His own sensations suddenly numbed, Hawklan felt Serian quivering beneath him. ‘There are horses dying there, Hawklan,’ said the horse. ‘Can’t you hear them? The humans have been dispatched, but the horses are still dying. Help them, Hawklan.’
The five men dismounted in silence. Round the castle were hundreds of bodies; bodies that had been stripped and mutilated in an orgy of violence. Hawklan felt the blood pounding in his ears, and steadied himself against Serian. For a moment he was overwhelmed by a roaring surge of old memories smashing through whatever had been holding them back to inundate him, like a raging sea storming through ancient sand dunes. But, like the sea, they ebbed as quickly as they had come and left Hawklan only with the knowledge that he had seen this and worse many times before; and would again.
As he recovered, this cruel knowledge contended with the pain of the healer rising within him in a futile howl, but gradually some deeper knowledge told him to harness the two in a grim alliance. Truth was truth, however fearful, and healing had inevitable limitations. Equally, his healing skills in all their forms must strive forward, accepting the pain of knowledge and refusing to become calloused by repeated impact.
Ordan vomited. The sound brought Hawklan to himself. He looked at the others. Their faces were grey with disbelief and horror. Then he became aware that among the bodies there were murmurings and scufflings.
Suddenly Gavor dropped from the sky and swooped low over the dreadful field with a terrible cry. For a brief instant, the scene was alive with birds and small mammals fleeing; fear of this vengeful shadow over-whelming their greed. Where they scurried a black smoky cloud rose up briefly.
Flies, Hawklan mouthed to himself. He shuddered. Unbidden, Serian moved forward, stepping delicately between the strewn bodies and severed limbs. Hawklan drew his sword and followed. There were no live humans left here, he could sense that, but he could meet Serian’s plea and perform a last healing act for any of the horses that were still alive.
There were only a few and they had already passed the worst of their suffering. Hawklan could make nothing of such mutterings as he heard, but Serian bent low over each one and listened intently.
‘You’re fearful creatures, you humans,’ he said when the task was finished. ‘Fearful.’
Hawklan had no answer for him. ‘Did any of them say what had happened?’ he asked.
Serian’s tone was one of barely restrained anger. ‘No,’ he said. ‘They were too near the portals to recall such matters without great pain. It’s not for you or I to demand such a price. They’ve played their parts, they must rest now. I commend your skill in easing them over, healer.’ Then he walked away to join the other horses.
Hawklan said nothing. There were no words for Serian’s response. He turned his attention to his companions. He could not see Ordan, but Isloman and the two Goraidin were wandering among the bodies. Hawklan picked an uneasy path through to them, his boots clogging with bloodstained mud. Enter the pain, he reminded himself as he neared them.
Lorac looked up as he approached. His eyes were tormented, but his voice was firm and almost formal. ‘Goraidin see clearly and accept what they see for what it is.’ Yatsu’s words came back to Hawklan. But you must cling to some things at times like this, mustn’t you? he thought. Even if it’s only the reassurance of your own voice.
‘Never seen anything like this,’ said Lorac. ‘Never. There were some bad things in the Morlider War, but nothing… ’ His voice faltered. ‘I keep hoping I’ll wake up. Who’d do this to dead men?’
Hawklan looked at him. ‘A foe we don’t want to meet unprepared,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to close our hearts to the horror of this until another time, Lorac. We must find out everything we can and take it back to the others. Then perhaps these men won’t have died in vain.’
Lorac looked at him enigmatically. ‘Yes, I know. It’s what we’re trained to do.’ He clenched his teeth. ‘It’s just… I never thought it could be so hard. All I keep thinking of is what I’d like to do to whoever did this.’
Hawklan’s voice became harsh. ‘It’s not as hard for us as it was for these.’ He waved his hand over the scene. ‘But we and others will end the same way if we don’t put our every resource into finding out what’s happened. You’ll take no easy vengeance on whoever wrought this. Direct your rage towards that, Goraidin.’
Lorac’s eyes blazed angrily and his fist tightened. Hawklan knew that if the man hit him now, he would be unable to defend himself. But Lorac’s rage faded almost immediately. Nothing could flare bright in the stultify-ing aura of death that hung over the field.
He bowed his head. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Our training’s all we’ve got left. We can’t do anything for these except learn from them and hope we’ll be more fortunate when our time comes.’
A cry interrupted their uneasy conversation. It was Ordan, standing in the shattered gateway of the castle and beckoning them. As they approached he turned and passed through a doorway, again gesturing that they should follow. Reaching the door, Hawklan peered into the gloomy interior until his eyes adjusted. A little way ahead, through a mist of smoke and fine floating ash, he could see Ordan cautiously working his way through a maze of fallen and burnt beams. He moved after him, followed by the others.
For several minutes they moved slowly through the remains of a decorated corridor, treading underfoot the charred remains of its ornate ceiling and its fallen wall carvings. The air became increasingly unpleasant, heavy with smoke from the still smouldering debris, and clingingly warm from its stored heat.
Hawklan looked at the others in some concern. ‘This is dangerous,’ he said. ‘These fumes will overcome us if we stay too long.’
When they reached Ordan, he was standing in front of a closed door. His eyes were still wide with shock, but his voice was steady, if hoarse. ‘The Lord Evison said he had captives,’ he said. ‘If they’re anywhere, they’re here.’ Then, drawing his sword, he touched two of the ornamental bosses that studded the door. There was the sound of bolts being drawn and, unaided, the door swung open.
Drawing his own sword, Hawklan moved to Ordan’s side, but all that could be seen through the doorway was a flight of stairs leading down into darkness.
Slowly, Ordan lowered his sword and bowed his head. ‘I’d hoped to see torchlight and trouble,’ he said sadly. ‘But there’s no one alive here. No light, no life.’ Sheathing his sword he stepped forward and started down the stairs. Torches flared gently into life as he entered, to reveal a large, stone-arched cellar. The air was cool and strangely pleasant after the stench outside and the choking air in the corridor, but lying sprawled headlong at the foot of the stairs was a body.
Hesitantly, Ordan knelt down by it. When Hawklan reached him, he looked up, his face distraught. ‘It’s Lord Evison,’ he said. ‘He’s dead.’
Hawklan bent down and examined the body. The Lord’s wounds showed that he had obviously died in combat, but he had not been mutilated like the others outside. His hand was clenched tightly around a heavy fighting axe.
‘Look, there’s someone else.’ Tel-Odrel’s voice inter-rupted Hawklan’s thoughts. The Goraidin pushed past and ran over to a second body lying some way away. When he reached it, he stopped suddenly. ‘Hawklan,’ he said softly, beckoning without taking his eyes from the body at his feet.
Hawklan and the others joined him around the second body. It was a large Mandroc, its huge canine teeth gleaming in the torchlight in a malevolent death rictus. It wore battledress: an iron cap with curved cheek pieces and a heavy leather jerkin reinforced with metal plates secured about its muscular body by heavy buckled straps. All this, however, had proved ineffective against the axe blow that had hacked a great wound from the creature’s neck to its stomach.