .’

  Hawklan laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Whatever else happens, that won’t be needed, I’m certain. There’ll be burdens of a different kind, and different people to carry them. You carried far more than anyone else then. Nothing’s expected of you now.’

  Loman frowned. ‘It’s not enough,’ he said desperately. ‘I can’t walk away, but I can’t face it all again. What about you, Hawklan? How do you do it? How do you stay the way you are? You did no less than me, but you still seem to be able to stay calm in the face of what’s happening – to think, to plan.’

  Hawklan gave him an arch look. ‘Don’t confuse composure with equanimity,’ he said with a grim smile. ‘I did a lot less than you in the war. You led an army. I just sneaked round the back.’ The touch of humour faded and a spasm of pain passed over his face. ‘My burden, to this day, is the feeling deep down that perhaps if I hadn’t been here the war wouldn’t have happened.’

  Loman looked at him, startled. ‘No, no,’ he said, suddenly anxious. ‘Don’t think that. More likely Sumeral’s being here brought you.’

  ‘I didn’t say it made sense.’

  Loman became the comforter. ‘You’ve been listening to too many of Andawyr’s wilder ramblings about cause and effect.’

  ‘It could be Andawyr’s ramblings that’ll find a way for us to oppose Sumeral again.’

  ‘You think that’s possible?’

  Hawklan hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’

  Loman nodded slowly. He picked up a small figurine standing in tidy isolation amid the chaos of the battered table he referred to as his ‘desk’. It was a likeness of his daughter, Tirilen, carved by Isloman. She was his only child from a long-dead wife. Like all Isloman’s work it expressed far more than a likeness. Its face seemed to move as Loman turned it in the evening light. Tirilen had fallen in love with a Fyordyn High Guard – one of many who had fallen in love with her as she had nursed them after the battle in Narsindal. Now she was his wife and they lived in Fyorlund. Loman missed her flying blonde hair and provoking manner far more than he ever owned to – many did – but he was genuinely happy that she was happy. For a while after her return from her terrible work in the battlefield healing tents, though outwardly her old self, she was changed. Loman had sensed a deep hurt in her that neither he nor Hawklan could reach. It had only passed, or perhaps been transformed, as her new love had slowly grown. Gently he brushed some dust from the figure. Hawklan watched him.

  ‘Go to her, Loman,’ he said. ‘Go and see your daughter and your grandchild.’

  Loman was breathing heavily. ‘It’s what I want to do,’ he said. ‘But . . .’ He fell silent.

  Hawklan came close to him. ‘When whatever’s going to happen, happens, maybe we’ll prevail, maybe we won’t,’ he said. ‘But as Yatsu said, one way or another, it’ll probably be the Power against the Power this time. Precious little for us to do with our kinds of fighting skills, I suspect.’

  ‘Even so, I still don’t know that I can just walk away,’ Loman said.

  ‘We’re spectators, Loman. Something that’s not easy for either of us. But all we can do is watch and hope – encourage and support those who’re doing the real fighting. Go to your daughter. They’re so clever, these women, making their babies. Go and bask in the light of the new life she’s created and show it the joys of your own.’ Loman returned the figurine to its small place of honour. Hawklan’s voice fell. ‘If the worst comes to the worst, where better could you be? And if we defeat Him, then the castle won’t suffer too much for your being away for a while.’

  Thus it was that Loman was standing by his horse on the dew-damped grass in front of Anderras Darion at dawn the next morning. He was joined by Endryk. Hawklan had made to speak to him also, but the Goraidin had spoken to him first.

  ‘Go and find your family and your old friends, Endryk,’ Dacu had told him. ‘And take this letter of commendation to your Lord for the help you gave to Thyrn and his friends. It was bravely done. I’d have been honoured to fight by your side. Any of us would have been.’

  To the High Guard, this praise was both considerable and unexpected and he coloured as he received it. His response, however, was the same as Loman’s. ‘I can’t just walk away.’

 
; ‘Take it as an order, then,’ Dacu replied gently. ‘Far more’s owed to you than you owe. We should have taken more time to seek out those who wandered away, lost, after that last battle. It’s a stain on us all and your returning will help ease more pains than just those of your family.’

  The Goraidin each said their farewells to both Loman and Endryk, but the most difficult parting was Endryk’s from Thyrn. Despite his best efforts the young Caddoran was unable to suppress his tears as he embraced Endryk and uttered a hoarse ‘Thank you.’ Endryk, moved more than he had anticipated, returned his embrace but did not trust himself enough to speak.

  Gulda took Loman’s hand and squeezed it powerfully. ‘Light be with you, young Loman. You were a handful but you’ve done well. I always thought you would in the end. Give my love to your child and hers.’

