Then, without apparent instructions, Jaldaric’s pa-trol moved forward and surrounded Urssain’s group. Jaldaric rode across to Hawklan and Isloman.
‘I don’t know what’s happening,’ he said, his round face incongruously furrowed. ‘Either these people are quite insane or something terrible’s happened at home while we’ve been away.’
Hawklan looked at him without replying.
‘I fear it’s probably the latter,’ continued Jaldaric. ‘I can’t see six men coming against fifteen of us with that attitude without some resource behind them. We need to get back quickly.’
‘I agree with you,’ said Hawklan. ‘But take care. Whatever’s happened in Fyorlund, that man expected his livery alone to command absolute obedience.’
Worry clouded Jaldaric’s face. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘it’s none of your affair. I can only recommend you head back for home. It looks as if I may not even be able to escort you as far as the border safely, let alone Vakloss. I’m sorry.’
Hawklan stretched his legs lazily and nodded. ‘Thank you for your advice, Jaldaric,’ he said. ‘It’s sound. But Isloman and I are very anxious to speak to your Lord Dan-Tor and we’ll be heading for Vakloss no matter what happens. For what it’s worth I suspect our questions and whatever political upheavals have been occurring may well be related.’
Jaldaric shrugged and let out a resigned breath. ‘If we run into trouble I’ll try and talk us through it, but if it comes to a fight I may not be able to protect you,’ he said.
Hawklan smiled reassuringly and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘We understand,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll make our own judgement about when and who to fight. You look to yourself and your men.’ He laughed gently. ‘We absolve you from your duties as host.’
Jaldaric smiled unhappily but could find no reply. Shrugging his shoulders nervously again he turned back to his men. Hawklan signalled to Gavor who was listening in a nearby tree, and the bird took off silently towards the north. Echoing this action, Jaldaric sent two men out into the adjacent fields to scout the road ahead. The remainder of the patrol restarted their leisurely progress.
‘You’re getting very bold, healer,’ said Isloman anx-iously, riding alongside Hawklan. ‘Smiling and joking in the face of a possible battle against Fyorlund High Guards.’
‘Well,’ said Hawklan, ‘the lad needed reassurance. He really doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going at the moment. I don’t want him worrying about us. Anyway, I told him no more than the truth. Whatever happens, you and I go north, don’t we?’
Isloman rubbed his hand and nodded.
The patrol moved steadily forward for some time until, passing through a wooded stretch of road, they emerged to find themselves at the top of a rise which gave them a commanding view of the countryside for many miles around. Straight ahead of them, fringing the distant horizon, Hawklan could just make out the white peaks that formed the southern border of Fyorlund.
Jaldaric’s face creased in distress when he too saw the mountains. So much had changed since he had been chosen to lead the Lord Dan-Tor’s escort into Orthlund and thence to lands further south. Now it seemed that every step they took led them into more and more confusion and difficulty, not to say danger. The sooner he could reach Vakloss and hand this whole mess over to his superiors, the sooner he could see his father and settle back into his ordinary life.
Unnecessarily he stood up in his stirrups and peered into the distance. The road twisted and wound through fields and woods, disappearing from sight for long stretches.
‘I see no sign of your patrol, Urssain,’ he said.
‘You will soon enough,’ replied the man, certainty filling his surly reply.
Jaldaric looked at him and then frowned. ‘Dismount and rest,’ he said. ‘We may as well take advantage of the high ground and the trees while we’re here. Our Captain here seems convinced his friends will come looking for him.’
Taking their horses with them, the men dispersed skilfully into the surrounding trees and foliage so that they could both rest and watch the countryside ahead of them.
Hawklan caught Isloman’s look of approval. The men were well trained, without doubt. He dismounted and Serian wandered off into the trees with Isloman’s mount.
Hawklan lowered himself on to a grassy bank and stretched out luxuriously. Isloman sat down heavily beside him and drew his sword. He looked critically along its gleaming edge and fumbled in his pocket to retrieve a small slab of stone. He twisted the sword round repeatedly and, hefting the stone, offered it to the blade several times indecisively. Then he returned his sword to its scabbard and the stone to his pocket.
‘Just nerves,’ he said apologetically. ‘There’s no way a stone crusher like me can improve on an edge that Loman’s made.’
Hawklan smiled then sat up suddenly and cocked his head on one side. Abruptly, Gavor was on them. He was jumping up and down with agitation, his eyes wild and distant, and his black spurs twitching and glinting ominously in the sunlight.
He was jabbering.
‘I can’t understand you, Gavor,’ said Hawklan frowning. ‘Speak normally.’
But Gavor continued with the noise and Hawklan shook his head despairingly. Finally the bird let out a raucous cry and flew off up into the sky where he circled, crying out strangely every few seconds. Hawklan stood up and watched him.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Isloman asked.
Hawklan put his hands to his head almost desper-ately. ‘I don’t know. He’s speaking a language I’ve never heard him use before. I can’t understand it, but it sounds like something very old.’
He shouted to Jaldaric and the young man ran across to him. Hawklan took him by the arm.
‘Prepare your men. Gavor’s seen something that’s either frightened the wits out of him, or made him angry beyond belief; I can’t tell which. But something terrible is coming.’
Jaldaric signalled to his men, and such as could be seen disappeared from view. The six black-liveried men sat dolefully by the side of the road, though Urssain still affected an arrogant indifference. Nervously loosening his sword in its scabbard, Jaldaric took up a position opposite them so that he could see the road ahead and also be seen by anyone travelling along it.
Hawklan cast a glance up at Gavor who was gliding round and round in a wide circle above the scene, crying raucously. Hawklan still could not determine whether the sound was one of rage or fear, but he suspected the former as it was undeniably alarming. Shaking his head and gesturing to Isloman, the two of them faded into the undergrowth.
Then followed an eerie, silent and timeless interval in which everyone seemed to be held in reality only by Gavor’s persistent cry growing fainter and fainter as he rose ever higher in a great spiral.
A muffled whisper came out of the undergrowth, and Jaldaric screwed up his eyes to peer into the distance. A long line of men began to emerge from one of the many dips that took the road out of sight. Jaldaric frowned.
‘Your patrol’s on foot?’ he asked Urssain. The man did not reply.
‘They’re running,’ whispered Isloman to Hawklan.
Hawklan nodded. Somewhere from within came the knowledge that they could run for miles and miles and still fight a battle, but who ‘they’ were was denied him. Again he felt a momentary detachment. A brief flash of another place and another time. Darkness and horror, a vast and malevolent roaring, and a fearful unsteadiness under his feet. Then it was gone, and his gaze focused again on the approaching patrol. It was too far away to make out any detail, but it was large, and travelling quickly. Four horsemen were leading it.
Then it too was gone, hidden behind the green con-tours of the Orthlund countryside. Hawklan breathed out nervously and leaned back against a tree. The next time the patrol would appear it would be coming round the bend in the road barely a stone’s throw ahead of them, and it would be on them.
‘Your men will be in no state to do battle when they’ve climbed this far,’ said Jaldaric to Urssain without looking at him.