Gulda nodded. ‘It would appear so,’ she said. ‘Though none had the sight, or perhaps the desire, to see it then. Except perhaps Ethriss. And he was gone.’
‘Gone?’ said Tirilen.
Gulda nodded again. Her storyteller’s lilt returned. ‘Ethriss was a great warrior. None could stand against him in combat, save perhaps Sumeral Himself. But he came unarmed to the Last Battle lest the preoccupation with the safety of his body should distract him from his true battle with Sumeral. An Iron Ring of Fyordyn High Guard protected him and Sumeral’s hordes beat against them like waves against a cliff while he stood mo-tionless, battling with Sumeral in ways we cannot understand. Then Sumeral, glorious and shining like the sun in His splendid armour, faltered at some unseen assault… ’
She stopped abruptly as if an old memory had sud-denly burst upon her, and her eyes filled with tears and ran freely down her face. For a moment she seemed to be struggling to speak, then she was free again. ‘And missiles that had fallen from Him through all that terrible day now found their mark.
‘He crashed from His steed pierced by a score of good Fyordyn arrows. But even as He fell, He loosed one final cast of His spear and struck down the defenceless Ethriss, who fell in the melee, unseen, save by one in that ring of defenders.’
Gulda fell silent again for a while and sat mo-tionless.
‘When the battle was over, his body was nowhere to be found,’ she said eventually. ‘There was no sign of him-nor of Sumeral and the Uhriel. There were rumours that the Mandrocs had hidden the bodies of the Uhriel deep in their caves and that the body of Sumeral was lost in Lake Kedrieth when the Guardians exerted their last strength and tumbled Derras Ustramel into ruins, but… ’ She shrugged. ‘There was a peace to be made. A terrible price had been paid in the death of Ethriss, but the evil was destroyed, it was believed, and much was to be done. The world was a sorry place.’
Her face softened. ‘The Great Alliance became a Great Congress, and pronounced wisely. They remem-bered Ethriss’s injunction to stay their hands from excess in victory. Those nations of men that had been bound or misled by Sumeral were freed and no acts of vengeance were taken, or few, at any rate. Only the poor Mandrocs proved irredeemable. They were sentenced to remain forever in Narsindal. The Fyordyn were given the land you now call Fyorlund, and swore a sacred oath to maintain an eternal vigil over Narsindal and to protect the blessed land of Orthlund to the south. The members of the Cadwanol retired to their caves at the southern end of the Pass of Elewart to study and increase their knowledge, and also to protect the only other exit from Narsindal. And all the other armies returned whence they’d come, to gather up the threads of their old lives.’
Gulda slapped her knees gently and, sitting up straight, smiled. ‘It was the start of the Golden Age, Hawklan. Ethriss was gone and the Guardians slept, exhausted from their own dreadful toils against the Uhriel, but the Cadwanol and Ethriss’s Kings did due honour to them in their deeds. Fine happy times.’
‘But?’ Hawklan anticipated.
Gulda smiled ruefully. ‘It faded,’ she said simply. ‘No race on earth had escaped the corruption, taught either by Sumeral or by Ethriss. Slowly it bred ignorance and delight in ignorance, then discontent, until the world is as it is today. Peaceful enough, but a shadow of its former state, and heading steadily towards the darkness. We’ve all fallen into slothful habits, Hawklan. Telling this old tale again today has made me remember… ’ She stopped and her blue eyes locked Hawklan’s gaze again. ‘I can see now that Sumeral could well rise a second time. So many "ifs" again. If Ethriss had not been slain; if Sumeral’s body hadn’t been lost… or taken.’ She shrugged and fell silent.
Gulda’s tale finished, Hawklan stood up quietly and stretched. Taking a piece of bread from the tray he sat on the edge of the table next to her.
‘All of which leaves us where?’ he asked.
She looked up at him. ‘It leaves you a little nearer the truth, which is where you needed to be. It’ll help in whatever decisions we have to make.’
‘But I still don’t know who I am,’ said Hawklan. ‘Or who I was, or why this Dan-Tor thinks I’m so important. Come to that, who is Dan-Tor?’
Gulda looked at him enigmatically. ‘Andawyr said he thought you were Ethriss himself; didn’t he?’
Hawklan waved a dismissive hand. ‘Andawyr was very disturbed. What happened in that pavilion had shaken him badly.’
Gulda nodded understandingly, but persisted. ‘Just as Sumeral slept and has seemingly been wakened, so Ethriss may sleep somewhere in human form. And he too can be wakened. If I judge Sumeral truly, I fear He may have been awake a long time, spreading His corruption silently while His agents searched for Ethriss’s sleeping form so that it could be destroyed or bound.’
Hawklan felt momentarily disorientated. ‘This is nonsense, Gulda,’ he said, his voice suddenly harsh and angry. ‘Surely I’d know if I were Ethriss? An all-powerful… Guardian… from the beginning of Creation.’
Gulda flinched a little, but offered him no resistance. ‘Consider, Hawklan. You arrive mysteriously in Orthlund bearing the Key and the Word to open Anderras Darion, Ethriss’s greatest fortress. You know the Castle. You have great skill in healing and you know the speech of animals, Ethriss’s own sword seeks you out.’ She paused, still looking at him penetratingly. ‘Once the Orthlundyn were a great and noble people. Their sacrifice was appalling, but it sounded the beginning of Sumeral’s doom. It’s said that as the last of their Princes fell before His army, Ethriss swept him from the field of battle and locked him in a deep sleep, to waken only when the need of Orthlund cried out again.’
Hawklan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you telling me now that I might be such a man?’ he said.
Gulda pursed her lips. ‘Possibly,’ she replied, laying a hand on his arm. ‘But that Dan-Tor is an agent of Sumeral is beyond doubt, and maybe even… well, no matter. But had he thought you just an ancient Prince awakened in some way by the arising of Sumeral, he’d have destroyed you with barely a thought, and precious little effort. But he didn’t. He lured you hither and thither with great caution. He used the Old Power very carefully when he tried to bind you at the Gretmearc, and when that failed he didn’t risk using it again. Instead he lured you northwards using your simple human affection for Tirilen.’
Hawklan held her gaze.
‘Dan-Tor thinks you’re Ethriss,’ she said quietly.
‘But who do you think I am?’ Hawklan ventured after a moment.
Gulda eyed him narrowly. ‘Ethriss alone knows, my lad.’ she said abruptly. ‘And it doesn’t matter. Whoever you are, I’ve no power to stir you. You must go to the Cadwanol as Andawyr said. Give them his message and let them decide who you are. He’s in great danger.’
She leaned forward. ‘In the meantime. You’re Hawk-lan. Hawklan the healer. An ordinary man, heir to all the ills of mortal flesh, and one chosen by the Orthlundyn to advise them.’ Then, more urgently, ‘From now on you must search for ever more knowledge and you must be forever on your guard. You’ve already found that your body has resources of which you were unaware. Don’t be afraid of them. You’ll need them and more. It’s a terrible and relentless predator that’s hunting you, Hawklan.’
She hesitated. ‘In the end, you’ll have to face him in his lair to free yourself.’
Chapter 23
Hawklan was uncertain how the gathered Orthlundyn would respond to the tale that he now had to tell them. He knew they were not a people overly given to studying history and lore, except as it pertained to their particu-lar crafts, and he feared they would laugh him to scorn in their gentle way.
Gulda however, had no such qualms. ‘Don’t be a jackass,’ she snapped impatiently. ‘Have you learned nothing about them in your twenty years here? Look at their carvings… or any of their other work. Look at the way they live, the way they tend the soil, everything. They’ll accept anything once they feel its truth.’