‘Mathidrin?’ queried Hawklan.
The Rede’s face was still in shadow, but the bitter-ness and anger in his voice was clear enough. ‘They started off calling them King’s High Guard. King’s High Guard no less. Then when that provoked a storm they changed the name. That’s a fine way to legalize a crime, don’t you think? Change its name.’
Hawklan offered no comment. ‘And these Mathidrin will be coming for us?’ he asked.
The Rede nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. Gister will have sent one of his fellow worms along the valley to their camp.’
‘I presume it would be unwise of us to attempt to avoid them?’ Hawklan said.
‘Yes,’ said the Rede. ‘It’d be difficult, even if you knew the mountains. And Gister’s people will be watching for you as well.’ He hesitated.
‘And?’ offered Hawklan.
‘And I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stay here until they arrive. Gister has a growing following. If I were to release you against orders, that would play right into his hands, and what little authority I still have here would be gone.’ His voice was firm, but unhappy.
‘Orders, Rede?’ Hawklan said in some surprise. ‘What orders? What’s happening here?’
The Rede turned away from Hawklan’s gaze and the sun illuminated an embarrassed and worried profile. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t talk like this, but seeing you out there, dealing with those louts… I don’t know what’s happening. It’s like some kind of madness. Dissension and argument everywhere. The Geadrol suspended. Lords arrested. These… Mathidrin… arresting and intimidating people. And all seemingly with the King’s blessing-or Dan-Tor’s. And rumours everywhere, even that the Orthlundyn are preparing to attack us. Have you ever heard such rubbish? Good grief, there’s only a handful of them down there… ’ Then the bitterness and anger burst out briefly. ‘But it’s too much to ask someone from Vakloss to go and look, isn’t it? That’s far too simple a solution. As for listening to people like me, who live here and could tell them… ’
Hawklan let the outburst pass unremarked. ‘What do these Mathidrin want of us, Rede?’ he asked.
The Rede’s tone quietened. ‘Ethriss knows, Hawklan, but you’re strangers from Orthlund, and I’ve quite unequivocal orders from Vakloss that all strangers are to be detained and handed over to the Mathidrin. I’m sorry.’
Hawklan leaned his head on his hand. ‘Detained eh?’ he said with a surprising smile. ‘I thought there was more to Tel-Mindor than met the eye.’
The Rede shrugged regretfully. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.
Isloman grunted and turned to look at Tel-Mindor sitting casually by the door. The man returned his gaze steadily but pleasantly. Isloman’s eyes narrowed slightly as if he were looking for something. Then he made a brief series of small hand movements. Tel-Mindor’s composure disappeared and his eyes widened in disbelief. Isloman raised a finger to silence him, then turned back to Hawklan.
‘Tell the Rede why we’ve come, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘We’ll get an honest hearing and it’s going to be difficult to tell friend from foe soon.’
Rede Berryn watched this exchange closely, his fingers idly running around a raised embellishment on the plate by his side. He looked enquiringly at Tel-Mindor.
‘Listen,’ Tel-Mindor said. The Rede nodded.
Hawklan looked at Isloman. ‘Quickly, Hawklan,’ said the Carver. ‘We may not have much time.’
Hawklan glanced then at Tel-Mindor, who nodded. He turned again to the Rede. ‘Rede, I’m sorry about the false names, but I was uncertain about the mood of the crowd and from what’s happened to me recently I thought our names-mine in particular-might not be helpful.’ He leaned forward. ‘We came here to see what’s wrong in Fyorlund and to find your Lord Dan-Tor.’
‘Why?’ asked the Rede.
Hawklan took a deep breath. He had no way of judg-ing this man’s loyalties, he would just have to trust Isloman’ s judgement. Briefly he outlined how Dan-Tor had twice tried to capture him and how his second attempt had resulted in the slaughter of his entire personal guard at the hands of a patrol led by Mathidrin officers. Some inner voice held him silent about the true nature of this patrol.
As he spoke, it occurred to him that even now, sit-ting in this chaotic room, looking into the face of his jailer host dark against the sunlight, he might still only be following a carefully laid bait. He set the thought aside uneasily.
The mood in the room had changed. Without look-ing, Hawklan could feel a new intensity in Tel-Mindor, and he knew too that the look in Rede Berryn’s shaded eyes had hardened.
‘Who was the leader of this personal guard?’ the Rede asked coldly.
‘Jaldaric,’ replied Hawklan. ‘As I told you, it was him the patrol came for, and it was only him who survived. The last we saw of him he was tied over a horse and being taken to Fyorlund.’
A long silence weighed heavily in the room.
‘Hawklan,’ said the Rede eventually. ‘I’ve had it whispered to me by a trusted friend in Vakloss that the Lord Dan-Tor was on a friendly mission to Orthlund and that he was driven out by the Orthlundyn. Frankly I didn’t believe it. I think my friend has been misin-formed, perhaps deliberately so. As I said, we’re very close to Orthlund here. But your story verges on the ridiculous. Why in Ethriss’s name would anyone want to capture some Orthlundyn healer, however well known? And as for a Mathidrin patrol attacking the Lord Dan-Tor’s personal guard… ’ He made a gesture of angry dismissal.
Hawklan looked at Isloman and then back at the Rede. ‘Rede, there’s something about the patrol I didn’t tell you, because even without it I knew my story would be difficult to believe, but… ’
Isloman interrupted. ‘No, Hawklan,’ he said firmly, ‘he won’t believe you, but he might believe me.’ And standing up he walked across to the battered helm that had caught Hawklan’s eye earlier. He lifted it down respectfully and, holding it in front of him, he spoke to the Rede in the High Guard’s Battle Language. Hawklan did not understand it, but twice he caught the word Mandroocai.
The reaction was explosive, as the Rede angrily rose to his feet, grimacing at the pain in his leg as he did so. ‘You’re lying,’ he burst out. ‘And you profane our Oath with such a swearing.’ Then he stopped, suddenly uncertain. His confusion made him belligerent. ‘How do you know our Battle Language and our Oath, Orthlundyn?’
Isloman did not reply, but turned and looked at Tel-Mindor. ‘Goraidin,’ he said quietly. ‘I release you from our Oath of Secrecy. Tell him who I am and whether I would lie.’ Tel-Mindor’s easy composure had left him at Isloman’s speech. Shock, diagnosed the healer in Hawklan. Fairly massive shock at that. And the Rede too. Tel-Mindor hesitated.
‘Tell him, Goraidin,’ said Isloman powerfully. ‘How can your Rede decide without information?’
Tel-Mindor looked up, his face pale, but his compo-sure returning rapidly. ‘Rede,’ he said, ‘this is Isloman, one of the two brothers who rode with Dirfrin and the Goraidin in Riddin. He is Goraidin. Hawklan has his trust and his sword arm, and his word’s beyond reproach. We must accept what he says. Armed Mandrocs have been led into Orthlund by Mathidrin officers and have slaughtered the Lord Dan-Tor’s personal guard.’
The Rede leaned forward to speak, but Tel-Mindor raised his hand abruptly for silence and moved towards the window. As he opened it, the sound of raised voices and the clatter of horses’ hooves washed into the room.
Chapter 28
Patterns, patterns, patterns. Dan-Tor sensed the presence of other minds working contrary to his purpose, but their shape and form, and not least, their nucleus, eluded him. He tried to shrug the idea away, but it was reluctant to leave him. The King had started the avalanche, now he, Dan-Tor, had to ride it out through the dust and uproar until all was quiet and the new shape of the land could be surveyed. It was inevitable that opposition would arise and swirl about him from time to time, but while it had no centre, surely it offered no real threat?