KOREAEBOOKDOCUMENT1.3.0The Return of the SwordTaylor, RogerMushroom eBooksMushroom eBooks‰F>para.xmlRTROS_cover_kml.pngnormal.styÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ }Spara.xmlü`C smaller.sty?lC small.sty‚wC normal.styÅ‚C large.styŽC larger.styK™3RTROS_cover_kml.png     The Return of the Sword         Roger Taylor             a Mushroom eBooks sampler       Copyright © 1999, Roger Taylor   Roger Taylor has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified as the Author of this work.   First published by Headline Book Publishing in 1999.   This Edition published in 2003 by Mushroom eBooks, an imprint of Mushroom Publishing, Bath, BA1 4EB, United Kingdom www.mushroom-ebooks.com   All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.   ISBN of complete edition: 184319242X       This is a sampler of The Return of the Sword by Roger Taylor. If you enjoy reading these sample chapters and would like to read the rest, you can buy the complete Mushroom eBook edition from the usual bookshops online, or find more details at www.mushroom-ebooks.com.     Contents   Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Fantasy Books by Roger Taylor     Chapter 1 The water had travelled a long and ancient journey, Andawyr mused as he dipped his hand into the stream and splashed his flushed face; mountain, sea and cloud, over and over, ever changing, ever the same. And though it shaped the land, it ran through his fingers unresisting. He gave a grunt of approval at the coolness it brought, then sat back, closed his eyes, raised his face towards the sun and took a long, slow breath. As it filled his lungs, the mountain air seemed to carry the sunlight through his entire frame. It mingled with the bubbling clatter of the stream and he felt the tension brought on by his too-rapid walking through the hills ease. ‘Simple pleasures,’ he said to the flickering shapes dancing behind his eyelids. ‘Simple pleasures. Being here is enough.’ It was no new thought, but it had as much meaning for Andawyr now as whenever it had first come to him. Not that he could remember when that had been, he reflected. It was as though he had always known the truth of this. But that could not have been so, for such a realization could only be attained after a great struggle. Or could it? Children often had it – that sureness of touch in their lives. Eyes still closed, Andawyr’s nose curled. He compromised. Perhaps the realization – the insight of the child – could only be rediscovered after a great struggle. Yes, that would do. He chuckled softly – he already knew that, too. ‘You’re rambling, you old fool,’ he said into the warm air. He’d not come here to mull over his own long-learned ways of dealing with his life . . . He opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. ‘Being here is enough,’ he said again, testing the words thoughtfully. They were all that could be said, but necessarily they were only a pale reflection of a truth that was, perhaps, inexpressible. Many things were thus, but not all were so easily accepted. Or so benign. Andawyr scowled in self-reproach. What he had come here for was to do nothing, not continue along the ruts his mind had been ploughing relentlessly for . . . How long? Too long . . . He rolled on to his stomach and, resting his head in his hands, stared down into a small sheltered pool at the edge of the stream. An oval, battered face stared up at him unsteadily through the gently wavering water. A blade of grass floated idly around the image, then drifted back out into the main flow. It was followed by a scuttling insect that left brief dimpled footprints in the water as it pursued some urgent errand. Andawyr’s image looked rueful. Not the face of a great mage, he thought, tweaking his broken nose, then running a hand through his bushy grey hair, leaving it quite undisturbed. Such a person should have a conspicuous dignity. He should be patriarchal and stern, with a looming presence and a gaze to quell men. Lips pursed, the image weighed this uncertainly. Or perhaps he should be beatific, saintly; exuding the inner tranquillity that came from years of devoted study and a deep and profound understanding of the world. The image raised its eyebrows knowingly and, with a self-conscious cough, Andawyr withdrew from the debate. If only, if only . . . If only his years of study had brought him that kind of knowledge. The image broke and scattered as Andawyr prodded it with a knowing finger. He supposed they had, in a way. He had learned what was of real value to him and that indeed gave him an ease of mind and a clearness of vision that many would envy. Nor was he disturbed by the fact that his endless searching for knowledge had brought with it a measure of the vastness of what he did not know; it was, after all, in the nature of things that questions bred questions; children soon learned how to destroy their parents with the simple question, ‘Why?’ It did not even disturb him too much that, at the limits of his understanding of the inner nature of things to which his searching and his conventional logic had led him, there was apparently paradox – and certainly bewilderment. That was simply another challenge to be met and wrestled with joyously. Or would have been. But now, a darkness was tingeing his discoveries; a darkness that possibly might not allow him the luxury of a scholar’s leisurely debate; a darkness that could be growing even as he lay here and that might burst forth all too brutally out of the realms of academic consideration and into the world of ordinary men. He swore softly and sat up. Just beyond the shoulder of the mountain he knew he would be able to see the maw of the great cave that was ostensibly the entrance to the Cadwanen – the Caves that were the home of the Order of the Cadwanol – the Order of which he was the Leader – the Order charged originally by Ethriss with opposing Sumeral and, on His destruction, with seeking the knowledge that would guard the world against His coming again. For come again He must, Ethriss had known, though of how he had known he never spoke. Suffice it that, although Sumeral took mortal form, He was no mere man. He had come in the wake of Ethriss and the other Guardians from the Great Searing that had been the beginning of all things and, with lesser figures that had emerged with Him, had set out to destroy the world that the Guardians had created. Though His mortal body had eventually been destroyed, after a long and terrible war, there were many places within the warp and weft of the fabric that formed all things where His dark and festering spirit could find sanctuary. And come again He had, for the Cadwanol had failed in their charge as generations of stillness and peace had taken Sumeral from the minds of men and reduced Him to little more than a myth, a tale to make children tingle. Yet some sixteen years or so ago He had again taken form in this world. Silently, His ancient fortress, Derras Ustramel, had been built again in the bleak, mist-shrouded land of Narsindal and it was as much good fortune as courage that had eventually brought Him down before, it was hoped, His corruption had spread too far out into the world. Nevertheless, much harm had been done and many had died. No special reproach had been offered to the Cadwanol, for others had failed in their vigilance as well, and all had paid a bitter price. But a day did not pass without Andawyr thinking of the events of that time and, whenever a problem taxed him to the point of despair, it was these memories that returned to spur him on. For ignorance and the darkness of the mind and heart that it brought were the greatest of Sumeral’s weapons and only knowledge could prevail against it. But what was Andawyr to do now? At the very heart of his work lay a maelstrom of confusion and illogicality; conclusions which, though reached through modes of thought and observation that were unimpeachably correct, led to consequences that seemingly defied the reality of the world as ordinary men knew it. As he knew it, for pity’s sake, he mused bleakly, throwing a small pebble into the stream and watching the ripples spread and disperse. No one would claim to understand what this strangeness truly meant, but until now it had not really mattered. It was sufficient that it was consistent and that it worked: it could be used to predict the outcome of experiments and went a considerable way towards explaining many once-mysterious things, not least the powers that the Cadwanwr themselves possessed. But what had once been a vague suspicion had grown of late. It could no longer be dismissed as an inadvertent aberration twisting and curling at the distant edges of their calculations. And it could no longer be ignored. There was, beyond all doubt now, a flaw deep in the heart of the way the world was made. Something that, even within the terms of the strange nature of the Cadwanol’s work, could not be. As an academic exercise it had been speculated upon from time to time for many years, but in the surge of learning that had followed the war it had been confirmed and accepted. Fortunately, though disconcerting, it should have been of no pressing significance. It was something that would manifest itself in the world very rarely and then only fleetingly and in the smallest ways. But now there were signs that for some reason it was growing, signs that it might manifest itself much more conspicuously, that it might bring great destruction. And, too, there were indications that something else was pending, something rare and ominous, though whether the two happenings were associated could not be determined. Andawyr growled irritably and threw another stone into the stream. He was ploughing the old ruts again after all. He had come out here to clear his mind, to rid himself of its interminable circling arguments and now he was teetering back to them again. He felt as though he were trapped in an hourglass, scrabbling to escape the sand being drawn inexorably to the centre. Abruptly he let the thoughts go. He was sufficiently aware of his own way of thinking to know that he had reached a stage where pounding incessantly at the problem would merely drive any solution deeper into hiding. Like a shrewd predator, all he could do now was mentally wander off – do something else – anything else – knowing that eventually the prey would quietly reappear, probably quite unexpectedly. He smiled broadly and looked again at the stream. The sunlight sparkling off it in endlessly varying patterns and its clattering progress down the hillside were indeed an antidote for his preoccupations. As he watched the stream, his gaze was drawn to a ripple piled up over a large stone. It wobbled from side to side as if trying to shake itself loose, but generally it maintained its shape and position. Tongue protruding, Andawyr tossed a pebble towards it. It missed. He closed one eye, put out his tongue a little further and tried again. This time the pebble landed squarely in the ripple with a satisfying plop. As he had known it would, nothing happened apart from a few bubbles drifting to the surface and floating away. The ripple would only change if the rock that was causing it was moved, and then another would form elsewhere. Until that happened, the ripple would remain unchanged while changing constantly; indeed, it could not exist without that change – who could shape still water thus? From his sunny vantage, Andawyr could see many such ripples in the stream. And other parts, which, though fed by smooth, untroubled waters, were turbulent and disordered, never settling into any single pattern. This stream’s cleverer than I am, he thought. Without a moment’s thought it knows how to form strange and complex shapes that I couldn’t predict if I did calculations for a year. The idea amused him. It was the kind of example he delighted in slapping his students’ faces with when they became either too involved in something or too sure of themselves. Forget it, he reminded himself, putting his hands behind his head and lying back on the soft turf. Get on with your wandering. And wander he did. But though he assiduously avoided the concerns that had sent him out of the Cadwanen for relief, the thoughts that came to him were scarcely lighter as he found himself pondering the Second Coming of Sumeral and all the changes that had happened since His defeat. The Orthlundyn, for example, were now like a people awakened from a long sleep. They travelled far and wide and had a seemingly insatiable thirst for