  ‘I will, Memsa,’ he replied, massaging his hand. ‘And thank you. Send for me if I’m needed. Failing that, I’ll be back – in a week or so.’

  As the two men prepared to mount, Tarrian and Grayle emerged from somewhere and headed purposefully towards Endryk. He looked down at them uncertainly.

  ‘Nals is well.’

  Endryk started as the voice sounded in his mind and Tarrian had to repeat the message twice before Endryk realized what was happening. Nals had been a stray dog that had been with him for much of his time in Arvenstaat. He knelt down in front of the wolf, the damp grass staining his trousers.

  ‘He says he was sorry to leave you at the border, but he knew you were going to be all right – you’d found your way,’ Tarrian went on, adding, with heavy male confidentiality. ‘And he’d caught wind of a bitch. Got quite a pack now. And slowing down a bit, by all accounts. He says thank you for your companionship, it was good running with you.’

  It was a peculiar and unexpected relief to Endryk. The sight of his sole companion of many years standing on the river bank as he and Thyrn and the others had crossed it and ridden away northwards still came back occasionally to disturb him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But how do you know all this?’

  ‘It’s a wolf thing, Endryk,’ Tarrian replied, wilfully mysterious.

  Then the two men were riding slowly down the winding road that led from the castle. The small group watched them until they were out of sight.

  * * * *

  The atmosphere in the Labyrinth hall was nervous and fretful. There were more than a few bleary eyes present, many discussions having carried on late into the night and sleep, in any event, having been generally elusive.

  As before, Andawyr went straight to their concerns. ‘Given that no one has an alternative to Vredech’s suggestion, we’ve at least two problems in carrying any conflict to the enemy. Firstly, we know little or nothing about the nature of these Gateways between the worlds, and, secondly, should we locate their world, we know from experience that striking down an Uhriel is going to be no easy task. However, to our advantage, and as Vredech reminded us yesterday, we know that the use of the Power they apparently have now doesn’t seem to be helping them pass through the Gateways, while some amongst us slip through them with ease – incontinently, almost. And we know that, given surprise, they can be hurt.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ Yatsu said, indicating the other Goraidin. ‘But we’re having some difficulty with the practicalities of all this. When Antyr was . . . transported . . . to wherever it was he fought with Ivaroth and the blind man, all Jaldaric and I saw was his body being guarded by Tarrian and Grayle. When Vredech and Pinnatte found themselves in the Uhriel’s world, they too were here, apparently asleep.’ He raised his hand to forestall a reply. ‘I’m not disputing what we’ve been told, but it defeats me how anyone can be in two places at once.’ He made an abrupt and dismissive gesture. ‘But leaving that aside for the moment, we still don’t know where these Gateways are, what they’re . . . made of . . . for want of a better word, or how we can pass through them in any predictable way which is what we’ll need to do if we’re going to resort to some kind of assassination mission.’

  Unusually, Andawyr looked helpless. ‘The Gateways are just points of contact between our world and other worlds,’ he said unhappily. ‘Like an ordinary doorway they’re . . . nothing . . . defined by what’s around them.’

  Yatsu’s expression told him what he already knew – this didn’t help.

  Usche caught Andawyr’s eye and he nodded to her.

  ‘These Gateways shouldn’t be as accessible as they are,’ she said. ‘The different worlds just shouldn’t touch this frequently. The fact that they are is just another indication of what Andawyr spoke of yesterday – something seriously wrong at the deepest levels of what we think of as our reality – something that goes back to the Great Searing. A deep harm was done at that time. What we call Gateways are more akin to . . . cracks . . . slowly spreading through a building.’

  She hesitated for a moment, suddenly intimidated both by what she was saying and the intensity with which her audience was listening. She almost flinched as Dacu raised his hand to speak.

  ‘Accepting what you’re saying – and I’d dearly like not to – where does Sumeral fit into it? Is He the cause of this . . . cracking . . . or is He just taking advantage of it?’

  ‘The latter, we think, though in truth we don’t even know what Sumeral really is – whether He’s a cause or an effect. He could be a manifestation of the flaw itself, or he could be a consequence of it.’ Usche was trembling. Andawyr motioned her to sit down.

