Fortunately, he consoled himself, Aelang, though unable to defy the King, had had the wit to lead them secretly out of Fyorlund, so few, if any, should have seen them; and those few could be dealt with if necessary. But how would Jaldaric and his men have responded? And what of Hawklan?
Jaldaric would fight, surely? He would not yield to Mandrocs and strange liveried Guards. Shock alone would probably make him draw his sword. But Hawk-lan? If Jaldaric had obeyed his orders, then Hawklan would have been some way behind, being drawn by the threads that bound him to the girl. In which case he would have come upon the battle itself, or the remnants of it. And if Hawklan were Ethriss, what in His name would be his reaction to the sight of the Mandrocs or their handiwork? And the girl. She must surely be dead now. That alone might awaken him.
But I’m here yet, thought Dan-Tor. Ethriss isn’t awake. The thought offered him little consolation as he remembered the terrible defeat he had suffered so long ago. He shuddered.
The King stirred. Dan-Tor laid his hand against the King’s forehead. ‘Rest, Rgoric,’ he said softly, hypnoti-cally. ‘All’s well. I’ll shoulder your burdens again.’
But forbid it as he might, his mind wandered back out along the Pedhavin Road, teasing through the awesome possibilities that might have been set in train there. So preoccupied was he with this ancient highway that he did not hear the chamber door open and close.
He started abruptly as a hand touched his shoulder.
Chapter 11
Sylvriss, Queen to Rgoric, was the daughter of Urthryn, the Ffyrst of Riddin.
The Riddinvolk had no time for kings and rulers and such-like, priding themselves on their independ-ence and practicality. But, as befits a practical people, they would always look to one among them for direction and advice from time to time-a first among equals. Such was Urthryn, and had been for many years.
His daughter bore the stamp of the exceptional personality that had placed him in this position. Black-haired, with dark brown eyes, she had an almost tangible presence and was universally loved by the Fyordyn.
Dan-Tor hated her roundly.
‘I’m sorry I startled you, Lord,’ she said softly, look-ing down into his alarmed brown face. ‘I didn’t want to waken the King.’ Her voice had the characteristic sing-song lilt of the Riddinvolk. It grated on Dan-Tor’s ears.
Angry at his racing pulse, he stood up creakily and bowed. ‘I was lost in thought, My Lady. I didn’t hear you enter. I was pondering how best I might help His Majesty. His illness is so intractable. Each time I think I’m near success it slips away.’
Sylvriss nodded. She had heard the lie and its varia-tions over many years, but understood all too well the folly of arguing with Dan-Tor or drawing her husband away from his ministrations.
Several times in the early years of their marriage, when she had been more naive and Rgoric more robust, she had persuaded him to abandon Dan-Tor’s potions and medicines, seeing they were doing him little good and sensing instinctively that they might even be the cause of his condition. Dan-Tor never objected other than with a light gesture of resignation and a look of sad inevitability on his long face. On each occasion the King had improved for a little while, then relapsed suddenly into an even more serious condition, leaving Sylvriss no alternative but to seek Dan-Tor’s help. It had been a bitter lesson for the young bride to learn, and had cost her many lonely tears.
Over the years she had been forced to stand by al-most helplessly as Dan-Tor’s influence over her husband and the country grew and grew, like a creeper choking a great tree while apparently giving it an infusion of fresh new life. But she was her father’s daughter, a rider in the Muster-had she not ridden as a messenger when only a child in the latter days of the Morlider wars? Such a person could not easily yield the field, but neither could she rail futilely against what was seemingly inevitable. She slowly accepted the reality of her position but resolved to fight Dan-Tor with such weapons as she had. And Dan-Tor knew it, though neither angry words nor deeds ever passed between them.
Riddin lay to the south of Narsindal and was readily accessible from that land only through the bleak and awful Pass of Elewart. If the Riddinvolk could be corrupted and the Muster rendered impotent and ineffective, or better still, if they could be turned into allies, then the Pass could be used and His forces could move down through Fyorlund, Orthlund and Riddin, without fear of attack on their flanks, or threat to their lines of supply as they plunged deeper into the south.
It was for this reason that Dan-Tor had engineered the marriage of Rgoric to the Ffyrst’s daughter, it being his hope that this would increase his influence in Riddin and enable him to sow the seeds of corruption there, as he had so successfully done in Fyorlund. The marriage of a sixteen-year-old girl and a much older-soon-to-be-ailing-man should have provided ample opportu-nity for his creative talents. But he had miscalculated seriously. Despite the differences in their ages and backgrounds, Rgoric and Sylvriss fell deeply in love, and formed a bond that would be forever beyond his machinations.
Though the true horror of the man was beyond any mortal’s measure, it is probable that even before she came consciously to oppose Dan-Tor, Sylvriss sensed him for what he was, for subtly she sowed distrust in her father’s mind against this ‘long streak of smiling cunning’.
Urthryn had been concerned at first by such refer-ences in his only child’s letters, but had taken due note. He knew, after all, that his daughter was not given either to foolishness or malice, and that having a king rule over a country, fine man though he might be, was a sure way to attract all manner of queer folk. Still, in addition to her soft abuse of Dan-Tor, her letters told also of her love for her husband, so Urthryn contented himself with that in his lonelier hours.
Whenever Dan-Tor visited, which was often at first, Urthryn gave him rather cloddish courtesy and listened to his advice with a look of bewildered strain on his face before agreeing to ‘think on it-when I get time’. When Dan-Tor left, Urthryn consigned the advice to the winds.
Thus, as Sylvriss had had to accept the growing influence of Dan-Tor over her husband, so Dan-Tor had to accept that Riddin was, in some way, being kept beyond his reach by this young woman. More galling, however, and potentially more serious, his underestima-tion of the love of Sylvriss and Rgoric would mean that his control over Rgoric would need constant vigilance. The corruption of the Fyordyn could not be let slip.
Sylvriss knelt down by her husband and took his hand.
‘He’ll be asleep for some time,’ said Dan-Tor. ‘He was in pain and very disturbed.’ He gazed down at the black hair of his unspoken antagonist.
As if aware of his scrutiny, Sylvriss turned, and smiling up at him, said, ‘Thank you, Lord. I’ll sit with him now. You may go. You look tired. I’m afraid Rgoric’s blunderings on top of your long journeying may prove too much for you.’
From a lesser person there would have been a sar-casm in such a statement that Dan-Tor could have relished, but there was a genuine compassion in her voice that struck him like a physical blow. It was a constant quality in her and he could not understand it. She opposed him even though she knew she must lose. She must surely hate and fear him. But there was always this… this… pity? He stepped back involuntarily and then disguised the movement as part of his withdrawal. He bowed, showing gratitude on his face. He intended to thank her for her concern, but the words stuck in his throat. ‘You must not stay too long, My Lady,’ he said. ‘Or you, too, will be exhausted.’
Sylvriss did not reply, but smiled faintly. It was in her smile that the strain of the years told. As she turned her attention to her husband again, Dan-Tor watched her from the doorway, the memory of the smile lingering.