The man swayed a little and Hawklan took his arm and looked closely at him. ‘He’s very weak, Lord Arinndier,’ he said. ‘In fact he’s exhausted. When did you last sleep or eat?’ he asked.
The man shrugged vaguely. ‘I’ve to find Lord Eldric urgently,’ he said. ‘Lord Evison’s message… ’
Hawklan’s tone was gentle but unequivocal. ‘The Lord Eldric’s in Vakloss and, I suspect, in no position to receive messages at the moment. The Lords Arinndier, Darek and Hreldar will accept it, I’m sure, but only when you’ve rested.’
The man became agitated. ‘No, you don’t under-stand,’ he said angrily. ‘I’ve lost too much time already. The country’s gone mad.’ He shook himself free of Hawklan’s hand and immediately staggered uncontrol-lably around the small circle formed by the gathered men. As each tried to help him, he pushed them away until finally he collapsed on to his knees.
Hawklan bent down and passed his hand over the man’s face. The agitation left it and he slithered gently to the ground.
‘That was a little premature, Hawklan,’ said Darek. ‘I’d say from his condition that his message was one of some urgency.’
‘Undoubtedly,’ said Hawklan. ‘But he’ll tell you precious little in that condition. He’s on the verge of total collapse. I’d judge he’s been riding for several days without food or sleep. However urgent his message I don’t think an hour or two will make much difference.’ He looked at Yatsu. ‘Can we spare this man a little time?’ he asked.
Yatsu raised an eyebrow. ‘Ask your horse,’ he said ironically. The comment provoked a little more laughter than it merited as it carried the group’s residual battle tension into the breeze.
As if following it, Gavor extended his shining wings and rose leisurely into the air. ‘I’ll keep watch for you, Commander,’ he said. ‘It’s a good day for resting on the air.’
Yatsu acknowledged with a nod of thanks, but posted sentries anyway. Only Hawklan heard Gavor’s distant chuckle.
Hawklan made the newcomer comfortable and then joined the three Lords and Yatsu, who were sitting on a grassy embankment at the side of the road.
‘Let me look at your wound,’ he said to Arinndier. The Lord smiled to himself. He had already learned that this green-eyed healer was not to be stayed by any form of protest. As Hawklan’s hands examined the wound and manipulated his neck and shoulders, Arinndier felt a deep relaxation seep through him.
‘You’ve magic in your hands, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘The only person I’ve met who could do the same was Dan-Tor.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘No, that’s not quite right. He treated my wrist once when I sprained it. He cured it very quickly, but it felt more as if the injury was being… torn out almost… by a great power.’
The hands on his shoulders stopped moving and he turned his head to look at Hawklan. ‘I suppose that sounds rather foolish to you, doesn’t it? Healing’s healing, isn’t it?’
Hawklan smiled and, placing his hand on top of Arinndier’s head, turned it to the front again. ‘No, not at all,’ he said. ‘Far from it. You’ve just told me a great deal about the man. I’ll have to think about it, it may be important. Now, be quiet and relax.’
But Arinndier was not so easily stopped. ‘And where in this world did you learn that trick you used on our messenger?’
‘I’d like an answer to that,’ said Yatsu. ‘What pos-sessed you to tackle someone in that state? I take some pride in my fighting skill, but that was a textbook case of when to retreat. I’ve seen men like that take a score of arrows and still kill a dozen before they fell.’
Hawklan did not answer immediately. He looked down at his hands seeking out the damage in Arinndier’s back. Though he knew no others could see it-even Tirilen would see it only faintly-it was written there quite clearly for him to read. The arrow wound, centring a vivid mosaic of tensions and strains brought about by the man’s posture generally and his anxious response to the injury in particular. A mass of tiny interlinked wounds leading deep down into the very heart of the man. His hands would gradually release them, but he knew the body would partly re-establish some of them in spite of itself. These people were always the same-these people, the phrase made him scowl slightly-always a part of them dedicated to self-destruction.
‘The man had to be protected from the conse-quences of his actions,’ he said.
‘He had to be protected?’ exclaimed Arinndier. ‘What about us? He was the one with the axe and the frenzy-ouch.’
‘Be still,’ Hawklan said, firmly. ‘How many times do I have to tell you to relax? Stop fighting your body’s attempts to heal itself.’
Yatsu casually lifted a hand to his mouth to hide his amusement.
‘Anyway, you were in no danger,’ Hawklan contin-ued. ‘Your Goraidin would’ve killed his horse and then him before he’d travelled half a dozen paces. Isn’t that so, Yatsu?’
Yatsu nodded. ‘There’s no other way with people like that if you can’t run away. At least I’ve never seen one until today.’ He rolled a grass stalk between his thumb and finger and then launched it gently like a tiny spear. The breeze caught it and tumbled it along the road.
Hawklan sensed that Yatsu was recalling memories he would have preferred stayed forgotten. He looked again at Arinndier’s back. ‘That’s all the answer I have for you, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘I saw a path and followed it. It was different to yours.’
Yatsu looked at him. ‘You took an incredible risk,’ he said.
Hawklan shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘The path was there to be followed. The only danger lay in my leaving it.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Yatsu.
Hawklan laughed and slapped Arinndier’s arm. ‘That should do for now,’ he said. ‘Remember, relax into the pain when it troubles you. Stop fighting it.’ He turned to Yatsu, still laughing. ‘You don’t understand it?’ He bounced his finger ends off his chest in emphasis. ‘I don’t understand it. Now where’s Dacu?’
Ordan emerged from a warm, comforting darkness into a warm, comforting summer light. He stared up at the sky picture his father had carved and painted on his bedroom ceiling. The breeze on his face must be coming from an open window. Soon the house would start to bustle awake, and a sunlit day would spread before him.
Then he noticed that the cloud pictures were mov-ing, and a small black dot was sweeping a wide watchful circle high above him. With an appalling jolt, his memory returned. His message! Lord Eldric! More Mathidrin attacking him! He tried to sit up, but a gentle hand restrained him.
‘Not yet,’ said a voice. ‘You’re with friends. Rest while you can. We haven’t much time, but you must eat, and tell us your tale before we decide what to do.’
Ordan turned his head towards the voice. The speaker had a lean, carved face with high cheekbones and bright green eyes. Ordan remembered a haze of weariness and mounting frenzy, and a great force that had torn it from him effortlessly. The words, ‘You’re alive aren’t you?’ came back to him. This green-eyed man had saved him in some way when he could just as easily have killed him.
‘What’s happening?’ he said. ‘Who are you? Who are these… ’
‘My name is Hawklan,’ came the reply. ‘These other men are High Guards, of a kind, despite their uniforms. As for what’s happening, that’s a complicated tale which will have to keep. Come on, sit up.’
But the momentum of Ordan’s long journey reas-serted itself and swept away most of his new-found quiet. He struggled unsteadily to his feet and looked round at the groups of resting men and grazing horses. Lord Evison’s order had been unequivocal. Give the message to Lord Eldric only. But he had lost so much time. Lord Eldric’s Castle had been sealed and his household reputedly fled to the mountains. Then he’d had to fight his way through black-liveried guards he’d never seen before. Now, this strange green-eyed man steadying him-from Orthlund by the sound of him. And High Guards in black livery? And Lords? Arinndier, Darek, and was that grim-faced one Hreldar?