Tel-Mindor nodded his head in acknowledgement.
Then they were out of the village and heading up the steep road towards the castle. The activity was still continuing however, a small but steady stream of torch-bearing villagers moving slowly up and down the slope like a trail of tardy glow-worms.
As the four riders neared the top of the slope, two figures came into sight. One was tall and straight and wearing a green robe decorated with a single black feather. The other was short and squat and leaning on a stick. Even though the light from the courtyard fell on her, she seemed to be as black as a silhouette.
Reaching the Gate, all four men dismounted to find themselves submitting to Gulda’s inspection. Tirilen smiled slightly at the sight, though her eyes narrowed a little when she looked at Jaldaric and saw the subtle changes that the ordeals of the past months had wrought on his round, innocent face.
Gulda saw it too even though she had never seen him before.
‘You’ll be Jaldaric, young man,’ she told him. ‘I hear you’ve had troubles of late.’ Jaldaric met her piercing gaze, but seemed uncertain how to reply. After a moment, she nodded. ‘You’ll live, Jaldaric, son of Eldric. You’ll live,’ she said, a gentleness in her voice and manner belying the seemingly harsh words.
Then, Jaldaric released, she raised her stick horizon-tally and pointed to each of the others in turn as she pronounced her conclusions. ‘Your names have come before you as well,’ she said. ‘Rede Berryn, an old High Guard if ever I saw one. You’ve ridden the Watch, haven’t you?’ She did not wait for an answer, but moved on. ‘Tel-Mindor.’ She looked at him intently. ‘Special,’ she concluded after a moment. ‘Goraidin, probably. Fine men.’ Then, ‘And last, as is the protocol of the Geadrol, I believe: Lord Arinndier.’ She inclined her head slightly to Arinndier, who bowed his in reply. ‘Don’t be too distressed, Lord,’ she went on. ‘You’re not the first to have been quietly led astray by Sumeral and his agents.’
‘You must be Memsa Gulda,’ Arinndier said as cour-teously as he could.
But Gulda, her inspection complete, was gracious. ‘I am indeed,’ she said. ‘And this is Tirilen, a healer, and daughter to Loman, Hawklan’s castellan. Welcome to Anderras Darion, all of you. We’re honoured to have you here and you come at a propitious time… ’ Unexpectedly, she chuckled. ‘We’ve just routed an ally.’
Then, without offering any explanation for this remark, she turned and stumped off through the Gate, beckoning the men to follow.
‘You’ll want to tend your own horses, I presume,’ she said as they strode out to keep up with her. ‘I’ll show you to the stables, then’-she signalled to a young apprentice who had been hovering like a tiny planet some way from this weighty group-‘this young man will show you to your rooms. You’ll be able to bathe and change out of your travelling clothes. Then we can eat and talk.’ She nodded to herself. ‘Considerable talkers, you Fyordyn, as I remember. I’ll look forward to it. I’ve no doubt we’ve a great deal of news for one another.’
‘That would be most welcome, Memsa,’ Arinndier said. ‘But we need nothing to eat at the moment. The villagers on the way have been more than generous.’
Gulda nodded again. ‘That’s as may be, young man,’ she said. ‘But I’m ravenous. It’s been a long walk today and I’ve had nothing but camp fodder for the past few days.’ And without further comment she walked off into the Castle.
Some while later the Fyordyn were ushered into a large room. A blaze of glowing radiant stones formed a focus for the warmth that filled it and a bright but mellow torchlight brought alive the carvings of rural scenes which decorated the walls. The ceiling was a great skyscape in which huge heavily laden clouds seemed to make a slow, endlessly changing progress.
The four men were soon lounging luxuriously in the long-stored sunlight being released by the torches and the fire. For the most part, they were silent; even Jaldaric, who had seen the Castle before, was awed by the craftsmanship and beauty that he found surround-ing him once again.
Of the four, Rede Berryn was the most vocal, moving from carving to carving like an excited child examining his Winter Festival gifts.
‘This place is amazing,’ he said finally, flopping down noisily on to a long, accommodating settle, and carefully straightening his stiff leg. ‘Look at those torches. And those radiant stones. They splutter and crackle like burning logs. This room, this whole building, must catch and return every spark of their warmth for them to have matured like that. Marvellous, I haven’t seen anything like them in years, if ever. And these carvings defy description. I must get my old wood chisels out when I get home. I’d almost forgotten about them, there’s been so much sourness in the air these last few years, but at the first opportunity… ’ He left the sentence unfinished, but beamed a great smile and waved his clenched fist as a token of his resolution.
Arinndier and Tel-Mindor smiled in return, though Jaldaric seemed a little uncertain about how to handle this sudden onset of childlike enthusiasm.
As they rested, each felt the calm of the room begin-ning to unravel the tangles of dire concerns that had grown over the past months to cloud their hearts and minds. Gradually they all became both silent and still, until eventually the only sounds in the room were the occasional murmur of the radiant stones and the muffled echoes of the activities outside as the Castle prepared to receive again its key-bearer and the many others for whom it was now home. But neither these nor the various people who came in from time to time to inquire solicitously about their comfort, offered any disturbance to the calm of the four men.
Slowly but perceptibly the noises from outside changed in character, becoming more intense and purposeful, like a distant wind gathering energy.
Then, abruptly, Hawklan was there.
The large doors of the room flew open and a clatter of laughter and noise cascaded over the four Fyordyn, swirling the warmth around them, and lifting them out of their reveries. They all stood up expectantly.
For a moment Hawklan stood motionless, framed in the doorway and gazing around the room. It seemed to Arinndier that the dancing music that had flooded through the land earlier that day was still washing around the feet of this strange, powerful man. Then the lean face split into a broad smile and Hawklan strode forward to greet his guests affectionately. Behind him came Loman and Isloman, followed in turn by Tirke and Dacu and several others, including Athyr and Yrain. Following them all, like a dour and watchful shepherd-ess herding her sheep, came Gulda.
There was a great flurry of introductions and greet-ings including an alarming bear-hug of forgiveness and welcome for Jaldaric from Loman. Then the questions that both parties had been quietly fretting over for the past hours began to burst out, and very soon there was uproar, with everyone talking at once.
Arinndier looked plaintively at Hawklan, who smiled and brought his hands together in a resounding clap. ‘Friends,’ he said loudly into the surprised silence. ‘We all have too much to tell for us to learn anything like this.’ He affected a great sternness. ‘We must therefore comport ourselves in the Fyordyn manner, so I shall put our meeting in the hands of the Lord Arinndier. No one may now speak without his permis-sion.’
There was a little spatter of ironic applause, but the clamour did not return and as the company settled itself about the room, some on chairs and settles, some on the floor by the flickering fire, Arinndier rather self-consciously began relating the events that had occurred in Fyorlund since Rgoric had suspended the Geadrol.
As if listening themselves, the torches dimmed a little, and the yellow glow of the radiant stones became tinged with red and orange.
Despite Arinndier’s succinctness, it proved to be a long telling, and the bringing of food and drink for the latest arrivals proved a timely interruption.
At the end there was a murmur of general satisfac-tion at the news of the defeat and flight of Dan-Tor, but it was Tirke who yielded to temptation.