Yatsu gazed up into the moonlight. ‘Of course I do, Hawklan. But I’ll manage without it. And you belong elsewhere-I know that.’ He smiled. ‘You carry more weight on the playing board than I do, you’re nearer the player. Dan-Tor’s your quarry.’
Then, abruptly, his face became angry and gripping Hawklan’s arm powerfully he spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Bring him down, Hawklan. Destroy him as soon as you can-and whatever’s behind him. You’re the healer-cut out the root of the disease. We’ll attend to the body’s defences-it’s not that enfeebled yet.’
Then he stood up and, without any word of parting, moved off silently into the darkness.
Hawklan looked up at the moon and wrapped his arms about himself. He remembered the sinister chair at the Gretmearc; the strange destruction of the pavilion by Andawyr; the bird that sprang hideously to life; and Andawyr’s mysterious tent that disappeared into an eerie distance. Then Gulda, so knowledgeable and yet so enigmatic; the Mandrocs chanting and charging in close order; and the Viladrien dominating the singing sky over the Riddin. Powers and mysteries far beyond his understanding.
Nearer the player, he thought ruefully. No idea who I am, pushed and pulled by forces I know nothing of, a healer inside the body of a warrior that attracts the service and loyalty of others as if of right.
A great wave of fear broke over him, and he sat in the shade of the alcove for a long time.
So, like a sad echo of their departure from Anderras Darion, Hawklan and Isloman left the Lord Eldric’s mountain stronghold, accompanied by Lorac and Tel-Odrel. There were few words spoken as they left, although everyone in the castle braved a squalling rainstorm to see them leave.
Some way down the road, Hawklan turned and looked back at the castle. It was almost totally hidden by the blowing rain and for a moment he could not distinguish it from the crags behind. Some of the watching people, cloaked and hooded against the weather, huddled round its base, while others on the walls broke the sharp lines of its crenellations. It looked like an old cliff face with boulders fringing its feet.
Hawklan raised his arm as a last salute, and a few voices floated down to him. His action opened his cloak and an indignant Gavor peered out. ‘Steady on, dear boy,’ he said. ‘It’s raining in here.’
Hawklan gave him a narrow look, then pulled his cloak about himself again. Slowly the four figures merged into the dull grey rain and disappeared from view.
Chapter 49
Light filtered through to Eldric’s brain slowly and vaguely, and his mind snatched at it fitfully as it rambled past on its way from nightmare to nightmare. Nightmares of prisons and roof-tops and a smoke-shrouded City filled with shapeless horrors from some distant time; of an eternity in a saddle and an endless argument the threads of which slipped ever away from him each time he reached his clinching point. Occasion-ally a sound joined the light, and light and sound and pain rose and fell together in an unholy harmony. With infinite reluctance, the light slowly formed itself into a single image which his mind, with equal reluctance, strove to identify. It was a torch. An old torch. Very old, said something in the background.
He could not have said how long he stared at it, seeing it clearly, before he finally identified it. ‘Torch,’ he said, and his voice sounded like a child’s. He screwed his face up irritably. A figure came between him and the light, and he waved it aside crossly. He needed to explain. ‘Torch,’ he repeated. ‘Old-in a book when I was a child. A book of old legends-with great big beautiful pictures. Full of colours.’
He felt his awareness returning, and the pain in his head diffused itself throughout his whole body in a general discomfort. The figure moved again, and was now by his side. He took its arm, and continued to explain. ‘It’s incredible,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen one like it. It’s strange how childhood memories impress themselves so deeply, isn’t it? It was in a picture of a Prince in a dungeon-during the Wars of the First Coming.’
A chill struck him and dispelled the childlike aura protecting him. He struggled to sit up. The figure put an arm around his shoulders and helped him. ‘Gently, Father,’ it said. ‘Gently. I don’t think you’ve any bones broken, but you were badly knocked about when they threw you in here, and you cracked your head on the floor.’
The words disorientated Eldric for a moment and for a while he mouthed them to himself. Then he turned and looked at the figure for confirmation.
Fair hair matted, round flat face with its innocence scarred by lines of care and neglect, and fringed with an unfamiliar beard.
‘Jaldaric,’ he said. ‘Jaldaric. Is it really you, or am I dreaming again?’ He closed his eyes as if he expected to find the mirage gone when he opened them again.
‘Yes, Father,’ replied his son. ‘It’s me, and you’re not dreaming. I wish you were. Rest a moment until you’re fully awake.’ Unexpectedly, Eldric’s face crumpled and he dropped his head into his hands to hide his tears. Jaldaric looked at him awkwardly, uncertain what to do.
Then, wiping his eyes with his hands, Eldric took his son in an embrace and held him still and close like a small child. ‘I thought you were dead,’ he said after a while. ‘When Hawklan told me about the Mandrocs I hardly dared to think about it, it was so horrible. I just… pushed the thoughts away. It was all I could do. I’m sorry.’
Jaldaric did not reply but returned his father’s em-brace and for a long time the two sat leaning against the cold dungeon wall taking solace from each other until the tide of euphoria ebbed a little and left them alone and lost on a strange shore.
Eldric found his memories of recent events return-ing sporadically, and he winced as a hesitant exploration of his skull discovered a large lump. He recalled being dragged with Lord Oremson from the house and through the City. He remembered the frightened faces of his followers, and did he remember bodies lying in Oremson’s gardens, in the moon shadow?
Jaldaric spoke. ‘What’s happening, Father?’ he asked. ‘I remember being in Orthlund. And arguing with some… thug. And a patrol of Mandrocs… and a journey.’ He shuddered. ‘Then all of a sudden I’m here. The Lord Dan-Tor’s asking me questions and telling me not to worry.’ He shrugged bitterly. ‘Now I don’t know whether these are memories or whether I’ve gone mad. I feel as if I’ve been here all my life. Are you here, Father, or have I truly gone mad?’
Eldric held his son tighter. ‘No, son, you’re not mad, though the world seems to be. If you’ve a memory of two Orthlundyn called Hawklan and Isloman, then you’re sane enough and so am I.’
Jaldaric started up. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The Lord Dan-Tor asked me about him. Green-eyed and… ’ He stopped. ‘My friends. What happened to my friends?’
Eldric looked down and then back up at his son. He saw the knowledge in his son’s face before he spoke, and his voice seemed to echo through the years, back to the many times he had spoken such words to such faces in the Morlider War. They were always inadequate, but there were no others. His stomach turned over. ‘I’m sorry, Jal, they’re all dead. Hawklan said they took quite a toll of the Mandrocs, but… ’
Jaldaric clenched his teeth and standing up, turned away. But he did not weep. So long tormented by his isolation, the certainty gave him as much comfort as it did grief. When he turned round, his face was almost petulant. ‘What’s happening, Father?’ he asked again. ‘Why am I here? What crime have I committed? Where’s the Law? And where were you?’ His tone became reproachful. ‘Every time there was a footstep outside, I’d think, here he is, come to set me free and tell me it’s all been some terrible mistake. But you didn’t come. Day after day you didn’t come.’
Eldric struggled to his feet and faced his son. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know at first, and when I did know, I couldn’t do anything. I’m sorry.’
The two looked at one another in silence for some time, then Eldric laid his hand on his son’s arm. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘That bunk looks none too sweet, but it’ll be more comfortable than the floor. Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you what’s been happening.’