knowledge. They had become very much the guiding spirit of the Congress that followed the war. The Fyordyn, by contrast, were less steady, less confident than they had been; cruelly hurt by the civil war that had followed Oklar’s murder of their king and his near-success in seizing power for his Master. A lesser people might well have descended into a spiral of disintegration, but many things sustained them through their trials, not least their finally having come together to face Sumeral’s terrible army in Narsindal. And, too, their almost universal affection for their queen, Sylvriss, and her son Rgoric, named after his ill-fated father. Less emotively, the Geadrol, the Queen’s Council of Lords, the actual government of Fyorlund, also played no small part, with the stern, truth-searching discipline of its deliberations. The Riddinvolk, with their fanatical love of horses and riding, seemed to be the least changed, but even they felt the guilt of their failure to note the return of Sumeral. And what about the Cadwanol? Andawyr thought as the old memories rehearsed themselves again. Where do we stand in this great analysis? Like all the others, wiser by far, he supposed. Wiser in their understanding of themselves, and certainly much wiser in the ways of the Power. First there had been the shock of accepting what had happened, and the ordeal of their frantic and futile search for Ethriss. Then, while his fellow Cadwanwr had stood on the battlefield, using their skills to protect the army against the Power used by Sumeral’s lieutenants, His Uhriel, Andawyr himself had accompanied Hawklan and his companions to the very edge of Lake Kedrieth in the middle of which Derras Ustramel had arisen again. Despite the sunlight, Andawyr shivered at the memory of Sumeral’s presence in that place. For him, it had hung in the air as tangibly as the mist that shrouded that awful lake. Such experiences brought insights in a way that nothing else could and subsequently, in quieter times, many old, intractable problems had been solved with an almost embarrassing ease. The memory of Hawklan brought the healer’s words back to Andawyr. ‘There is no healing for this, any more than there is truly for any hurt. Time will blur and cloud the memory of the pain, but your lives cannot be as they were. Make of it a learning and you will become whole, and worthy teachers of your children. Cherish it as a grievance and you will twist and turn through your lives seeing only your own needs, and burdening all around you.’ Wise words, timely uttered. Words that had proved to be a healing salve for many. ‘Always the healer, Hawklan,’ Andawyr said quietly. ‘Always the healer.’ Hawklan’s touch perhaps more than any other single thing had ensured that killing hands were stayed after the battle. Without doubt it had ensured that the three allied nations determined to learn what they could about the dank land of Narsindal and its wild inhabitants, the Mandrocs, rather than simply crushing them in a war of mindless vengeance. Andawyr propped himself on his elbows again. It was a long time since he had thought of Hawklan. He clicked his tongue. Everywhere he looked, paradoxes. In his studies, in the little rock-formed ripple where water flowed upwards, even in what he was doing now – ignoring his questions in order to answer them. And now, Hawklan. Healer, warrior, ancient prince – what was he? How had he come to this place, this time? Andawyr let the questions go. They might well be intriguing, but they were neither new nor answerable. What Hawklan knew of himself he had shared freely, and that had raised more questions than answers. Besides, attempting to analyse a friend thus was somehow distasteful. It had to be sufficient that he had been there. More than sufficient. For what would have happened without him? He had been pivotal. He it was who had appeared out of the mountains years before and opened Anderras Darion, Ethriss’s great fortress in Orthlund. And it was the opened Anderras Darion that had disturbed Oklar into the precipitate and reckless actions that had led ultimately to the exposure and downfall of his Master. Hawklan’s quiet words had affected so many decisions. And, in the end, it was Hawklan that Sumeral had sought, not to destroy but to turn to His cause. Pivotal. The word lodged in Andawyr’s mind. Why would he perceive Hawklan in this way? It was not something that Hawklan would have claimed for himself. He was always a reluctant leader. And, logically, Andawyr knew well enough that any one of the countless actions and decisions made by countless people at that time would have brought about a different outcome. It was rarely possible to trace a single line of cause and effect to any one happening, and least of all in the chaos of armed conflict, where chance ran amok. As someone had once said to him, ‘Ifs were strewn everywhere.’ Andawyr’s face became unexpectedly resolute. Ifs notwithstanding, Hawklan loomed large in all considerations of those events. Pivotal. Andawyr recognized that something in his wiser self was prompting him. The word ‘paradox’ had come too glibly; it had misled him. The water over the rock was no paradox, he knew. It was simply the outcome of forces within and without the water which, at least in principle, were calculable. His relinquishing of fretful questions in order to reach an answer was a little more mysterious but was at least based on his own tested and quite consistent past observations. And Hawklan? Healer and warrior. No real paradox there – no inherent contradictions. It was the duty of those who had the ability to stand between the less fortunate and harm, be it with poultice or sword. Hawklan was simply skilled at both, and skilled far beyond the average. He was . . . Pivotal. The word lurched Andawyr back into his deeper concerns. Although clarity was being denied him in these he had throughout an impression of movement, of turning, of innumerable spiralling ways coming together, joining. He trusted such instincts. Many times, vague though they were, they had pointed him in a direction that had subsequently proved fruitful. They were not enough in themselves to lead to conclusions but he knew that nothing else would be forthcoming. His walk through the hills had been helpful after all. He would follow this instinct. He would go and see Hawklan. At the least, it would be good to see him again. And good to see Anderras Darion again too. The prospect brought him to his feet. There was a considerable interchange of visitors between Anderras Darion and the Cadwanol but somehow there had always been something here that needed his immediate attention whenever he had thought about returning there himself. ‘Always allowing the urgent to displace the important,’ he said, repeating the reproach he frequently gave to others. Well, not this time. This time he would go and see his old friend – and talk – and talk – and talk. And prowl around that marvellous old citadel. He nodded to himself, well satisfied. Then, suddenly, he started, alarmed. Something had touched him – touched his mind. Something feather-light and cautious – but strange . . . and disturbingly feral. There were no dangers around here, a faint breath of reason whispered to him. Not of any kind. But his older senses gave the assurance the lie. And it was a very alert leader of the Cadwanol who slowly turned round to see silhouetted on an outcrop above him, and watching him intently, a large grey wolf.     Chapter 2 Andawyr started violently and only just managed to prevent himself from lashing out with the Power to defend himself. The effort left him breathing heavily but with icy control. Too quick, he reproached himself savagely. Too quick to reach for the easy way. Angrily he forced reason to take control of his fear. The animal had not menaced him, he told himself slowly. Nor was it likely to. There was plenty of food around here so it could not be hungry, and, besides, wolves were far from being stupid; they rarely attacked people. It was probably as startled as he was. Nevertheless, it was still watching him and it had not moved. And its hackles were raised, albeit only slightly. Probably in response to his own initial reaction, Andawyr decided uneasily. Either that, or it was sensing his own anger at himself. He would have to take the initiative. He made himself relax. Then, briefly, he met the animal’s gaze and turned his head away slowly and deliberately. As he did so, he found himself looking into the eyes of another wolf, crouching low on the ground barely five paces from him. Despite the fact that he was counselling himself to move carefully and slowly, Andawyr jumped back. The wolf did not move. ‘Very thoughtful, old man. A nice gesture.’ The voice filled Andawyr’s head, further unbalancing him and making him stagger backwards. Still the watching wolf did not move, though it continued to stare at him fixedly. ‘Don’t be alarmed. We didn’t mean to startle you.’ There was reassurance in the voice, but it resonated with strange, wild overtones unlike anything Andawyr had ever heard. It took him a moment to realize that he was not actually hearing it, but that it was really in his mind. He had no time to ponder this discovery. ‘But you’re unusual, aren’t you? We felt you some way away, and there was a control, a refinement, in your manner that’s rare in humans. We thought we’d see who it was.’ Was there a hint of mockery in the words? Andawyr’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and he cast a quick glance at each of the wolves in turn. What was happening here? Carefully he tested his responses. It was deep in the nature of his training to see things as they were, not as others or perhaps his own errant mind might wish them to appear. It occurred to him that perhaps one of his colleagues was playing a joke on him – they were not above such antics from time to time when life in the Cadwanen became boring or fraught. But how could they be doing this? There was no hint of the Power being used and even he had not known where he was going to walk when he set out. It was not a prank. And he was definitely not hallucinating. The voice in his head was unequivocally real. It left him with a bizarre conclusion. Somehow these creatures were talking to him! ‘Creatures, indeed. How churlish.’ Mockery, without a doubt. ‘Wh – what are you? Who are you?’ Andawyr stammered, his voice sounding harsh and awkward in his own ears. Surprise washed over him. ‘You are a Cadwanwr, aren’t you?’ came the reply, full of sudden realization and no small amount of excitement. ‘Just wait there a moment.’ And, in a flurry of grey urgency, both wolves were gone. Andawyr shook his head as if to reassure himself that, notwithstanding his vaunted clarity of vision, what he had just seen and ‘heard’ had actually happened. It helped him that he could hear occasional barking in the distance. Wolves that spoke directly into his mind! He wanted to dismiss the idea out of hand. But he had heard what he had heard. Then the memory of Hawklan returned to him again. Hawklan could both hear and speak to most animals. But then, Hawklan was Hawklan and an exception to many rules. He gave a self-deprecating shrug. He was still who he was, leader of the Cadwanol, much respected counsellor to the wise, learned in the ways of the Power, blah blah – and he couldn’t hear or speak to animals. Nor did he have any idea how Hawklan did, despite lengthy discussions with him. All of which left him no alternative but to investigate the matter. Straightening his scruffy grey robe Andawyr set off quickly up the steep grassy bank in the direction the second wolf had taken. Briefly it occurred to him that not being unreasonably afraid of wolves was one thing, chasing after them quite another, but the thought was lost amid the curiosity that was now powering him forward. He stood for a moment on the rocky outcrop that the first wolf had chosen for a vantage and looked down at where he had been sitting. Crafty devils, he thought. Pack hunters. If they had been inclined to attack him he would have had precious little chance. Even though he had sensed the one above him, the other could have seized him effortlessly. Tactics, tactics, he mused. And where was your awareness, your sensitivity to the nuances of your surroundings, great leader? As scattered and disordered as that damned stream, he concluded, with a scowl. He stooped down to examine the immediate terrain. A dark stain of dampness on a small stone showed that it had been turned over recently