Hawklan felt the tension leave his friend but noted again his own ambivalent response. He was happy that Isloman’s pain had been eased, but that cold part of his mind was happy also. Isloman’s heart would now be uncluttered by hidden doubts should the need arise for him to fight. In the dry shade of his hood, Hawklan scowled to himself.
Gradually the rain eased into a light spring drizzle, and eventually stopped. The clouds receded over the mountains and the sun illuminated their path again, glistening off the wet road and raising clouds of steam in the distant woodlands.
Like enemy camp fires, thought Hawklan.
Hoods were pushed back, horses shook their heads, showering tiny rainbow-decorated sprays about them, and casual conversation sputtered back into life again.
Jaldaric trotted up to Isloman and Hawklan, screen-ing his eyes against the bright light from the shining road. Then he pointed.
‘Riders coming,’ he said.
Chapter 8
Jaldaric’s expression grew more and more puzzled as the riders approached, but he replaced it with a smile of welcome as the two groups stopped opposite one another.
The visitors were six in number and clad in a black livery. They were grim-faced and had obviously been riding hard. One of them wore insignia which, together with his general demeanour, identified him as their leader. His face was lean and would have been hand-some had not narrowed eyes and a curl in his thin mouth given him a cunning and treacherous expression.
Jaldaric saluted, but the gesture was not returned and an uneasy silence fell between the two groups.
The leader of the new arrivals frowned. ‘You’re Jal-daric?’ he demanded, his voice harsh.
Jaldaric bridled slightly at the man’s manner, but replied pleasantly. ‘Yes I am. May I ask who you are?’
The man ignored him, and gazed around as if look-ing for someone. ‘Where is the Lord Dan-Tor?’ he asked, just as Jaldaric was about to repeat his question. His voice was a little softer, but still unpleasant, and Jaldaric’s face flushed at this further incivility.
‘The Lord Dan-Tor has returned to Fyorlund,’ he replied. ‘Now, may I ask again, to whom I am speaking and what is your concern with the Lord Dan-Tor?’ His voice was harder, and this time it was the visitor who bridled, as if unused to being spoken to thus.
‘My name’s Urssain,’ he said. ‘Captain Urssain of the… King’s High Guard.’ Then, before this could be fully registered, ‘Did the Lord Dan-Tor receive a messenger from Commander Aelang before he left?’
Jaldaric’s innate politeness overcame his immediate surprise. ‘We’ve had no messengers from anyone… Captain,’ he said. ‘But that’s hardly of any relevance. What’s more to the point is why are you, Fyordyn, marching armed and liveried in Orthlund, inquiring about the Lord Dan-Tor and calling yourselves, of all things, a King’s High Guard?’
Urssain seemed disconcerted by the news that Dan-Tor had not received Aelang’s message and, for a moment, his face showed his uncertainty. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward in his saddle radiating arrogance. ‘It’s unfortunate that neither we nor our messenger met the Lord Dan-Tor, though it’s under-standable enough in this benighted country. However, it changes nothing and, in answer to your question, we’re here on the King’s orders to arrest you. I must therefore ask you to surrender your sword immediately.’
The suddenness of this reply as much as its content made Jaldaric jerk back in his saddle and for a moment he seemed almost inclined to laugh. It was anger, however, that dominated his reply.
‘Captain Urssain,’ he said. ‘Even a child knows that the King can have no High Guard.’ He paused, and his eyes narrowed. ‘I have no idea from where you come, or what I’m supposed to make of your rambling-nor have I any intention of wasting my time trying to find out-but your very presence here constitutes a considerable offence in itself, and it’s not I who will be surrendering to you, but you to me.’
He made a discreet gesture and his patrol quietly spread itself across the road. Urssain watched the manoeuvre with disdain.
‘A larger patrol is close behind us, Jaldaric,’ he said. ‘Our various messages may have gone astray but I can at least give you the opportunity of surrendering with dignity. If you offer me violence while I’m on the King’s business then it’ll go much worse for you.’
Jaldaric ignored the comment, but his jaw stiffened. ‘Enough, Urssain,’ he said angrily. ‘Your sword.’
Urssain made no move. ‘Jaldaric,’ he said, almost conciliatory in tone. ‘Understand. We are the King’s High Guard, whatever you might think about it. We were formed in secret because of the treachery of some of the Lords. You’re to be arrested at the King’s express command, because your father, the Lord Eldric, was at its heart. He and his co-conspirators are now in prison in Vakloss awaiting trial.’
Jaldaric put his hand to his head. ‘This is nonsense,’ he said uncertainly.
Hawklan looked round at the faces of Jaldaric’s patrol. Esselt’s eyes were gleaming, as were those of his friends, but all the others seemed to be as shocked and disorientated as their Captain.
Jaldaric shook his head as if to waken himself. ‘No,’ he said. ‘This isn’t nonsense. It’s madness. My father’s no traitor. With whom would he conspire and for what? He’s an old man and a respected member of the Geadrol.’
‘The Geadrol was a sink of conspiracy. It no longer exists. The King has suspended it,’ said Urssain contemptuously.
A babble of voices broke out at this, and Jaldaric’s patrol surged forward almost involuntarily to gather around their leader. Esselt and his friends, however, though also surprised, stayed aloof and watchful. Isloman indicated their response to Hawklan with his eyes, and Hawklan acknowledged with a slight nod.
Jaldaric called out for silence. ‘I can make nothing of this. The King cannot have High Guards. The Geadrol cannot be suspended. And how can I be arrested without charge or authority? What crimes have I committed?’
‘The King can do all things,’ came Urssain’s reply, ‘and this uniform is authority enough for your arrest. I’m just a Captain obeying orders. I know nothing about your crimes except those you’re committing just by arguing with me. I’ve told you once, surrender now or it’ll go much worse for you later.’
For a moment Jaldaric seemed inclined to draw his sword and lay about him, but other counsels prevailed and when he spoke his voice was hard and coldly purposeful.
‘The longer we stay away from Fyorlund, the more strange questions accumulate for answering. I’m about to continue my journey to Vakloss, Urssain, together with my guests from Orthlund.’ He indicated Hawklan and Isloman. ‘You’ll accompany us, either peacefully or bound, that choice is yours. When we’re there we’ll all stand before the Geadrol and, if necessary, the King himself, and you can spin your babbling fancies to your heart’s content.’
Urssain cast a quick glance at the two Orthlundyn, then turned away with an insolent shrug. ‘As you wish. The rest of my patrol is nearby. I’ll complete my orders when they arrive.’
Jaldaric’s eyes blazed momentarily, but he walked his horse forward quietly until he was by the side of the black-liveried Captain. Then, turning swiftly, he drew his sword and placed the point against Urssain’s throat.
‘Listen carefully, Urssain,’ he said very softly, ‘who-ever you are, and whoever’s bidding you’re doing. You wear a livery unknown to us, you defame the King, you bring arms into Orthlund, then you threaten us, the Lord Dan-Tor’s personal escort, and finally you defame both my father and myself. As far as I’m concerned you’re just a criminal. I’ve no doubt you’ve got friends lurking in ambush somewhere along the road, but be under no illusions as to who’ll die first if we’re offered violence by anyone.’
Urssain looked uneasily down the length of Jalda-ric’s sword, and then at the bows the Guards were carrying. His arrogance faltered. Jaldaric smiled grimly.
‘We’ll dispense with the formalities,’ Jaldaric con-cluded grimly. ‘You may keep your sword, for what good it’ll do you. I guarantee you’ll have no time to draw it.’