Gulda’s look of withering doubt faltered slightly at Aynthinn’s tone and the old man took the advantage with a fleetness that made Hawklan look away to hide a smile. ‘You will help us, won’t you, Gulda?’ he asked.
Somewhat dourly, Loman agreed to remain in An-derras Darion to tend to the needs of the Elders and anyone else who came to study, though Hawklan sensed some relief in the smith that he would thus be able to remain near his daughter.
Later, however, Hawklan sought him out and, to-gether with Isloman, they strolled idly round the Castle grounds. A soft warm breeze carried the scent of the mountains and a hint of the coming summer heat. High above them, visible in the moonless sky only where they hid the stars, soared the towers and spires of the Castle. To the keen ear, night birds could be heard gliding through the quiet air, but the darkness of Anderras Darion was the darkness of comfort and rest, not menace, and the night was undisturbed by the shrieks of dying prey. Occasionally, clear in the stillness, a dog would bark, or a door close, or a small bud of distant laughter would bloom and fade.
‘I appreciate that it’s frustrating staying here to look after these people,’ said Hawklan to Loman, his voice soft in the darkness. ‘But you know the Castle better than anyone, and what the Elders will be doing will be important. However… ’ his voice fell almost to a whisper, ‘there’s another reason why I want you here.’
Loman looked at him but did not speak.
Hawklan turned to Isloman to ensure he was in-cluded in the conversation. ‘When the messengers go out tomorrow to tell the villages what’s been discussed and decided here, I want you to send private letters to those men who fought with you in the Morlider War. Ask them to come here, quietly, but quickly.’
The starlight caught the glimmer of a smile on Lo-man’s face.
He nodded, though still did not speak.
‘When you’ve all finished your reminiscences, I want you to set down everything you can remember about the way the war was fought. Weapons, disposi-tions of men, tactics, supplies, command structures… everything.’
Isloman chuckled, and Loman’s smile broadened. Hawklan looked at both of them quizzically.
‘I think you must have eaten some of those books, Hawklan,’ said Isloman. ‘Dispositions, command structures, indeed.’ His tone was full of mock dispar-agement and Loman laughed out loud in agreement. For an instant Hawklan felt inclined to be indignant but the mood passed almost immediately and he smiled.
‘All right, all right, you two seasoned warriors. Have your fun.’ Then poking Loman in the chest with his forefinger, ‘But get your old comrades in arms here and get the job done. Then you can take my place in the Library and start looking for all the books you can find on the same subjects. Then see if you feel like laughing.’
His tone became more serious. ‘Aynthinn spoke as only the very wise and the very foolish can. He told us the obvious. He showed us what was in front of our faces. We must learn from the experiences of the past. There’s no point in relearning bitter old lessons the hard way. It’s not a rule confined to carving. I doubt any of those High Guards ever lifted a sword in anger before, but they were trained and disciplined, and they took a considerable toll of those Mandrocs. We’ve none like that if we should ever need them.’
‘You don’t seriously think we’ll need to defend our-selves like that, do you?’ said Isloman anxiously.
Hawklan shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said. ‘But mis-led though they might have been, those High Guards came deep into Orthlund for no good cause, and those Mandrocs marched in, in armed force, prepared to commit murder. Only through good luck did we stop the one, and we could do nothing about the other. I think it’d be unwise to note those two facts and then imagine they couldn’t happen again.’
He started up one of the broad stairways that led up the main wall. The two brothers followed him in silence.
‘After the Morlider War, we want nothing to do with fighting, Hawklan,’ said Loman unequivocally.
Hawklan stopped and, turning round, looked down at them. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I understand. But we may not have a choice. Sometimes people’s best endeavours can’t prevent it. You wouldn’t have spent part of your youth in Riddin doing what you did had it been otherwise, would you?’
No answer coming, he turned round again and con-tinued slowly up the stairs.
‘Hawklan, you’re not thinking about training an army, are you?’ said Isloman.
The words seemed to hover in the soft night air, as if fearful of spreading their message.
‘I don’t know what I’m thinking about, Isloman,’ said Hawklan. ‘But consider. If they’d wished to, those Mandrocs could’ve swept through a dozen villages before anyone knew what was happening. And then what resistance could we have made?’ He stopped on a landing where the stairway met one of the buttresses to the Great Gate. A sudden surge of anger rose up inside him and with a grimace he slapped his hand hard against the wall.
‘None!’ he exclaimed viciously.
Loman and Isloman both started at the unexpected violence of this ejaculation.
Hawklan swung his arm in a horizontal cutting movement. ‘None at all. The only thing that would’ve stopped those Mandrocs sweeping over the entire country in a matter of days is fatigue.’ He slumped against the wall, frowning.
Neither Loman nor Isloman seemed inclined to argue this statement. There was little point. Hawklan was right, even though his implied conclusion left them more than uncomfortable. Isloman ran his big hand over the stonework tenderly, seeking solace in its ancient crafting.
‘Aynthinn was right,’ he said. ‘We must have been going downhill for generations. It’s all around us in this Castle. We should be better than our ancestors, not worse. Whether we’ve lost something or whether it’s been stolen doesn’t really matter, does it? Somewhere we’ve betrayed a trust. We’ve let the old crafts deterio-rate to the point where even the Great Harmony suffers. And, now, ill things come in from the outside and we’re unprepared.’ He sat down slowly on the steps and rested his head against the wall.
The three men remained there for a long time, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Hawklan leaning against the buttress, arms folded and looking moodily down-wards; Isloman leaning against the wall, and Loman leaning over the parapet staring out over the Castle grounds in the darkness below.
Somewhere in the distance there was a brief stir of voices and a door was opened and closed.
Hawklan looked up along the stairway, faintly visi-ble in the starlight. Over him the main wall of Anderras Darion loomed protectively. He frowned again at the unforgiving truth of his reasoning.
‘We’ve no alternative, have we?’ he said.
The two brothers shook their heads.
Loman spoke. ‘We’ll remember and relearn all our old "skills", Hawklan.’ There was bitterness in his voice. ‘And we’ll learn from such others as we can find in the Library, then… ’ He turned and looked at Hawklan, ‘then we’ll teach them to… to everyone.’
Hawklan nodded, and echoed their thoughts. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘There’s a great wrongness in all this. I can’t fault our conclusions in the light of what’s happened. There is no alternative. But,’ he shook his head, ‘I can’t escape the feeling that the very existence of armed power in Orthlund may in itself destroy the Great Harmony, or that it may somehow attract those it’s meant to deter.’
Chapter 24
As Loman stepped out of the maze of ornate columns that guarded the Armoury, he turned round and, with arm extended, snapped his fingers into the maze. It was a childish trick he indulged in occasionally, for the snap of his fingers was deliberately off the path through the maze, and the sounds of its increasing echoes swirled round and round until they surged thunderously against the unseen bounds set by the columns, like an enraged animal crashing against the bars of its cage.