and some scuffing of the grass bounding the merging rock indicated which way the animals had gone. It was not up the hill but along the contour towards the shoulder of the mountain to his right. Andawyr sniffed thoughtfully and massaged his squat nose. A little caution managed to force its way into his thoughts again. Chasing wolves across the mountain. Is this a good idea? He rationalized. They’d run away once, they’d probably run away again. Besides, he had the Power if he really needed it, and he wasn’t going to be taken unawares again. And why not go this way, anyway? It was still early, the weather promised to be marvellous for the rest of the day, and while this was not the way he had originally intended to go, it was as good as any. He quickly ran mentally through a route back to the Cadwanen to confirm to himself that he was not being recklessly impulsive, then he dismissed the caution completely and strode off towards the distant skyline. Questions bubbled through him, matching the rhythm of his steps. These animals had touched his mind! How could that be? Had he suddenly, unknowingly acquired Hawklan’s gift? Was it some inadvertent consequence of his latest studies into the Power? And if so, would there be others? And would they all be so benign? It was not a particularly welcome idea. He stopped the self-interrogation abruptly. It was going nowhere and it was serving only to cloud his thoughts. He went over what had happened again, capturing his reactions after the strange first touch he had felt. He had sensed nothing new in himself and such a change in his ability could not have happened without some prior indication even if it only became apparent in retrospect. And it did not. There was nothing. The contact – the voice – had come from outside. It had definitely been initiated by the wolves; or at least by one of them. Then he remembered their parting remark. ‘Just wait there a moment.’ What had that meant? Perhaps they’ve gone for their friends, declared part of him malevolently. He ignored it. But he stopped. As he did so, he realized he had been walking too quickly, and that a combination of the sun and his excitement had conspired to make him feel unpleasantly warm. Calm down, he instructed himself, flapping his robe indecorously. They were running when they left, you’re not going to catch them unless they’ve stopped. He took a drink from his water bottle. He had filled it at the stream and the water was still very cold. ‘Simple pleasures,’ he reminded himself with a chuckle as he wiped some across his face. ‘But what about complicated ones – like talking wolves? Just as good!’ And he was off again, his pace unchanged. As he rounded the broad shoulder of the hill a cool breeze greeted him. It was drifting up from the shallow valley now spread out before him. Green and lush, the valley was hemmed protectively by rugged peaks and ridges, bright and clear in the sunlight. Cattle and sheep were reduced to tiny dots by the distance and the small orderliness of a few cultivated fields marked some of the farms that served the Cadwanen. ‘You really should get out more often, Andawyr,’ he said as he took in the sight. Then he felt again the soft touch in his mind that had heralded the arrival of the wolves. There was the same wildness about it and, though it carried no menace, it nevertheless startled him. He looked around anxiously, screwing up his eyes to peer through the brightness. Almost immediately, he saw horses in the distance. Three riders and a pack horse, he judged after a moment. And two dogs . . .? But that question was set aside by others. From the direction the riders were moving in, it seemed they had dropped down from a col between two all-too-familiar peaks. Andawyr frowned. That meant that at some point they must have travelled along, or at least crossed, the bleak Pass of Elewart. The thought brought a momentary darkness to him. Even on a day like this, the Pass of Elewart was barren and inhospitable. The only people who travelled it were those who had to, and they were mainly Cadwanwr and others who studied the land of Narsindal to the north. And, whatever else they were, these riders did not look like Cadwanwr. They were heading directly towards him, the dogs, if dogs they were, trotting ahead of them. He half expected to hear the wolf’s voice ringing through his head again. But there was nothing other than the soft wind-carried sounds of the valley. He sat down on a rock and waited. The two ‘dogs’ were indeed the wolves, he decided as the small group drew nearer. Strange companions for men, he thought. So wild, so shy, so free. Not tame, surely? No one could tame a wolf. Train it, perhaps, but never tame. Other impressions began to displace his thoughts about the wolves and he leaned forward intently as if that might bring the riders closer. Then he stood up and began walking towards them, every now and then breaking into a little run. In their turn the riders urged their horses to the trot. ‘It is you,’ Andawyr cried out as they reined in alongside him. The first two riders dismounted excitedly. ‘Yatsu, Jaldaric . . .’ Andawyr extended his arms wide as if to encompass the entire group, horses and all. His face was beaming and his mouth for some time was shaping unvoiced greetings as he embraced each of the men in turn. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ he managed eventually. ‘Where have you been? What have you been doing? What . . .’ His voice fell. ‘What in the name of all that’s merciful are you doing coming back this way? Did you come through the Pass?’ ‘We crossed it,’ said the elder of the two. ‘We didn’t mean to return this way, but . . .’ He stopped and shrugged. ‘It’s a long story.’ Andawyr made a gesture that indicated they had all the time in the world, then impatiently seized the hand of the second rider. Taller and younger than his companion, he had fair, curly hair and a round face which, for all it was weather-worn and had lines of strain about it beyond his age, had also an unexpected hint of innocence. ‘Jaldaric. You’re getting more like your father every day,’ Andawyr advised him, as much for want of something to say as anything else. He clapped his hands excitedly, then put his arms around both of them again. Yatsu disentangled himself and indicated the third rider, who was still mounted. Andawyr looked up at him. In age, he was perhaps between his two companions but, though he sat straight and upright, he had the aura of someone much older. And he had black-irised eyes that returned Andawyr’s gaze disconcertingly. ‘This is Antyr,’ Yatsu said. ‘A valued friend. He’s been travelling with us and I think, like us, he’d value some simple hospitality – or at least a soft bed.’ Antyr dismounted and offered his hand to Andawyr who clasped it with both of his own. ‘Welcome to Riddin, Antyr, valued friend of Yatsu and Jaldaric. Welcome to the Cadwanen and to whatever hospitality we can offer you.’ ‘Thank you,’ Antyr replied, bowing slightly. ‘Remarkable.’ The voice filled Andawyr’s head causing him to look around quickly. The two wolves moved to his side and began sniffing him energetically. He decided to stand very still for a little while. ‘This is Tarrian and this is his brother, Grayle,’ Antyr said, touching the heads of the wolves gently as if to restrain them. ‘Grayle doesn’t say much, and Tarrian usually says too much. They’re my Earth Holders, my Companions. They’re also very impolite,’ he added sharply, looking down at them. The two wolves ignored the rebuke and continued sniffing. Questions lit Andawyr’s face. ‘We’ll explain it to you later,’ Yatsu said, not without some amusement. ‘Or at least Antyr will try. But I have to warn you, he’s not managed to make either of us understand so far.’ The wolves finally retreated. Andawyr pointed at them and then lifted his hand to his head vaguely as he looked inquiringly at Antyr. ‘Did one of them actually . . . say something?’ ‘Later,’ Yatsu said. ‘Antyr’s story’s even longer than our journey. But he’s come with us because he needs help and guidance. He’s special – very special – and he needs to speak to you – or Hawklan – or both.’   * * * *   The village that served most of the daily needs of the Cadwanol nestled untidily against a sheer rock face. Some way to the west of it was a cave entrance which, together with the towering height of the cliff, made the buildings seem little more than children’s toys. ‘It’s enormous,’ Antyr said softly, as though the cavernous maw might echo his newcomer’s amazement all over the village. Andawyr, momentarily preoccupied, started slightly, then gave the cave a perfunctory glance before agreeing offhandedly, ‘Oh . . . yes.’ Antyr caught his companions exchanging a knowing glance. ‘You’ve been telling me what an amazing place the Cadwanen is for long enough,’ he said, with a note of challenge in his voice which told Andawyr that, although Antyr was the stranger, the three men were close friends. ‘It is, it is,’ Yatsu and Jaldaric said, almost simultaneously and with heavy innocence. ‘They’re having a small joke at your expense,’ Andawyr intruded, adding tartly, ‘too long alone in the mountains, probably,’ before speaking again to Antyr. ‘That’s not the real entrance to the caves. We just let people – travellers, passing students – think it is.’ He wrinkled his nose unhappily. ‘We were founded in bad times and secrecy is still important to certain aspects of our work. Regretfully.’ As they drew nearer, Antyr’s attention moved from the imposing presence of the cave to the houses and cottages that were scattered seemingly almost at random over the tumbled and rocky terrain that marked the foot of the cliff. Steep pitched roofs, intricately patterned with green and blue slates, swept down almost to ground level. As they rode along the winding main street, Andawyr acknowledged the occasional greeting, but although Tarrian and Grayle attracted some long glances, it seemed to Antyr that he and his companions were being wilfully ignored. Eventually they arrived at a building set hard against the cliff face. A couple of villagers appeared from somewhere and dragged open two large wooden doors. Andawyr nodded his thanks and motioned the others to follow him as he dismounted and walked into the building. It took Antyr’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the comparative darkness as the doors closed behind them, but the characteristic smell, both fresh and musty, told him that it was a barn. It was tall and airy with a depleted haystack occupying one side while down the other were stalls for horses, and a hanging clutter of rakes, pitchforks and other farming paraphernalia. As the four men unsaddled and tended their horses, Tarrian and Grayle scurried about, examining the place minutely. ‘Well, well.’ Tarrian’s voice filled Antyr’s mind. It had that emphasis which told him the wolf was speaking to him alone. ‘This is an unusual place.’ ‘It looks like any other barn to me,’ Antyr remarked, in like vein. ‘And if Andawyr can really hear you, you can speak to him as well if you wish.’ ‘No, not yet. It unsettles him,’ Tarrian replied. ‘He’s unusual, as well. I think we’re going to like it here. It has a distinctly civilized feel to it.’ ‘Fit place for wolves, eh?’ There was a thoughtful pause. ‘I’m not sure I’d go that far, but it’s got promise.’ ‘What’s he saying?’ Yatsu asked casually, giving Tarrian a suspicious look. ‘Are you sure you can’t hear him?’ Antyr said. ‘Not a word,’ Yatsu replied. ‘But I can tell when the two of you are talking.’ It was not the first time they had had this exchange. Antyr gave an apologetic shrug. ‘He was just saying this is an interesting place, though what he sees special about an ordinary barn he hasn’t bothered to let me know yet.’ Yatsu laughed softly and cast an appreciative glance at the wolf. ‘Come on,’ Andawyr called out, indicating a small battered door at the back of the barn. ‘Cover your eyes,’ he said to Antyr. ‘We never seem to get round to adjusting the lights and you might have difficulty in seeing. Just walk straight ahead.’ Before Antyr could speak, Andawyr had opened the door and was ushering him forward vigorously. Antyr gasped as a brilliant light flooded into the barn. He had no time to hesitate, however, as Andawyr’s firm grip carried him forward a few paces and through a second door. A soft ringing tone greeted him as he emerged, blinking, into a long corridor. A tall figure rose from a chair to fill his momentarily blurred vision, then it was waving its arms in confusion as Tarrian and Grayle pushed past it and ran off down the corridor. Antyr shouted after them but to no avail. