‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘as you’ve been told, when we met Commander Ordan he was carrying a message from the Lord Evison. A simple and brief message given by a Lord whose High Guard had just been routed and who was preparing to face what he must have known might be his last battle. The message was a small carved figure taken from one of your Festival Shrines. The fourth figure. The figure of Ethriss.’
Involuntarily, some of the men made a brief circular movement with their hands over their hearts.
Hawklan continued. ‘That message confirmed what I already knew and what your Lords here were coming to know. We have been born into the age of the Second Coming. Sumeral is risen again in Narsindal and you will be among the first to feel the strength He is putting forth.’
Their impatience at last overriding their discipline, several of the men signalled to Yatsu for permission to speak, but Hawklan overrode them. ‘Gentlemen. This isn’t a debate. The Lord Eldric’s last order was un-equivocal, and it alone commands your obedience. Its confirmation by these other Lords and the Goraidin makes that command absolute. I tell you what I tell you because it is the truth and because you need to know it to understand those orders.’ He leaned forward resting his weight on the table. ‘Sumeral is risen, and the Lord Dan-Tor is His agent. Through Dan-Tor His corruption has reached into Orthlund and into Riddin, and has riddled your own society. We have no proof but, if your heart can’t feel it, then let your heads ask why the Watch has been abandoned, why your Geadrol has been suspended, why your Lords arrested. Ask why the High Guards have been disbanded and replaced by liveried thugs. Ask why your society seems to be crumbling at the least touch. And if the answers to these questions don’t convince you that a great evil is abroad, then ask how an entire troop of your own kind came to be slaughtered.’ He paused. ‘Slaughtered by… Mandrocs.’
The word hung in the air but, before anyone could react, Hawklan bent down and took hold of the armour that had been retrieved from Lord Evison’s. Straighten-ing up he threw it on to the table. ‘Mandrocs, equipped thus,’ he finished. The heavy, metal-clad jerkin, torn and bloodstained, together with the iron cap and a short vicious-looking sword, lay on the plain polished wood like a scar, ugly and ominous.
The Lords and the Goraidin sat virtually unmoved at this demonstration. Both had already come to accept the new reality that was dawning. Their traditional image of Sumeral as a storybook ogre had slowly faded and was being replaced by an image of an all too solid and powerful leader who could order troops out to battle and who could build great roads and instigate the opening of vast mine workings for His needs. The massacre of Evison and his men had, ironically, proved to be a reassurance, for all its unexpectedness and the power and ruthlessness that it represented. The menace offered by some ancient, intangible demon had the quality of a poisonous mist that corroded the will, but soldiers were soldiers, and be they Mandrocs or men, soldiers could be fought.
Before anyone else could respond, a distant trumpet call sounded, winding its way through the castle. Varak cocked his head on one side. ‘Rider coming, Com-mander,’ he said to Yatsu. ‘Alone. And fast.’
The rider was Yengar. Yatsu ran down the broad stone steps from the meeting hall to greet him as he clattered into the courtyard. Slithering down from his horse, he kept hold of his saddle for support. The horse was foaming and steam was rising from it profusely.
Hawklan followed the example of the other Goraidin and Varak, and remained at the top of the steps to watch the conversation between the two men. Yengar was exhausted, but he had the same driving momentum that had propelled Ordan in his charge against far superior odds, and it apparently surged on in his speech as Yatsu had to spend a little time coaxing him into greater coherence.
Hawklan watched as Yengar gradually recovered himself. Relinquishing his hold on his saddle, he straightened up stiffly and began talking in a manner that had Yatsu listening attentively. After a moment, Yatsu raised a hand to stop him briefly and turned to look up the steps. ‘Commander Varak,’ he called. ‘May I ask your help?’
Varak cleared his throat and left Hawklan’s side to join the two men. Hawklan put his foot on a balustrade and, leaning on his knee, watched as the conversation became more businesslike. Yengar was talking and pointing, and Varak was nodding.
Then Yatsu and Varak spoke a little and abruptly Varak saluted and called out to a group of men who were standing discreetly in attendance nearby. Yatsu made a slight hand movement, and two of the Goraidin by Hawklan moved down to join him.
Almost immediately, Yengar seemed to relax, and both he and Yatsu turned to mount the steps as the courtyard broke into a flurry of running men and shouted commands.
‘Is Olvric in serious trouble?’ Hawklan asked as the two men reached him.
Yatsu gave him a long look. ‘Have you mastered our Battle Language so easily, Hawklan?’ he said.
Hawklan shook his head. ‘No,’ he replied.
Yatsu took him by the elbow and ushered him to the door. ‘Come. Tell,’ he said bluntly.
In spite of the tension that the day had brought so far, Hawklan smiled; he liked Yatsu’s manner. He put his arms around the shoulders of the two men, the hand resting on Yengar instinctively reading signs of tension and fatigue.
‘You left Yengar and Olvric to observe Lord Eldric, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘Against his express orders, I might remind you.’ Yatsu ignored the remark. ‘Now Yengar comes back alone and exhausted, his horse nearly dead. Obviously desperate. He tells his tale and relaxes only when a patrol is mustered for his friend’s relief.’ Yatsu raised his eyebrows, but Hawklan ploughed on. ‘Now, the patrol’s not too big, so any pursuing force is itself not big, but it is being mustered quickly, so Olvric is in some danger. I’d say he’s out there acting as rearguard or diversion.’
Yatsu smiled slightly and nodded appreciatively. ‘Indeed, Hawklan, indeed. A fair Gathering from very little. So much for our Goraidin inconspicuousness.’ He accented each syllable of the word.
‘It’s a Mathidrin patrol, Hawklan,’ said Yengar. ‘Only a small one, but good. They’ve stuck with us all the way. It’s been a bad journey. We daren’t lead them any nearer so Olvric’s got them pinned down in a valley a few hours away.’
Hawklan looked concerned. ‘Pinned down,’ he said. ‘One man? A few hours away? He’ll be long out of arrows by now.’
Yatsu did not share Hawklan’s concern. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Olvric’s as good a slinger as he is an archer and he’ll have ammunition aplenty where he is. The main problem is that he’s liable to be outflanked. It’s not all that good ambush country.’ The distant clatter of galloping horses leaving the castle reached them as they walked down the long corridor.
Hawklan was pensive. He inclined his head towards the sound. ‘Those men know not to take any unneces-sary risks, don’t they?’ he said. ‘And to make sure that none of that patrol get back to Vakloss? Preferably by taking them all prisoner.’
A faint hint of irritation showed briefly on Yatsu’s face. ‘Of course,’ he replied, managing to keep it from his voice. ‘Two of them are Goraidin. Our main function is to gather information, and where possible confuse the enemy’s information. And we never take risks without a deal of calculation.’
Hawklan nodded apologetically.
When they entered the meeting hall they were met by a barrage of questions.
‘Gentlemen.’ Yatsu’s voice filled the room, as he strode purposefully back to his seat. ‘Yengar is fresh from Vakloss. We’ll hear his news, then we’ll talk. Not before. Be silent. This is not a Festival Feast.’
A rather shamefaced silence descended on the room and Yengar, still breathing heavily, told of Eldric’s Accounting and his subsequent seizure by the Mathidrin together with Lord Oremson.
When he had finished Yatsu leaned forward, frown-ing sadly. ‘And there was nothing you could do, Yengar?’ he asked.