When he had finished, Dan-Tor withdrew his gaze and stared thoughtfully downwards, toying idly with the medallion around his neck.
‘The two Orthlundyn. Are they among the dead you brought back?’
Orthlundyn? thought Urssain.
‘No, Lord,’ he said. ‘They disappeared into the trees with the others, but they must have run away when the fighting started.’ He paused, then added: ‘It’s as well they did. They must have hacked down a dozen Mandrocs on their way, and left a lot more gibbering-you know the way they do when… ’
Dan-Tor silenced him with a movement of his hand. ‘And was there no woman with them?’
Urssain hesitated. ‘No, Lord.’
Dan-Tor fell silent again, pondering the absence of Tirilen and the apparent friendship of Hawklan and Jaldaric.
‘Jaldaric is below, you say?’
‘Yes, Lord.’
More silence.
Urssain’s shoulder started to throb, but he did not dare to move. Dan-Tor looked up.
‘Your shoulder is troubling you,’ he said. It was a statement not a question. Urssain affected stoicism.
‘It’s nothing serious, Lord.’
Dan-Tor stood up and walked over to him. Expertly he removed the bandage and exposed the wound. Urssain stayed stiffly to attention.
‘Relax, Captain. Stand easy,’ said the Lord’s soft voice. ‘You’re right, it isn’t serious. But it’ll be trouble-some and painful for some time, and I can give you something for it.’
He went to a large cupboard behind his chair. The lacquered doors clicked open as he approached, revealing an enormous array of bottles, jars and pieces of equipment whose function Urssain preferred not to guess at. Dan-Tor’s long fingers went unerringly into the apparent confusion and retrieved a jar and a roll of bandage.
Urssain rolled his shoulder to ease the pain, but that only made it worse and the jolt made the blood run from his face. He swayed.
Without looking at him, Dan-Tor, said, ‘Don’t move.’
The ointment from the jar brought Immediate relief to the wound, and Dan-Tor’s expert bandaging left Urssain feeling at once freer and more secure. Standing right in front of him, his brown wrinkled face filling Urssain’s vision, Dan-Tor smiled. Something predatory in the rows of white teeth chilled Urssain more than any amount of scowling could have done.
‘Your arm will be well very soon,’ said Dan-Tor. Then, after a long pause. ‘I’ve taken the trouble to repair it for a purpose, Captain. Your meeting with Jaldaric was as ill-judged an affair as I could have imagined. Thanks to it we’ve lost a large number of fully trained Mandrocs, and landed ourselves with a severe morale problem-those creatures aren’t totally stupid you know, not by any means. And worse, we’ve lost two very important prisoners.’ He toyed with his medallion again. ‘Putting it bluntly, Urssain, better than you by far have made lesser mistakes and suffered for it more than you could ever imagine.’
Urssain stood very still.
Dan-Tor sat down. ‘However, there were forces at work that were beyond you, and… I sense qualities in you which are worth developing.’
Urssain breathed out very quietly.
‘You’re a man who’ll learn. And quickly when needs be. You learned immediately that to tell me other than the truth would be not only foolish but dangerous.’ There was a dreadful chill in his voice and the coinci-dence of the words with his own earlier thoughts shook Urssain profoundly. He remained motionless and involuntarily held his breath again. He wanted to be a long way from here.
‘And you have wants, have you not? Desires?’ A long bony hand airily encompassed the room. ‘Ambitions? For wealth? For power?’ Again the coincidence of words. Urssain shrank within himself as if to close off his own thoughts.
‘Nothing is hidden from me, Urssain,’ Dan-Tor stood up and, placing his hands on Urssain’s shoulders, stared deeply into his eyes. Urssain felt himself dwindle into nothingness in the shadow of such power, then he felt himself lifted up and carried somewhere high above his wildest ambitions.
Abruptly the power was withdrawn, leaving only a lingering after-image of some attainable goal burning in his mind. Dan-Tor was matter-of-fact again.
‘I’ll call you when I need you, Captain. Return to your barracks.’
‘Lord,’ said Urssain as steadily as he could, then he turned to leave the room.
As he reached the door, Dan-Tor spoke again. ‘The Mandrocs, Urssain. How did they behave in Orthlund?’
Urssain thought for a moment. ‘It upset them, Lord. It’s a creepy place. They were very unsettled-anxious to be… home… somewhere else. I didn’t like it very much myself to be honest. But they fought well enough.’
Dan-Tor nodded slowly. ‘Send word they’re to be kept in isolation until I’ve had an opportunity to study them. Don’t let them mix with their own.’
Urssain acknowledged the order and closed the door quietly behind himself.
That at least is one useful piece of salvage from this wreck, thought Dan-Tor when Urssain had left. He had been watching the man for some time, looking for someone suitable to place in charge of the restructuring of the City Garrisons as the Mathidrin were gradually eased into power. Urssain’s conduct while making his report had confirmed his worth-the right balance of self-seeking cunning and stark fear, a perceptive man in his own barbarous way. And his ambition! Dan-Tor nodded to himself. You haven’t even got your own measure of it yet, Urssain, he thought.
But, despite this, Dan-Tor’s thoughts were domi-nated by Hawklan. Escaped again. Escaped with the knowledge that Fyorlund was under threat from some unknown enemy. Escaped to tell the Orthlundyn that Mandrocs were abroad and had killed on their blessed land-if they didn’t feel it already. Not even his Master could foresee how the Orthlundyn would react to such news. And why were Hawklan and that oaf of a Carver riding armed with Jaldaric? And where was the girl? Things were moving too quickly. Dan-Tor had the uneasy feeling that he was watching one pebble dislodge two as it rolled away from him down a hillside.
He dismissed the thought. Whatever the Orthlundyn had been, they were not so now and, in any case, they were too few to offer any serious opposition. All the damage that had been done could be repaired with a little thought. Useful experience would have been gained from the Mandrocs’ exposure to Orthlund. More traps could be laid for Hawklan. Time was on the Master’s side. Tomorrow he would interrogate Jaldaric.
‘We’ll weave a net to hold you yet, Hawklan,’ Dan-Tor muttered softly to himself. ‘Weave one from the threads your new-found friend will give us.’
A moth fluttered against the window, futilely rat-tling its wings against the glass as the invisible barrier kept it from its goal of light.
Chapter 13
The journey back to Pedhavin was a strange, uncom-fortable affair. Hawklan and Isloman both wavered in and out of different moods as they tried to adjust to recent events. But no real peace was to be found. Something had been lost forever. Such tranquillity as they could achieve from time to time was only the stillness of the sea between breaking waves. Havoc would descend again on their minds all too quickly and with it came the grim feeling that it would never end.
Gavor returned eventually, exhausted but with news that Hawklan, at least, found heartening. The Mandroc patrol had maintained its rapid progress to the north and, leaving the road, had assiduously avoided all contact with the villages and communities that lay between it and Fyorlund. Jaldaric was alive and mounted, though bound.
‘It looked to me as if they were leaving by the same way they came in, judging from the tracks,’ he con-cluded.
‘That’s a relief,’ said Hawklan. ‘At least there’ll be no more killing.’
Isloman snorted. ‘The presence of those creatures in Orthlund is a murder in itself. Wherever they’ve come from they’re a defilement. The very ground they tread on cries out in pain.’