‘It’s all too much, Gavor,’ said Hawklan, still rubbing his eyes. ‘I can’t make out truth from fiction, and there’s just too much of everything. I feel I’m losing knowledge not gaining it.’
No reply.
Hawklan leaned back in his chair and looked across at his friend. Gavor was sound asleep, his foot clutching the top rail of a chair he had commandeered as his perch, and his wooden leg sticking out horizontally, steadying him against an open book propped up in front of him.
Hawklan smiled. ‘Very wise,’ he yawned, pushing the books he had been reading to one side. He leaned forward and, cushioning his head on his arms, fell fast asleep without the slightest twinge of conscience.
When he opened his eyes, he found it difficult to focus. Sitting opposite him, next to the sleeping Gavor, was Andawyr, his oval punch-bag face looking gaunt and haggard and very old in the soft light of the now darkened Library.
Hawklan smiled and opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to tell Andawyr that his arm was better, but the words would not form properly.
‘Listen to me, Hawklan.’ The voice was faint and distant. ‘I can speak to you only because of my extrem-ity. We’ve bound the birds… I’m held in Narsindal, I may be destroyed at any moment. Go to the Cadwanol… in the Caves of Cadwanen at the Pass of Elewart.’
Hawklan felt pain and fear now in the old man’s presence, but still could not speak.
‘They know of you. Tell them I reached out to you when all hope was gone. Tell them the Uhriel are indeed abroad-Oklar, Creost and Dar Hastuin.’
Darkness came into Hawklan’s mind from some unknown source. Andawyr’s voice became weaker.
‘Tell them that they’ve raised and awakened… ’ The image faltered. ‘Raised and awakened their old Master. I’ve felt His presence and, I fear, He mine.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Hawklan, the Second Coming of Sumeral is upon us. Sphaeera, Theowart and Enartion must be roused.’ His hands came in front of his face as if fending off an attack.
Hawklan tried to tell him he was safe; this was only a library. Everything was safe in Anderras Darion. But still he could not speak and his eyes were becoming heavier and heavier. Fading in the distance he heard, ‘They need you and you they. Ethriss must be found and awakened or all will be lost, and Sumeral’s power will stretch across the stars. He’s wiser by far now… ’
An ominous chilling blackness rolled over Hawklan as the voice dwindled into nothingness, and Hawklan felt a cold malevolent presence before drifting into forgetfulness.
Slowly, out of the infinite darkness came a tiny bright dancing spark calling his name. Calling it repeatedly, and laughing at him. As it grew, it twinkled and shifted, moving as the sound moved until finally it burst into a myriad sparks and he opened his eyes to a blaze of light and laughter.
He sat up, bleary-eyed. The Library was bright with daylight carried into the innermost reaches of the Castle by the mirror stones. Tirilen’s laughter was ringing in his ears, and the cause of it was dancing up and down frantically in front of him.
‘Ah, ah, ah. Ooh, ooh. Do something,’ cried Gavor.
‘What’s the matter?’ Hawklan asked sleepily.
‘Pins and needles,’ Tirilen announced, still laughing.
‘Where?’ said Hawklan, flexing the stiffness out of his own muscles.
Gavor proffered his wooden leg and Tirilen flopped into a chair, wiping tears from her eyes. Hawklan looked at her reproachfully.
‘Not a good attitude for a healer, my girl,’ he said, trying not to smile. Gavor, however, continued his plaint until he was suddenly and miraculously cured by the abrupt entrance of Gulda.
‘Well, I can see you’ve slept, young man,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’ll want to eat now will you?’
‘Solicitous as ever, dear lady,’ muttered Gavor loudly to no one in particular.
Gulda glowered at him. Gavor raised his beak into the air with great dignity and, walking over to a conspicuous patch of sunshine, began to preen himself vigorously, scattering dust and fragments of iridescent feathers into the broad shaft of sunlight that fell on him like a great finger.
Hawklan looked at Gulda and then at Tirilen, who was tossing her shining blonde hair to cut a golden swathe through the sunlight. Suddenly, the memory of Andawyr and the strange horror that had surrounded him, returned with an appalling vividness.
Outside, the sun disappeared behind ragged storm clouds blowing from the east, and the light in the Library took on a gloomier cast.
‘Gulda,’ he said faintly.
Gulda’s eyes narrowed slightly as she caught his tone. Indicating the door with a movement of her head she mouthed, ‘food’ to Tirilen. As the girl left, Gulda sat down by Hawklan and rested her hands on her stick.
‘Gulda,’ he said. ‘I had a dream last night. At least, I thought it was a dream at the time, but now I’m not sure.’ He shivered slightly. ‘It was very strange.’
Gulda did not speak, but she nodded her head en-couragingly. Hawklan’s voice made Gavor stop his preening.
‘Andawyr was here,’ Hawklan continued, pointing to the chair where he had seen the little man.
‘Andawyr?’ Gulda inquired.
Hawklan gestured apologetically. ‘Someone I met at the Gretmearc.’ Then, in amplification, ‘Strange little man. I owe him a great deal. He and Gavor saved my life. Said he belonged to the Cadwanol, whoever they are.’
Gulda’s eyes widened and, for an instant, her fierce expression disappeared into one of profound surprise. For that same instant, Hawklan had a vision of a face that had once been strikingly beautiful.
‘The Cadwanol,’ she said softly, to herself. ‘After all this time. Still watching.’ She lifted a hand to cover her face and sat motionless with her head bowed for several minutes. When she looked up, her face was full of self-reproach.
‘I haven’t asked you what happened at the Gret-mearc, Hawklan,’ she said quietly, ‘although I could see you were keeping something from the villagers. I’m sorry. I’m becoming as foolish as I’m old. Will you tell me everything now please?’ Gavor cocked his head on one side at Gulda’s subdued tone. ‘Everything,’ she repeated. Some of her old manner returned and leaning forward she prodded Hawklan’s knee with her long forefinger. ‘Everything since this… tinker Lord arrived that you haven’t told the others.’
As Hawklan recounted his tale, Gulda folded her hands on top of her stick and rested her head on them, eyes closed and downcast. When finally he finished, she did not move, but Hawklan sensed a tension in her.
‘Now tell me of this dream,’ she said. Mindful of her earlier admonition, Hawklan recounted Andawyr’s words and actions as accurately as he could. It was all still peculiarly vivid in his mind and he shivered a little again as he finished.
Though she showed no response, the tension in Gulda seemed to build then, abruptly, her pale face became even paler, the tight mouth quivered and her long powerful hands shook as they clenched the top of the stick. Hawklan became alarmed, thinking she was about to faint. He put out a hand as if to catch her, and she reached out and took hold of it. Her grip was frighteningly powerful, but the hand was cold and shaking. ‘I’ll be all right in a moment,’ she said faintly. Hawklan winced at the pain that radiated from her.
Gavor clunked across the table and looked at her strangely. Gulda caught his deep black eye, and her face softened.
‘Ah,’ she said softly, almost to herself. ‘Faithful bird. Your people did true service in their time.’ Then directly to Gavor, ‘You’ll have to forgive an impatient old woman her sharp tongue and foolishness. There’ll be no more. I doubt we’ve the time.’
Gavor had many uncomfortable qualities but petti-ness was not one. ‘Dear girl,’ he said. ‘I’d rather have any amount of your abuse than see you wilt like this.’
‘What’s the matter, Gulda?’ Hawklan asked.
She did not answer, but remained with her head lowered for a little while. Then, as though she were a sapling that bowed only while the wind blew, she sat upright. Her face was still white, but it was filled with a stern resolution and dignity that stopped Hawklan speaking further.