Yengar shook his head. ‘No, Commander. Nothing. They moved in, in force, very quickly and very quietly. We barely got away as it was. What we managed to see was from a nearby hill. Vakloss is full of Mathidrin and ringed tight. We couldn’t even estimate their numbers, there were so many and we had to move so fast. Ethriss knows where Dan-Tor’s been keeping them. Besides, you know Oremson’s place. It couldn’t be defended by a battalion.’
Hawklan felt the man’s pain. Yengar knew that he and Olvric had had no alternative but to flee, but that knowledge was a poor antidote to a poison as potent as abandonment of an ally.
‘What happened to the people who were in the grounds?’ he asked. Yengar grimaced. ‘Those who were unlucky enough to wake quickly and offer resistance were cut down. The rest were rounded up and marched away.’
Hawklan leaned back and looked at the grim faces around the table. Oddly, the mood of the meeting had changed abruptly and a heavy silence had descended on the hall as each individual began to search for his own way to face the implications of what he had heard that day. The Goraidin and the Lords had made their own peace already, but for Varak and the High Guards it was a considerable ordeal.
Under other circumstances, the normal momentum of their ordered lives would have made them dismiss such tales out of hand as nonsense, but the presence of the elite Goraidin and three grim-faced and respected Lords stood against this momentum like a cliff face looming over the sea. Then there was Isloman; one of the two Orthlundyn who had served with the Goraidin in the Morlider War, the only outlanders ever to do so, a figure almost of legend. And, finally, the tall gaunt figure of Hawklan, whose green-eyed presence seemed to dominate both Lords and Goraidin alike.
The testimony of these people could not be doubted, nor the accuracy of their observation. Terrible changes were afoot and, while each would have preferred to turn and flee into the comfort of his past routines and tasks, that was effectively forbidden. Of the ways that lay before them, none led back to the relief of the familiar.
Hawklan felt the pain pervading the hall. Standing up, he spoke again. ‘Speak out now, gentlemen. Your questions and doubts; your anger and fear. Speak now. Root out your uncertainties and see them in the light or they’ll destroy you from the inside and you’ll yield at some future, more critical time, like a rotten-hearted tree. We’ve little time. Many more than you have to be convinced, and those present here will be the spreaders of the word. If you fail, you condemn yourself and countless others to who knows what dreadful tyranny.’
The room went suddenly dark as a cloud obscured the sun. The torches, touched by the unexpected gloom, bloomed gently into life and lent an unseasonable evening quality to the scene.
Hawklan pointed towards the windows. ‘This shadow will pass,’ he said. ‘But the darkness that’s coming is blacker by far. Out of the past comes your worst fear. A nightmare so awful that it’s been relegated to the tales of children has come alive and is seeking you out. You, and all you hold dear.’
He leaned forward and seemed to stare into the heart of each man there. ‘You cannot flee,’ he said slowly. ‘Accept that. Arm yourself with your fear and the light that truth sheds, and prepare to face the enemy.’
The room seemed to go darker still, as if some pres-ence were oppressing even the glow of the torches. ‘No man will be burdened with more than he can carry,’ Hawklan said. ‘You hold between you the wisdom of long-gone days if you’ll but search for it. You’re stronger than you know and your very doubts prove it. But speak them now.’
As if at Hawklan’s bidding, the cloud moved from the sun and the bright summer light swept through the hall like a far-flung wave rolling and spreading over a waiting shoreline. And like the clatter of stones and pebbles buffeted by such a wave, a babble of voices rose up, sweeping aside the leaden uneasiness that had permeated the gathering.
It was some time before the stream of questions petered out, but as it did, Arinndier rose to his feet and called for silence.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘We’ve spoken of this as much as we can, and each of us alone must make his own peace with what he’s learned. However, before we turn our minds to how we can implement the order that the Lord Eldric gave us, another matter has to be decided.’ He paused and looked down at his hands. When he looked up again, his face was pained. ‘We’ve no Geadrol now, so I’ll give you, High Guard and Goraidin, my Accounting. I speak also for the Lords Darek and Hreldar.’
Hawklan and Isloman exchanged glances in the uneasy silence that followed this remark.
Arinndier continued. ‘We admit to failing in our duty as Lords of Fyorlund and Lords of the Geadrol. We have not maintained the vigilance that was expected of us. We should have inquired into the origins of our King’s "saviour" many years ago. We should not have allowed the Watch on Narsindal to fail. We should not have allowed the decay of our High Guards into foppish shadows of their forebears. In short, we should have looked properly to our duty. Had we done this, then what has happened might never have come to be, or at least we might have been better able to contain it. Now we face an enemy who has infiltrated the very heart of our country and beyond, and who has armed forces at his command that we can’t begin to measure.’
He pointed to the Mandroc armour lying on the table. ‘The Mandrocs are a savage, nomadic race. But I don’t need to tell you that this is from a heavy infantry-man. One whose companions defeated a High Guard troop fighting to defend its very home. That betokens either great numbers, or great discipline. Perhaps even both.’ He paused to judge the response to the harsh reality of the sunlit armour lying before his audience. ‘Its presence in Fyorlund, the fate of Lord Evison, the destruction of our ancient ways all lie at the feet of our negligence. That same negligence may yet bring death to you.’
Hawklan could not forbear to interrupt. ‘Lord Arinndier, you’re too harsh on yourself,’ he said. ‘This is no ordinary foe you’re facing. His treachery and cunning are… ’
Arinndier raised a hand to silence him. ‘This is our way, Hawklan,’ he said firmly. ‘We… ’ He indicated Darek and Hreldar, ‘are nothing without the judgement of our men.’
Isloman laid a hand on Hawklan’s arm. ‘Leave them,’ he said. ‘They know their own kind best. They need a reaffirmation.’
Hawklan’s protest died on his lips, and he sat back reluctantly.
Arinndier moved away from the table. Head bowed, he knelt on the wooden floor. Hreldar and Darek joined him. There was a long silence in the room until Yatsu rose and moved to confront the three men.
‘Lords, we’ve discussed this amongst ourselves al-ready. Your guilt is indisputable.’ Hawklan started, but the Lords remained unmoved. ‘As also is ours,’ he continued. ‘We saw the wrongs and knew them, but did nothing. To look to the leadership of the Lords does not absolve any of us from our duty to each other. Blame and judgement, however, are matters for another time, another place. Too few of us are here and too little is known for a true Gathering. Commander Varak and his men may choose otherwise, but we Goraidin offer you our loyalty unchanged: to yourselves, the King, the Law, the Geadrol and the people, until the day when an Accounting can be called of us all.’ Then he drew his sword and offered it, hilt first, to the kneeling Lords. Each in turn laid his hand on it and bowed his head.
Varak, a little disconcerted at being brought to this debate between Lords and the elite Goraidin, spruced his uniform and walked stiffly forward to join Yatsu. He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Lords,’ he began uncertainly. ‘I’m a simple soldier. It’s my experience that rights and wrongs usually spread themselves fairly evenly when all’s been said and done. None of us escape without blame. All I know is that the country’s been going the wrong way for a long while, and matters had to come to a head sooner or later. This is no time for changing horses, especially when the ones we have are tried and trusted.’ Drawing his sword, he offered it to the Lords, as Yatsu had, then, turning to his men, he spoke in a surprisingly gentle voice. ‘If any of you disagree, then go now. Go freely and with my blessing. I want no reluctant swords guarding my back.’