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, turning to Andawyr. ‘I don’t know what . . .’ ‘It’s all right,’ Andawyr replied reassuringly, though he was staring anxiously after the fleeing animals. ‘At least, I think it’s all right. They’re safe aren’t they?’ ‘Oh yes, they’re safe,’ Antyr replied. ‘But anyone who interferes with them isn’t.’ He reached out to touch Tarrian’s mind, but found only uncontrollable animal curiosity ploughing through innumerable new sensations of sight and scent and hearing. ‘They’ll be all right,’ he added unconvincingly. ‘What in the name of Ethriss is going on, Andawyr?’ came an angry voice. It belonged to the figure that had risen to meet them as they entered the corridor. Tall and heavily built he loomed over Andawyr, but a hesitant beard fringing his chin accentuated rather than disguised his comparative youth and this, coupled with his nervous manner, served to make him the more subservient figure. ‘Ar-Billan, we have guests,’ Andawyr said, taking his arm and giving it a discreet but firm shake. The big man was still waving his hands vaguely in the direction the wolves had taken. He gave an incongruous little cry as the two animals abruptly reappeared and hurtled past the watching group in the opposite direction, very much to the amusement of Yatsu and Jaldaric and the annoyance of Antyr. ‘I’m afraid they’re just excited,’ he said apologetically to Andawyr. He made another attempt to reach Tarrian but again without success. Andawyr, however, seemed more concerned about his bewildered colleague. ‘Guests, Ar-Billan,’ he was saying, insistently. ‘Guests. Commander Yatsu and Captain Jaldaric of Queen Sylvriss’s Goraidin, and their companion Antyr. They’ve travelled a long way and I’m sure they’d all value a bath and a meal before they tell us what they’ve been doing.’ As Andawyr spoke, Ar-Billan’s eyes widened and his mouth began to drop open. ‘Yatsu and Jaldaric,’ he mouthed. ‘I’ve heard about you, of course, but I never thought I’d meet you. It’s a great honour.’ He shuffled awkwardly, then gave the two men a nervous bow, followed by one to Antyr as a flustered afterthought. ‘Bath, food!’ Andawyr urged, prompting him to movement with a nudge of his elbow and a significant look. ‘We’ll deal with the . . . dogs – don’t worry.’ He gave a small sigh as the big man lumbered off. ‘Nice lad,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘And very bright, though he does stand in his own light at times.’ Tarrian and Grayle returned, to Antyr’s conspicuous relief. They were panting noisily and both of them jumped up to plant their forepaws on Antyr’s chest. They were big animals and he staggered under the impact, making them drop to the floor. ‘What’s got into you two?’ he said, laughing. ‘You’re behaving like pups.’ ‘This place is amazing.’ Grayle’s voice burst into both Antyr’s and Andawyr’s minds, overwhelming his brother’s for once. ‘Full of the Song and all manner of learning.’ The images that flooded into Andawyr’s mind had meaning far beyond the words he was hearing. ‘And you’re filling me with more and more questions, each time you . . . speak,’ he said out loud. ‘They’re speaking to you?’ Yatsu asked in some surprise. He flicked a thumb towards Antyr. ‘You can hear them like he does?’ ‘It would seem so,’ Andawyr replied. ‘But don’t ask me why or how.’ He made a dismissive gesture, placed his hands against his temples and announced forcefully, ‘One thing at a time. I went out today to have a quiet think about some difficult questions. Now I’ve got two hundred more, and growing. Let’s get you all fed and watered, then we can talk.’ He looked at Yatsu and Jaldaric. ‘It really is good to see you again. I’m sure you’ve some rare tales to tell. Where are you going first, Vakloss or Anderras Darion?’ ‘I’m not sure. I thought we’d stay here and rest a little while,’ Yatsu replied pointedly. ‘I think you need to talk to Antyr first and then advise us. It may be best if he stays here. He’s at least as many questions for you as you have for him. And he has a gift – a skill – that you need to know about. Something far more than just being able to talk to these two.’ Andawyr turned to Antyr and smiled reassuringly. ‘Yatsu and Jaldaric wouldn’t bring you here on any slight matter,’ he said. ‘If we can help you, we will.’   * * * *   A little later, bathed and fed, they were sitting in a bright and spacious room. In common with most of the rooms in the Cadwanen it was simple in style and plainly decorated. Along one side, a large window opened on to a sunlit mountain vista. ‘We’re very high,’ Antyr remarked as Andawyr offered him one of the several chairs that were scattered about the room and then dropped heavily into one himself. Like the room, the woodwork of the chairs was plain and undecorated, but the upholstery was ornately embroidered. Antyr found his unexpectedly comfortable, and almost immediately felt several months of harsh travelling beginning to ease from him. Tarrian and Grayle flopped down noisily at his feet and apparently went to sleep. ‘Actually, we’re quite deep here,’ Andawyr said. ‘Deep?’ Antyr’s arm encompassed the view questioningly. Andawyr cast a glance at Yatsu and Jaldaric. ‘I don’t think they have them where Antyr comes from,’ Yatsu said casually. ‘Though to be honest we were occupied with other matters than architecture for most of the time we were there.’ Andawyr looked mildly surprised. ‘They’re mirror stones, Antyr. They bring the outside world into the depths for us. We might live underground, but we’re not moles, we need the daylight.’ Antyr looked at him suspiciously, then eyed Yatsu and Jaldaric as if suspecting some elaborate jest. Andawyr laughed. ‘I can see you’ve been too long in bad company,’ he said. ‘I can’t do it from down here, but, trust me, that view can be changed. We tend to call them windows, but they’re not. Not as you’d think of them, anyway. What you can see is coming from high above us.’ Antyr held out his hand. ‘I can feel the warmth of the sun.’ Andawyr went over to the window and touched a small panel to one side of it. The soft mountain noises of distant streams, high-peaked winds and low-valleyed breezes drifted into the room. Andawyr touched the panel again and they were gone. ‘We can carry many things to where we want them,’ he said. Antyr’s eyes were full of wonder. ‘Nothing magical,’ Andawyr went on, returning to his chair. ‘Just clear thinking, a little ingenuity, and some determination. I’ll show you how they work before you go, if you’re interested.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Now, tell me what you’ve all been up to.’     Chapter 3 After Sumeral’s second defeat, a great Congress was held. Fyordyn, Orthlundyn, Riddinvolk, the Cadwanol, all debated what had happened and the reasons for it, to determine what should be done to ensure that such a horror might be avoided in the future. The Congress’s doors were barred to no one. There were many bitter cries for vengeance, for much hurt had been done. Wiser counsels eventually prevailed, however, for the victory had been complete; Sumeral and His Uhriel had been destroyed and His army utterly routed. And, too, it was acknowledged that He had returned because there had been neglect. The wisdom enshrined in the various traditions of the different peoples had been long buried under the mere forms of those traditions and their true purpose thus lost. It was decided, though far from unanimously, that the Mandrocs, the wild and barbarous natives of Narsindal who had formed the bulk of His army and who had suffered grievously in the final battle, were as much the victims of Sumeral as the allies themselves and that nothing was to be gained save further, enduring hatred by seeking to punish them. Thus while Narsindalvak, the tower fortress originally dedicated to the Watch, the observing of Narsindal, was reinvested by the Fyordyn High Guard, it became also a centre of learning about that blighted land and all who lived in it. The Fyordyn were left with the burden of dealing with those of their own who had sided with Sumeral. There had been many such, drawn to Him through the long and insidious treachery of the Uhriel, Oklar, who, bearing the name Dan-Tor, had come to them initially as physician and seeming saviour to their ailing king, Rgoric. And there were many degrees of guilt to be determined, ranging from refusal to acknowledge what was happening when the truth became apparent, to acquiescence under varying degrees of duress, to enthusiastic and active support. Fortunately, Dan-Tor’s quiet depredation of their land had not totally destroyed either the Fyordyn’s innate tolerance or their deep sense of justice and though, on his passing, there was much confusion and bitterness, their judicial institutions repaired themselves remarkably quickly. It was the Fyordyn way to demand an open Accounting of any who were accused of offending, and they were always painstaking affairs, intended not only to find the truth but also a punishment that would both seek to repair any injury and guide the offender away from any future offence. For many the Accounting proved to be a benign and healing forum. However, there were those whose participation had been both wilful and brutal and most of these had fled when Sumeral’s army was broken. It was mooted by some of the Fyordyn that, notwithstanding the guilt of these people, they should be allowed to go their ways; that relentlessly hunting them across foreign lands had an aura of vindictiveness over a defeated enemy which could only demean and degrade the hunters. But, again, wiser counsels prevailed. Lord Eldric, Jaldaric’s father, spoke in the Geadrol. ‘The desire for vengeance is indeed a dark and corrosive emotion which ultimately consumes those who nurture it. But so is neglect and, as a people, we have a duty not only to ourselves but to our children and their children’s children. And as a strong and fortunate people, we have a duty to those who are less strong and less fortunate. It is one that cannot be avoided if we are to live at ease with ourselves. We must say to those who choose to yield to the darker forces in their nature that the consequences of such conduct are inexorable. They, and any who would follow in their steps, must know that neither time, distance, nor the strength of princes shall protect them from accounting for their deeds.’ Thus it was that the likes of Yatsu and Jaldaric began their journeying. It was their charge not to deliver justice but to discover the fate of those who had fled so that the Geadrol might determine what should be done. To this charge was also added the obligation to learn about other peoples. For just as it was realized that neglect of history had helped to bring about the war, so it was realized that neglect of lands beyond their own might also have been an error. While Sumeral and His Army had been contained and defeated in Narsindal, Dan-Tor had been many years in Fyorlund and it was not known how far Sumeral’s influence had spread out into the world. Many others as well as the Fyordyn undertook this last commission, not least the Orthlundyn and the Cadwanol.   * * * *   Andawyr spoke again before either Yatsu or Jaldaric could begin their tale. ‘Did you find the ones you were looking for?’ he asked impatiently. Yatsu did not answer immediately. Then, obviously moved, he said, ‘Yes,’ very quietly. ‘In Antyr’s land. They were much changed. True servants to an honourable lord. Many had died for him. Many died while we were fighting by their side. We shall give an Accounting for them when we return to Vakloss. Nothing is to be served by seeking anything further of them.’ ‘An unexpected development for you,’ Andawyr said, responding to Yatsu’s subdued tone. ‘Indeed,’ Yatsu replied. ‘But a welcome one. The travelling wasn’t easy and it would have been even harder if we’d been pursuing a trail of pain and destruction brought by our own people to strange lands.’ Andawyr looked at him shrewdly. ‘But there’s something else, isn’t there? You don’t have the look of a man bringing wholly good news.’ Yatsu’s brow furrowed uneasily and he pushed himself back into his chair. ‘We’ve no definite bad news as such,’ he said. ‘But things happened over there I think you need to know about. It’s just that I’m a little uncertain where to start.’ Andawyr raised his eyebrows theatrically. ‘So much for the vaunted Goraidin skill in gathering and reporting information,’ he jibed. ‘Come on, Yatsu, since when have you been lost for words? Do what I do when I’ve an intractable problem . . . when you don’t know where to start, start.’ Ar-Billan entered the room, rescuing Yatsu. He was accompanied by a stern-looking individual, tall and very straight with a high domed forehead and a long narrow face. Tarrian opened one eye to watch him as he approached, but did not otherwise move. Yatsu and Jaldaric, however, stood up and greeted the man warmly. His stern expression was dispelled by a bright and welcoming smile as he returned their greetings. ‘Excellent,’ Andawyr said when they had finished. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Oslang. I thought you wouldn’t be back for a few days yet.’ He introduced the newcomer to Antyr as the Under Leader of the Cadwanol, then motioned him to sit down with them. Tarrian closed his eye and gave a soft rumbling sigh as he rolled onto one side. ‘He’s all right,’ came his judgement to Antyr. Grayle’s unspoken agreement followed. Oslang took a chair that Ar-Billan was offering with a nod of thanks. ‘Fine . . . dogs . . . you have, Antyr.’ ‘On the other hand . . .’ Tarrian muttered. ‘They are wolves,’ Antyr confirmed to the uncertain Oslang. ‘And they’re not mine, they simply travel with me. They’re my friends.’ A brief shake of his head arrested Oslang’s hand which was descending tentatively with a view to stroking the apparently sleeping Tarrian. He withdrew it nervously. ‘It’s rather complicated,’ Antyr added unhelpfully, a remark that prompted knowing looks from both Yatsu and Jaldaric. ‘Join us, please, Ar-Billan,’ Andawyr said to the considerable surprise of the young Cadwanwr who was quietly retreating from the room. He glanced from side to side hesitantly, as if the remark might have been addressed to someone else, before responding to Andawyr’s beckoning hand and positioning himself on the periphery of the group. ‘Continue, Yatsu,’ Andawyr said briskly. Yatsu’s telling proved to be equally brisk. His journeying with Jaldaric in search of those that the Geadrol had named had taken them south through Riddin and thence, perilously, across the sea, in the company of one of the few traders who were prepared to risk encountering the Morlider in their fast, marauding ships. A further journey northwards overland had eventually brought them to Antyr’s land. ‘A strange place. Full of many wonderful things and splendid people, but . . .’ He hesitated, searching for a word. Then he gave Antyr an apologetic look. ‘No offence to you, Antyr, but they’re wilder, less civilized than we are in many ways. More quarrelsome . . . more easily inclined to violence, more apt to deal out summary justice than true Law.’ ‘Like the Fyordyn were, not all that many generations ago?’ Andawyr intervened acidly in defence of their unprotesting guest. The remark stopped Yatsu and he was thoughtfully silent for a moment before conceding, quite genuinely, ‘Yes, you’re right. Interesting. That hadn’t occurred to me.’ Andawyr gave him a suspicious look but Yatsu continued unabashed. There was no single government in the land, just self-governing cities and towns that continually vied for power and advantage over one another. Treaties were made and broken with despairing regularity, alliances shifted similarly, treachery abounded, and assassinations and minor wars were not uncommon. Yet, throughout, the various peoples managed to live and, on the whole, improve their lives despite the antics of their leaders. Gradually, war was beginning to be seen as a poor substitute for reasoned debate. Although the shifting web of loyalties and obligations that plagued the land was tangled beyond measure, there were two cities whose influence tended to dominate affairs: Bethlar, with its disciplined and spartan people, locked into their stark traditions and their gloomy, harsh religion; and Serenstad, a vigorous trading city, bustling and hectic under the relatively relaxed rule of Duke Ibris. At the time of Yatsu’s and Jaldaric’s arrival events had been set in train that were threatening to bring these two into direct and violent conflict. A war the like of which had not been known for a long time seemed imminent and promised grim consequences for an equally long time to follow, whoever was deemed the victor. Yet, even as this developed, an even darker threat was looming over the two unknowing antagonists and their allies. It came from the many tribes who roamed the vast and barren plains beyond the mountains to the north. They had been united under a powerful and ruthless leader, Ivaroth, and, fired with his ambition, were preparing to sweep down through the mountains and seize what their legends told them was their old land when the two main protagonists had fought themselves to exhaustion. As they surely would. ‘It gets difficult here,’ Yatsu told his now enthralled audience. ‘There was more to Ivaroth than at first appeared. He had a companion; a man, apparently blind, yet who could see, and who had . . . powers that you need to know about. We only learned of him after everything was over, from Antyr who . . . met him and . . . dealt with him. I think perhaps he should tell you the rest.’ As all eyes turned towards him, Antyr shuffled awkwardly in his chair. Throughout the long journey from his homeland with Yatsu and Jaldaric he had pondered what had happened to him in the weeks before the terrible battle that had destroyed Ivaroth and the blind man and sent the tribesmen, broken and bewildered, back to their old nomadic life. Though he had prevailed in a vital and mysterious part of that battle, and though he was many times his former self, the man who had spent years slowing sinking into bitterness and drunkenness, he knew only that he felt himself inadequate to deal with the skills that he now possessed. He had left his homeland because he knew that no help would be available to him there, though he had followed little more than instinct – and, he suspected, the silent urging of Tarrian and Grayle – when he had accepted Yatsu’s and Jaldaric’s offer to take him to the man Hawklan, a healer, who ‘might be able to help.’ True, at no time since had he been seriously inclined to regret this decision, and during the journey he had learned many things: about his companions, about Hawklan and the Cadwanol and the Second Coming of Sumeral and, not least, yet more about himself. But now he was here, he was at a loss to know where to start his tale, rather like Yatsu just before him. Two other things were not helping him. One was Yatsu’s own clear, orderly and uncluttered telling, the other was an element of malicious chuckling coming from Tarrian at his pending discomfiture. He did his best to ignore this as he cleared his throat and turned stiffly towards Andawyr. ‘In my land, I’m what’s known as a Dream Finder. I enter into the dreams of people and, as circumstances dictate, comfort them, assure them, advise them, whatever’s needed.’ Immediately he saw questions in Andawyr’s eyes but the Cadwanwr remained silent. ‘How I do this, I don’t know. I’m afraid that’s a phrase I have to use a great deal. How any of us do it, I don’t know, though it’s not an uncommon skill in our land.’ He glanced at Yatsu and Jaldaric. ‘It’s a born skill of some kind, but I understand it’s not something you’re familiar with here.’ Andawyr still made no comment, other than to give him a nod of encouragement. ‘Tarrian and Grayle here are my Companions, my Earth Holders.’ He reached down and touched the two animals gently. Tarrian’s ear flicked irritably. ‘They guide me through the dreams and protect me in some way, though again I don’t know how or from what. It’s something deep in their wolf natures, too deep for them to explain to me even if they felt inclined to.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry if this is vague, I’m not used to talking about what I do.’ ‘It’s not vague,’ Andawyr said. ‘It’s strange, that’s all. Very strange, I’ll admit. But we’ll have plenty of time to go into details, if you’re willing and if you want to stay. There’s a vast store of knowledge here and at Anderras Darion. It could well be there’s something about your particular talent just waiting to be found. And if there isn’t, we’ll learn what we can from you and then there will be. You’re doing fine. I’m intrigued, to say the least. Please carry on.’ Before Antyr could continue, however, a thought struck Andawyr and, leaning forward, he put a firm hand on Antyr’s arm. ‘Let me state the obvious, just to ease your mind. Should you have any doubts about speaking to us like this, rest assured that the very fact that Yatsu and Jaldaric have brought you here means we know you have a true need and that you’re neither fraud, madman nor charlatan. And that they’ve called you a valued friend says much more.’ ‘He’s more than just a Dream Finder,’ Jaldaric intervened. ‘He’s a brave man. Someone with considerable resource.’ Yatsu nodded in agreement. Seeing his guest’s further embarrassment at this unexpected praise, Andawyr again came to his aid. ‘He’d have to be to put up with you two for any length of time.’ Then, with exaggerated sternness, ‘And let’s have no more interruptions, young Jaldaric. Have you forgotten the Fyordyn ways of Accounting already?’ He motioned Antyr to continue. Encouraged, the Dream Finder plunged on. ‘My father – my late father – had been Duke Ibris’s Dream Finder once, long ago, and when the Duke began having strange dreams he asked me for help. What I – we – discovered, eventually, was that Ivaroth was himself a Dream Finder, albeit an untrained one, and that he was using his skill to assail the Duke and also the leaders of Bethlar to foment the war between the two cities for his own ends as Yatsu told you. What we also discovered was that his Earth Holder was not an animal, but a man. I didn’t even think such a thing was possible. And he was terrifying.’ He shuddered as old memories flooded over him. ‘He was what we could call a Mynedarion – a person who has the ability to affect physical things, to change them, with a mere gesture – or with a thought – I don’t know.’ He gesticulated unhappily. ‘You must understand that as far as I was concerned – as far as any Dream Finder, any rational person, was concerned – Mynedarion were mythical – part of a quaint tale come down through the ages about how the world was made – not real flesh and blood.’ Antyr made a slashing action with his hand to cut through his own confusion. ‘But he was real and he did have powers of some kind. Powers that defied logic but that he used to sustain Ivaroth as ruler of the tribes and that he didn’t hesitate to use against either people or things as the whim took him. He was dementedly evil.’ His manner and sudden passion brought a deep stillness into the room and when he spoke again his voice was soft, as though the words themselves might bring some retribution in their wake. He continued speaking directly to Andawyr. ‘When we enter a dream, there is a place we know as the Nexus: a place into which our client’s many dreams, past and present, leak, as it were. From there, our Earth Holder, our Companion, guides us to and through the Portal of the dream where our client’s need lies. In the dream, we become the dreamer and can sustain or comfort him as needed and quite often learn enough to be of further help on waking. This is what all of us can do. It’s our gift and, given the gift and a suitable Companion, there’s neither difficulty nor mystery in the use of it.’ His black-eyed gaze held Andawyr. ‘As you might appreciate, a great deal of thought has been given over the years by learned men as to how such a gift could come about – why such a thing should be possible. And while much has been written and conjectured, there’s more speculation than hard fact, and the whole business is mingled with storytelling and legend. However, there’s a dominant belief that some – we would call them Masters – can move through what are known as Gateways in the dreams themselves and into the Antechambers of the Threshold to the Great Dream itself.’ His hesitation returned. ‘You were there, man, tell them! They need to know.’ Tarrian’s command jolted him but he still found it difficult to continue. ‘The Antechambers are . . . other worlds. Places as real and as solid as where we are now, but . . . not here.’ Oslang shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Andawyr’s hand came out to still him and his look urged Antyr on. ‘The Great Dream itself is the place – though place is hardly an appropriate word – in which all things and all times exist. It’s believed that, just as dreams leak into the confusion we call the Nexus, so these worlds are but echoes of the Great Dream.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s said that only the most gifted can find the Inner Portals that lead to the Great Dream. Such individuals are known as Adepts. More fully, Adepts of the White Way. Tradition tells us that there were few Masters and even fewer Adepts, and all of them lived in times long gone. Times at the beginning of time when we were known as Dream Warriors, and charged by MaraVestriss, the creator of all things, with the duty of protecting Mynedarion – those in whom he had vested his own power – from Marastrumel, the Evil Weaver, whom he had created to be his companion and who turned against him.’ He released Andawyr and looked round at the others. ‘I did tell you it was difficult,’ Yatsu said into the ensuing silence. Andawyr nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes. But even at first hearing, there are some disconcerting resonances in the tale.’ He turned to Antyr. ‘Where are you in this . . . hierarchy of Dream Finders?’ he asked. The silence returned until, very softly, Antyr replied, ‘I don’t know. I was perhaps better than average at my job when I chose to be, but nothing more. But, as I said, Masters, Adepts, these were just part of our tradition. Not real.’ ‘Yet?’ ‘Yet I’ve been to other worlds – worlds that were not this one. I’ve walked in them, breathed their air, felt their sun. And I’ve been somewhere that I believe to be the Great Dream insofar as I could perceive it. There I saw, in ways that are not seeing as we understand it, the myriad worlds of the Threshold – shifting, changing, coming together, drifting apart, flickering in and out of existence, endlessly.’ His eyes widened. ‘All knowledge was there. Everything was there.’ Andawyr spoke very softly. ‘How did you come there?’ ‘I told you, I don’t know. I know so very little about my gift. That’s why I’m here, searching.’ ‘You wish to go there again?’ Antyr did not speak for a long time. ‘It’s not a place where people belong. It’s not a place we can begin to comprehend.’ ‘Then why are you searching?’ There was a penetrating coldness in the question. Both Yatsu and Jaldaric flinched slightly, seeing their travelling companion thus pinioned. Antyr lowered his eyes for a moment. When he raised them, it was Andawyr who found himself transfixed. ‘Because something is wrong. Something is flawed. He was there too. Ivaroth’s Earth Holder, with his corruption and his awful power. And others. How he had come there I don’t know. Perhaps it was through me, perhaps through Ivaroth, perhaps through some unknowable conjunction of the two of us. But it shouldn’t have been. Yet he was there, and in search of still more power. He was possessed by a desire to rend and destroy all that he saw and reshape it after his own way.’ Despite the bright sunlight being carried into the room by the mirror stones, Antyr’s face was drawn and grim. ‘Yatsu said that you “dealt with” this man,’ Andawyr said. ‘Unusually for a Goraidin, that had a hint of euphemism about it.’ ‘I dealt with him,’ Antyr replied flatly. ‘And Ivaroth too. For he was there also.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve learned so much about myself. And not all of it’s been to my liking.’ For a moment it seemed that he was going to break down, but he composed himself. ‘Ivaroth I killed in the way men kill. He attacked me and I was lucky. He died on the knife of one of his own victims. The blind man . . .’ He shook his head. ‘For an instant he was my Earth Holder, he became me, and I him, as is the way. And in that instant I understood him. Saw to the heart of him. Saw the tortured route he had followed, the desires that bound him. And when he attacked me I returned his own power, his own inner knowledge of himself, to him. In pity, you understand, not malice. But it destroyed him. Sent him to places beyond this world.’ Andawyr glanced at Yatsu who answered his question before it was asked. ‘Ivaroth’s body was found, but there was no sign of the blind man. But he existed all right. Many people saw him. And it seems he knew how to use the Power and use it well.’ ‘He’d been taught.’ It was Antyr. Andawyr turned to him sharply. ‘What I learned from him faded almost immediately. It always does. But some impressions lingered, for what they’re worth. Someone, at some time, loomed large in his life – literally – a tall, powerful figure – someone who held him in thrall with the knowledge and the promise of power he offered. And whatever took his sight was . . . a great light, or . . .’ He searched for a word. ‘. . . something that was torn from him, something that was bound to him in the deepest way.’ He nodded. ‘Yes. It was a loss. A terrible, wrenching loss.’ ‘You sound almost sorry for him,’ Yatsu said. ‘How could I not be?’ Antyr replied without hesitation. ‘Who am I to say that I might not have travelled his way in his circumstances? You’re a soldier, you understand that. But sorrow for how he came to be as he was gave me no qualms then about what I did to him, nor does it now. I’d have had it otherwise but I’d no choice. He was evil beyond imagining. Removal from this world was all that was left for him, for all our sakes.’ There was a long silence. Attention turned to Andawyr who was looking out at the sunlit valley. ‘Twice now you’ve referred to him as being gone from this world.’ He turned and smiled slightly. ‘Have you picked up our Goraidin’s unexpected flair for euphemism?’ There was enough humour in his tone to lighten the dark atmosphere that had crept over the group. Antyr returned it. ‘No. I’ve picked up their painful insistence on accuracy. I don’t know whether the man’s dead or not. He was just gone from where we were. And gone from this world. He was no longer a threat. And he was hurt – badly hurt. That I do know.’ Andawyr’s eyes narrowed. ‘So many, many questions,’ he said. ‘I can see why you’d feel the need to seek help.’ He gave a rueful laugh. ‘It would be much easier for us all if we could just declare that you’re rambling due to a sickness of the mind, but I fear you’re all too sane. And, in any case, I’d have you stay here if only to find out more about your splendid Companions.’ He clapped his hands and just managed to restrain himself from reaching down to stroke the two wolves. ‘You’re welcome to stay here as long as you wish, though I’d feel obliged to warn you that while you’re sane now, you might well not be after dealing with our incessant questioning.’ ‘That’s true,’ Yatsu muttered. Before Andawyr could respond to the taunt, Antyr said, ‘I doubt you can ask as many questions as I’ve asked myself, but I appreciate your kindness and thank you for it. I’d welcome the opportunity to learn more about who I am and what’s happened. Not only because of my ignorance about my own abilities, but because there were others as evil as he bound in that place . . .’ He stopped. ‘And?’ Andawyr prompted. ‘As I said, something’s wrong. While I was there I “saw” something which has been returning to me constantly, and which disturbs me in a way I can’t explain. It’s as though I’ve seen a hurt deep in the heart of the way the world itself is made.’     Chapter 4 Andawyr had been about to rise but he froze as Antyr spoke. The coincidence of Antyr’s words with his own recent concerns suddenly made him feel afraid. ‘Finish your tale, Antyr,’ he said quietly. ‘I shouldn’t have interrupted you. Tell us about this . . . hurt . . . you found, and the others you saw there.’ Both Grayle and Tarrian opened their eyes and looked at him. ‘I saw no one. Only the blind man. The others I heard. Voices ringing around and through me.’ Instinctively Antyr wrapped his arms about himself as the memory of their cold presence returned to him. ‘They were captive there, they said. Chained by others, long ago. Others like me. For using – misusing – what they called the true power. They called me an Adept – cried the word out in a frenzy. They were waiting for the blind man to bring me to them. They needed me so that they could be free again – free to move amongst the Threshold worlds – to wreak vengeance. Their ambition was the same as the blind man’s – to destroy everything and to remake it in a fashion of their own.’ He chuckled humourlessly. ‘Somehow, I defied them, or rather I spoke defiantly to them. Threatened them with the name they’d given me and added my own personal menace as best I could. “I am an Adept of the White Way. Heir to those who bound you here.”’ He shrugged, then curled his lip in a self-deprecating sneer. ‘Whistling in the dark, I suppose. It had as much effect as it would on you. I was less than an apprentice, they told me. As if I didn’t realize that for myself. A thing of clay and dross with the merest spark of past greatness in me.’ Antyr paused, mulling over the cold dismissal, still vividly with him. Then a flicker of triumph displaced his bitter sneer. ‘Still, I defeated them. When the blind man fell, they fell with him. Bound again by their own malevolence.’ He looked at Andawyr. ‘But they’re still there. Still festering, waiting, until some other innocent stumbles upon them. Someone less fortunate than I was. And they told me there were others, too; that their punishment was but part of a greater ill and that they were only the vanguard for the reshaping that was to come.’ Andawyr waited for a moment, unsettled by this eerie tale, then asked again, as casually as he could. ‘And the hurt you thought you saw. The hurt deep within the world.’ ‘I’ve no words for that,’ Antyr went on. ‘I didn’t see as we see here. Nothing there was as it is here. This place is a vague shadow by comparison. As am I. I was both part of and separate from everything. All I can tell you is that there are countless worlds, somehow both here and not here, and that they are being disturbed by a wrongness which emanates from here. I’m sorry I can’t explain it better, but those are the only words I can find. Though the memory keeps returning to me – disturbing me.’ ‘Your words are fine,’ Andawyr said. ‘And your pain needs no explanation.’ He massaged the remains of his nose. ‘Ar-Billan, what do you make of all this?’ he asked abruptly. The young man started violently and made several peculiar noises before managing to speak properly. ‘It’s a strange tale,’ he stammered. ‘But it seems honest enough.’ He flicked a rueful glance towards Antyr as if trying to retrieve the awkward words, and added hastily, ‘And, as you said yourself, the trust of the Goraidin in the teller adds much to it. It demands serious study.’ Then he was floundering. ‘But I don’t think I can make anything of it. I know that you and the Senior Brothers have conjectured about the possibility of other worlds, here but not here, as Antyr put it, but I’m still struggling with what you find to be much less demanding concepts. I’m afraid all I have at the moment are questions.’ Then he became youthfully earnest. ‘But whatever else it might mean, if someone has trained another in the use of the Power – and it seems they have – and there’s been so little discipline in that training that they’ve run amok with it, then we’ll have to make something of it. If this . . . tall . . . man’s trained one, he might have trained others and there’s no saying what the consequences might be.’ Andawyr nodded appreciatively. ‘A good down-to-earth point which, I’ll confess, I’d missed, Ar-Billan. What do you think we should do, then?’ Ar-Billan, pleased by this response but all too aware that a lesson was in progress, fumbled with his faint beard anxiously. ‘With Antyr’s permission, I think we’ll have to go through his story again. Slowly, and very carefully. And, too, the Goraidin’s. Then we can lay out those things that are known for sure and decide what questions we need to ask to test the reliability of whatever’s left. Then we’ll be able to consider what it all means.’ Andawyr looked round at the others. ‘Seems reasonable to me. Does anyone have any problems with that?’ he asked generally. No one demurred. ‘Good,’ he said to Ar-Billan, with a broad smile. ‘Well done. Unanimity’s such a rare event.’ He turned to Yatsu. ‘I was out in the mountains this morning because I wanted to break some rigid patterns of thought that had been encumbering me lately. I’d made a decision when Tarrian chose to “introduce” himself to me and I’ve just made it again. It also deals with the advice you wanted me to give you. As Ar-Billan has just summarized for us, the first thing we need to do is work through your stories again, slowly, carefully. I suggest we do that as we all go down to Anderras Darion.’ He added a hasty reassurance to the two Goraidin. ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t proposing we dash off immediately. I have a sense of urgency about this, but it’s not that urgent and I can see you need some time just doing nothing. Take whatever rest you need here, then we’ll have a nice leisurely trip down there. The only thing I’d suggest you do now is write a preliminary Accounting for the Geadrol. And, Jaldaric, you can write to your father as well. Just to let everyone know you’re back safely. There are riders to and from Vakloss nearly every day now.’ Only Oslang seemed to be put out by this decision. ‘What can we do at Anderras Darion that we can’t do here?’ he asked. ‘I don’t know until we get there,’ Andawyr answered obtusely, standing up and starting to pace about. ‘But a good break from what we’re doing won’t do us any harm, will it?’ Oslang began to frown but Andawyr opened his arms expansively. ‘Besides, we’ll see all our old friends. And doubtless meet new ones if half of what I hear about the comings and goings in Orthlund is true.’ He gripped Oslang’s shoulders. ‘And who can say what they’ll have found in that place? Remember that library? At least the equal of ours. Not to mention just the atmosphere there.’ ‘We’ve got plenty to do here,’ Oslang countered weakly. ‘And what we don’t take with us will be here when we get back.’ The grip became a hearty slap. ‘The fact that you’re disputing with me shows it’s too long since you’ve been there.’ He became sympathetic. ‘I know. What we’ve been doing is difficult and disturbing and you’ve got your own patient methodical way of tackling it.’ He met Oslang’s gaze – old friends. ‘But we’re stuck, aren’t we? We’re going round and round – going nowhere.’ He indicated Antyr and the Goraidin who were watching the exchange with interest. ‘This is just what’s needed. A random happening. Something uncalculated, incalculable. Something at right angles to all known directions. A stone under the wheels to shake our weary thoughts loose!’ He made to snap his fingers dramatically in front of Oslang’s face but failed miserably. ‘You never could do that, could you?’ Oslang snorted, his expression a mixture of despair and delight as he snapped his own fingers with a crack that made the others jump. ‘All right, you’ve made your point. I can’t face being metaphored to death. You’re probably right.’ ‘I am right.’ Ar-Billan coughed discreetly to remind his seniors that he was still there. ‘Have you ever been to Anderras Darion, Ar-Billan?’ Andawyr asked. ‘No, I haven’t. I’ve heard a great deal about it from those who have, of course. It’s a marvellous place by all accounts. I’d love to go.’ ‘Good, that’s settled then. You will. We’ll leave in a couple of . . .’ He caught Yatsu’s eye. ‘We’ll leave when everyone’s ready.’ He whispered to Ar-Billan who nodded and left, then he turned to Antyr and the Goraidin. ‘He’s just gone to prepare some of the guest rooms for you all.’ He became proprietorial. ‘We’re getting to be quite good at providing hospitality these days – a veritable hostelry. There’s every chance you’d be comfortable with us even if you hadn’t been travelling for months.’ ‘I’m sure I would,’ Antyr agreed. ‘I’ll show you round in the meantime. I think you’ll find the place unusual. Don’t be afraid to ask about anything.’ He took Antyr’s arm and spoke to him intently. ‘You’re no longer alone. We may not be able to find answers to everything that’s happened to you, but we’ll find a lot. And whatever torments you’ve got, remember that this place is safe – very safe.’ Antyr looked appreciative but doubtful. ‘I don’t think anything’s threatening me now. And I suspect that any difficulties I have I carry with me.’ ‘Yes,’ Andawyr said. ‘Quite probably. We all do. But even on our limited acquaintance I can see that you’re given to surviving, not self-destruction. I’m fairly certain that anything you’ve brought here you can cope with, quite possibly without our help. Just be assured that nothing can assail you from outside.’ Leaving Yatsu and Jaldaric, Andawyr spent the rest of the day showing Antyr about the Cadwanen – or part of it, for the Cadwanen was a vast and complicated complex of workshops, halls of experiment, teaching rooms, living quarters and recreational areas. And in places it was very busy as members of the Order went about their tasks. Tarrian and Grayle necessarily attracted a great deal of attention as they flanked the two men on their journey, but their presence did not protect Andawyr from being constantly accosted. ‘I can see why you’d want to be alone in the mountains at times,’ Antyr said sympathetically as Andawyr managed eventually to disentangle himself from a particularly persistent, albeit apologetic, individual. Andawyr chuckled good-naturedly. ‘It’s a strange thing, Antyr. Circumstances have made me the Leader of this Order, and I’ve no regrets about that, but the only authority I have is what these people give me and when I look at the kind of people they are, and the qualities they bring to this place, I find it very humbling. It sounds pretentious, I know, but it’s an honour to serve them and I wouldn’t have it otherwise.’ ‘From what Yatsu and Jaldaric told me, it was more than mere circumstances that made you what you are,’ Antyr said. They were walking along a high balcony overlooking an echoing hall. ‘They exaggerate,’ Andawyr replied. ‘I thought the Goraidin were noted for their ability to observe in great detail and to report with great accuracy,’ Antyr said, risking some irony. Andawyr gave him an arch look, but his reply was unexpectedly serious. ‘Circumstances placed me where I had to change or die, Antyr,’ he said. ‘Just like they did with you.’ He paused and leaned on the stone balustrade to gaze down at the figures passing below. ‘Purposeful movement with no discernible pattern,’ he muttered absently, then, ‘We each of us found a resource from somewhere. Who we can thank for that I’ve no idea, save our forebears. I find it helpful to remind myself that maybe I was just lucky and, given that, that I should devote the rest of my time to learning more about everything and passing on my knowledge to others so that if there’s a next time, they – or I – won’t have to rely on luck.’ There was a coldness in his conclusion that disturbed Antyr; not by its strangeness, but by its familiarity. Then Andawyr was jovial again. ‘But you’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m not above irritability when my halo gets too tight and a little solitude from time to time is very welcome. I just tend to forget that, until something like today happens.’ They left the balcony and went down several flights of stairs to enter the hall itself. ‘I do try to remember,’ Andawyr said, with a look of bewildered concern. ‘I write notes to remind myself. But then I lose them. Tidiness isn’t one of my stronger character traits, I’m afraid.’ ‘I can see that that would present difficulties,’ Antyr said with a laugh. He stopped and gazed around the hall. ‘This is truly an amazing place,’ he said. Sunlight was streaming in through high-arched windows that, vivid with coloured patterns, ran along both sides of the hall. The ceiling too was elaborately decorated, unlike almost everywhere else he had seen so far. ‘It feels so open, so fresh, I find it difficult to imagine that we’re underground – inside a mountain.’ He pointed to the windows. ‘Are they mirror stones too?’ ‘Yes. All the windows you see are mirror stones. Remind me to show you how they work before we leave. You’ll appreciate it, I’m sure.’ ‘I’m sure I will,’ Antyr agreed. ‘Though I have to say that from what I’ve seen as we’ve walked around they’re very disorientating.’ ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘They give views of the mountains and the valleys that are markedly at odds with the stairs we’ve climbed up and down.’ ‘That’s because you’re not paying attention,’ Tarrian said impatiently, speaking to both of them before Andawyr could comment. ‘Why you don’t use your nose more, I don’t know. There’s a kitchen along here, for example.’ He and Grayle began padding off down the corridor. ‘Yes,’ Andawyr intervened quickly. ‘But I doubt the cooking Brothers would be pleased to have you wandering about them. If you’d like something to eat, there’s a more suitable place down here.’ ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Tarrian replied affably. ‘I’m not particularly hungry myself. It’s for Antyr, you understand. His concentration wavers if he gets too hungry. But I’ll have a little something to be sociable, of course.’ Andawyr took them along a broad corridor into a communal dining hall. Plain wooden tables were flanked by plain wooden benches and at one end there was a large counter on which was arrayed a wide variety of food. There were several people in the room – some of them eating, some of them serving themselves from the counter. Tarrian and Grayle headed straight towards the counter, causing several startled diners in the process of returning to their tables to change direction abruptly. ‘Get back here, you two,’ Antyr hissed to them, adding out loud to Andawyr, ‘I do apologize. They’ve been too long in the mountains.’ The two wolves stopped but did not return, choosing instead to wait for him to reach them. ‘Don’t concern yourself too much,’ Andawyr said. ‘We have felcis in and out of the place all the time. It’s just that they’re not as big as these two.’ ‘Felcis?’ Antyr queried. ‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ Andawyr replied. He indicated a nearby table and spoke authoritatively to the two wolves. ‘Would you like to wait over there while I get something for you?’ After a visit to the counter and a negotiation with a red-faced and flustered-looking individual, he returned with food for himself and Antyr and two large bones for the wolves. Rather to his surprise, the wolves sniffed them suspiciously before taking them. As he sat down, a low bell-like tone reverberated through the room. ‘I’ve heard that several times,’ Antyr said. ‘What is it?’ ‘It’s a warning,’ Andawyr replied. ‘Or, more correctly, that note is a confirmation that all’s well throughout the caves.’ Antyr’s brow furrowed. ‘A warning,’ he echoed. ‘What do you need to be warned about here?’ ‘What did Yatsu and Jaldaric tell you about the Cadwanol and these caves?’ Andawyr asked. ‘That you were an Order of learned men established by Ethriss at the time of the First Coming of Sumeral with the intention of gathering knowledge so that He could be opposed in many different ways. They said the caves were full of strange devices, but they didn’t elaborate.’ He looked around. ‘And they certainly didn’t prepare me for anything I’ve seen today.’ Andawyr broke a piece of bread from a loaf and began nibbling at it idly. ‘Well, that’s all true enough, though pared thinly even for a Goraidin’s telling.’ Concerned that he might have inadvertently betrayed his friends, Antyr protested gently. ‘No, no. They told me a great deal, but I’m afraid I’ve not remembered as much of it as I should. The journey was demanding, to say the least. To be honest, I slept whenever I could. I’m no soldier, least of all like they are, and though they were patience itself I’d a great many simple practical things to learn as we went along if I wasn’t to be too much of a burden to them. Especially through the mountains. And I don’t think it helped that it was winter when we set out,’ he added ruefully. ‘It’s all right,’ Andawyr reassured him with a smile. ‘I wasn’t criticizing. Besides, the three of us have known one another long enough to be quite free in our exchanges of abuse.’ The smile became a quiet laugh. ‘But, answering your question. Do you see that?’ He pointed to a panel by the main doorway to the hall. On it was a symbol. As Antyr looked at it, the symbol gave him the impression that it was suffused with a slowly shifting glow, though if he stared hard at it he could see no actual change. ‘I’ve noticed several like that, though with different symbols on them,’ he said. ‘They’re very strange. I was intending to ask you about them.’ Andawyr became pensive. ‘They’re part of what I suppose you’d call the darker side of our life here. Yatsu and Jaldaric are quite right, this place is full of strange devices. In fact, it’s full of very dangerous devices.’ He leaned forward and his voice fell as if he did not want to be overheard. ‘When Ethriss founded the Order, it was a terrible time. The more I read and learn about it, the more I realize just how terrible it was. Sumeral held great sway then. His armies were powerful and fearsome. It seemed that nothing – nothing – could stand against His ultimate victory.’ He tapped the table with his forefinger for emphasis. ‘Part of the horror of it was that He had many honourable and very able people fighting for His cause; people deceived by His words, seduced by His promises or just terrified by the lies He spread about His enemies. And it was Ethriss’s greatest sorrow that in order to defeat Him, he’d no choice but to use His own weapons against Him. He had to teach his own followers how to make war and every cruel thing that that entails. It was a brutal loss of innocence.’ He twitched his hand irritably to stop himself from digressing. ‘It was a desperate matter that this place be kept secret. Had Sumeral learned about us then He’d have known the risk we posed and He’d have launched His entire might against us. But it was no slight thing, avoiding His eye; He’d many and different spies roaming the world. At first, Ethriss was able to shelter those who were working here, but he couldn’t do that for long as his very presence would eventually have drawn the enemy here. So very soon the first Brothers had to protect themselves. They did this by doing what we do yet – learning and practicing the skills with the Old Power that Ethriss had taught them.’ He sat back and glanced admiringly around the hall, almost as though he were looking at it for the first time. The jarring sound of Tarrian and Grayle massacring their bones rose into the silence. ‘And, I have to say, from a purely professional point of view, some of the work they did was staggering. Such minds, Antyr. Such minds. It’s difficult to comprehend. In many ways we knew so little. Some of the things we regard as elementary now – things we teach almost casually to our novices – were at the very limits of their knowledge then – brilliant insights. To discover them from nothing, as it were, betokens vision and intellect which humbles us all yet. Some of the discoveries they made actually turned everything that was then accepted completely upside down.’ He gave a guilty shrug. ‘I’m sorry, I’m wandering again, aren’t I? I’m apt to when I talk about the past. I’ve always had a keen sense of history and after what happened to us it’s keener than ever these days. Anyway, coming to your question again, the symbols that you see and the sounds you hear are part of a vast, intricate web of warning devices and traps developed from those that the first Brothers made to protect themselves. It’s altered, refined, adjusted, extended constantly, but at its heart it’s still what they made.’ Antyr turned to look at the panel and its symbol, which still seemed to be at once moving and not moving. ‘I told you I’m no soldier, but I served my time behind a shield wall when I was younger and had to learn something about sieges and the kind of traps that can be laid within a castle – falling stones, sprung spears, counter-weighted blades and the like – but that doesn’t look like any device I’ve ever heard about.’ ‘I’d be very surprised if you had,’ Andawyr said. ‘And more than a little alarmed.’ Antyr raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘We search endlessly for knowledge here, but all knowledge can be abused, and all knowledge carries responsibilities,’ Andawyr replied. ‘And that,’ he nodded towards the panel, ‘carries responsibilities far beyond the average.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, I’ll tell you more as we go.’ ‘We haven’t finished.’ Tarrian’s indignant voice touched both of them. ‘Bring your bones with you,’ Antyr retorted with heavy patience. Tarrian muttered something indistinguishable, then he and Grayle loped after the retreating pair. As they reached the door, Andawyr chuckled and briefly ran an affectionate hand over the panel. Antyr stopped for a moment and looked at it intently. Even so close, he could not decide whether the glowing symbol was moving or not. Nor could he determine where the light was coming from that illuminated it. As they walked along he began to notice many similar symbols along the walls, though most of them were smaller than the one on the panel. ‘All these are traps?’ he queried, unable to keep some incredulity out of his voice. ‘Oh yes,’ Andawyr replied straightforwardly. ‘But don’t worry, you won’t be suddenly sliced in half by a swinging blade. They’re not intended to deal with armed assaults as such. We rely on more traditional methods to cope with that. We’re protected from enemies coming from the south or along the Pass of Elewart, for example, by the Riddin Muster. We receive training from the Goraidin so that we can guard our own doors if we have to, and for the rest, the mountains themselves are virtually impassable for a large force. Even so, we watch them constantly.’ He extended an arm to move Antyr through an open doorway. ‘Come in here, I’ll show you.’     Chapter 5 The room Andawyr ushered Antyr into was circular. A group of men and women sat at a table in the centre. Some were reading, some were writing, others were talking quietly. One appeared to be asleep, his head cradled on his arms, though a quick nudge from his neighbour brought him suddenly upright, wide awake and diligently applying himself to the study of a large book. As the two men entered, the group turned and made to stand up but a signal from Andawyr sent them back to their tasks. Nevertheless, as had been the case throughout their tour of the Cadwanen, Tarrian and Grayle proved to be a discreet distraction. Around the walls, set close, side by side, were a great many of what again appeared to be windows. They looked out over the mountains, filling the room with sunlight. Around each of them were yet more of the symbols that had attracted Antyr’s attention, though they were much smaller than those he had seen in the corridor. Some of them were glowing. ‘More mirror stones, I presume?’ Antyr said. Andawyr nodded. And as Antyr looked round at the views they offered, he could see this confirmed disconcertingly by the fact that most of the individual vistas were not continuous with their neighbours. ‘We think of them as windows as well, if it helps,’ Andawyr said with an encouraging smile. But Antyr was staring at a series of views of what he now knew to be the Pass of Elewart. Though part of it was flooded with bright sunlight, this cast jagged threatening shadows and merely served to deepen the darkness of the shade that pervaded the rest. Antyr shivered. He had not spent long in the Pass but it had had an atmosphere that weighed on him like nothing he had ever known before and that he felt was not due solely to its stark barrenness and the wind whose moaning tones shifted and changed constantly. Even Yatsu and Jaldaric had seemed subtly uneasy and had pressed on at a very steady speed, sombre-faced and unspeaking. The horses too had been noticeably unhappy and Tarrian and Grayle had been unusually silent, drawing away from him utterly, deep into their wolfish selves, as they trotted ahead of the riders, ears flattened and tails between their legs. ‘Yes, it’s not a happy place, is it?’ Andawyr said, easing him away from the bleak view. He gestured towards the group around the table and one of the women stood up and came forward in response. About the same height as Andawyr, she was slightly built with an oval face framed by neatly trimmed black hair. She had brown, challenging eyes and a slightly crooked nose that served to enhance her appearance rather than detract from it. The long hooded robe she wore was similar to that worn by everyone else Antyr had seen in the Cadwanen, though it was particularly neat and clean and had a small golden clasp securing it at her neck. Tarrian’s approval rumbled into Antyr’s mind and, dropping his bone noisily, the wolf pushed past him and walked straight over to her. ‘Stop that!’ Antyr snapped silently. But it was too late: Tarrian was standing with his forelegs on the woman’s shoulders, rapturously receiving a brilliant smile and a vigorous caress of his long head. As he dropped down gently, Grayle, leaning against the woman, received the same. ‘Aren’t you both beautiful?’ came the words that Antyr had heard so often when the two wolves chose to act thus. Tarrian replied to Antyr’s rebuke with a malevolent chuckle. The woman’s accent was noticeably different from Andawyr’s, with an almost musical lilt to it. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Antyr said to her, adding, with a glower at the two wolves, ‘I’m afraid they’re not particularly well disciplined. And usually they don’t like to be touched.’ ‘It’s all right,’ the woman said, turning the same smile on him. ‘They’re a delight, aren’t they? Are they yours?’ ‘No,’ Antyr replied quickly. ‘They don’t belong to anyone. They’re just my companions. They choose to stay with me.’ The woman gave him a quizzical look. ‘This is Antyr, Usche,’ Andawyr said. He nodded towards the mirror stones. ‘As you probably saw, he arrived with Yatsu and Jaldaric. He’s come a long way and there’s much more than meets the eye to him and his . . .’ He glanced significantly towards the wolves who were now prowling around the room, sniffing purposefully at each of its occupants in turn but assiduously avoiding any further contact. ‘I’m looking forward to some very interesting discussions with him.’ Usche took Antyr’s offered hand. ‘Anyone who rides with the Goraidin and travels with wolves must necessarily be interesting,’ she said, looking at him keenly. ‘Welcome to the Cadwanen, Antyr, traveller from a distant land, friend to the Goraidin, Yatsu and Jaldaric, and companion to . . .?’ She looked at the two wolves. ‘Do they have names, your companions?’ ‘Tarrian and Grayle.’ ‘Companion to Tarrian and Grayle.’ Usche completed her greeting and released his hand. ‘Usche’s a Riddinwr. They can be very fussy about introductions,’ Andawyr said. ‘Think yourself fortunate she didn’t know any of your relations. Meeting someone you know in Riddin can be a very lengthy matter.’ Usche gave him a look of both reproach and threat. ‘And our great leader here, unfortunately, isn’t a Riddinwr – as you’ll realize as soon as you see him on a horse – and thus hasn’t been brought up in the ways of civilized courtesy.’ ‘I was just showing Antyr how we protect ourselves here,’ Andawyr said, ignoring the taunt. He swept an arm around the many views being brought into the room. ‘From here, as you can see, we can watch every part of the mountains around us for a considerable distance.’ Quite abruptly a look of pain passed over his face. ‘We always have done, after a fashion,’ he went on softly. ‘But we allowed the Watch to become a mere ritual; a condescending nod to the past. A dreadful lapse. Such arrogance.’ The last words were spoken as though to himself. He straightened up and the mood was gone as quickly as it had come. ‘But now we watch and we watch well,’ he concluded emphatically. Antyr looked at the views before him. They were a remarkable sight, and even a cursory glance told him that no army or, for that matter, any lone rider could approach the Cadwanen without being seen. But his memories of the mountains were very fresh. ‘What do you do when the mist comes down?’ he blurted out. His tone provoked some laughter. ‘Which is most of the time. Yes, we know,’ Andawyr conceded. ‘But as with everything else here, there’s . . .’ ‘More than meets the eye? Like me.’ Antyr finished the sentence for him. ‘Yes,’ Andawyr replied with a hint of apology. ‘Anything that moves, we have ways of seeing, or hearing,’ Usche volunteered. ‘Do you know anything about the Power?’ ‘He knows of it, I suspect, to his cost, but not about it,’ Andawyr replied on Antyr’s behalf. ‘But we can put that right with a little effort.’ Usche gave a slight bow and took a step backwards. Antyr pointed to the symbols surrounding the Mirror Stones. ‘As you seem to be so well protected against assaults by armies and the like, I presume these and all those littered about the place use this Power to protect you against anyone who could use it against you.’ Andawyr gave him an appreciative look. ‘Yes, indeed,’ he said. A fleeting recollection of his fateful confrontation with the blind man flitted through AntyrR