  ‘We’ve no absolute answers, Dacu,’ he said. ‘This is the most we know. You’re hearing in minutes what’s taken years of floundering endeavour – painstaking thought, experiment, analysis. I’ll be frank with you: as I stumbled towards these ideas, I felt that the roots of everything I’ve ever known were being shaken. At one point I thought I was going mad. But the roots weren’t being shaken, I was just beginning to learn how deeply and how far they really go. Ethriss told the Cadwanol to go beyond and we’re pushing the limits of our knowledge so far and so fast now that it’s giddying for me, let alone you.’ His manner darkened. ‘It’s just as well we are, though. Without this knowledge we wouldn’t even have seen these problems coming. As for what we can do, we’re doing it – talking, listening, keeping our minds and imaginations open – bringing everything we have to this. Carry on, Usche.’

  The young Cadwanwr had composed herself but she remained seated as she spoke.

  ‘We’ve known for some time that what we thought was the beginning of all things, the Great Searing as we call it, wasn’t,’ she began carefully. ‘Too many things around us are just too old. We think now that it was caused by a weapon – or weapons – and that it or they also caused this fatal flaw.’ A murmur of disbelief greeted this but she pressed on. The Labyrinth carried an echo of her sing-song voice around the hall, giving emphasis to it. ‘I understand your doubts. I’m Riddinvolk. Like the Fyordyn we’ve a strong military tradition – a remnant of the Wars of the First Coming. We all carry weapons and are prepared to protect ourselves and our neighbours if an enemy threatens. We live in peace because of it and that we’re all here today is testimony to the rightness of it. But I find it difficult to imagine a weapon capable of affecting an entire world, and impossible to imagine a society that would use such a thing! Nevertheless, this seems to have been the case.’

  Yrain was drumming her fingers on the table.

  ‘Oklar set the entire battlefront ablaze in Narsindal,’ Yengar reminded everyone by way of support for Usche.

  She acknowledged the comment gratefully but shook her head. ‘The weapon we’re talking about was no simple battlefield device. Nor was it anything that simply destroyed, like sword or fire. It was something that reached down into the depths of what we – what all living things – are. It unmade the essence of every living thing it touched – transformed it into something that fed on itself – grew and spread . . .’

  It was becoming too much for Yrain.

  ‘This is nonsense!’ she bu
rst out scornfully. ‘In a war, all that weapons transform living things into is dead things. And how can you possibly know what happened before the beginning of everything?’

  Gulda leaned forward but Usche spoke first, bridling at Yrain’s tone.

  ‘The beginning of all things, as you call it, wasn’t the beginning of all things. That’s a fact beyond any reasoned dispute – accept it! I’ve told you we don’t know what it was but the idea that it was caused by a weapon fits most of the facts.’ She pointed to Thyrn. ‘We’ve also got Thyrn’s Accounting and we’ve been through that over and over, studying every nuance of his Caddoran ability and what he overheard between Vashnar and the person – the entity – whatever it was that appeared to him. It spoke of armies beyond imagining – engines of war beyond imagining – engines that would unravel the very being – the very essence – of an enemy.’ She jabbed her finger into the table in emphasis. ‘But it wasn’t Sumeral nor anything of His. It was surprised to find itself where it was – and surprised to find its former enemies in the same condition. It spoke of something happening that shouldn’t have happened – something that resulted in all being defeated – something . . .’

  ‘I see a brightness moving across the land, across the oceans – moving through all that lived, moving scarcely at the pace of a walking man – but relentlessly growing, sustaining itself. And all fleeing its touch – believer and heretic alike. None escaped. And then there was only brightness – a reshaping, a remaking.’ It was Thyrn, retelling, in the Caddoran way, the words he had overheard when he had touched Vashnar’s mind. The voice was that of a powerful and coldly ruthless personality, but, as Usche had said, it was laced through with surprise and growing realization. For a moment the darkness of the Labyrinth seemed to swallow all hint of sound in the hall.

  No one spoke.

  Andawyr reached into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled kerchief. Carefully he laid it on the table and spread it out to reveal three green crystals.

  ‘I’ll answer your next question before you ask it, Yrain,’ he said, looking at the still frowning Goraidin. ‘Crystals such as these can be used to do many things with the Power: store it, amplify it, transform it. We used to use them a lot at the Cadwanen but we use them very sparingly now. Their origins are unknown but potentially they’re very dangerous to anyone with the gift to use the Power. That’s why Atelon and Dar-volci went looking for the source of them when they began to appear at the Gretmearc. In our arrogance, we thought we possessed the only ones in existence and, insofar as we thought about it, we presumed that Ethriss had created them himself.’ He paused uncomfortably. ‘That’s not as lame as it sounds because, although they’re apparently mined in the Thlosgaral, there’s no natural process we know of that could create them. Even as far as we’ve been able to examine them, their structure’s far too complex and ordered. They’re made things. How, we don’t know. “Why” is what we’re talking about now. It’s certainly quite possible to envisage crystals being used to form a terrible weapon.’