Yrain struggled briefly, but Hawklan pinned her shoulder with his knee, and quietly slipped the knife from her already loosening grasp. Yrain beat her free hand on the ground in frustration for a moment, and then lay still.
‘Are you quiet now, Helyadin?’ Hawklan said softly.
‘Yes,’ said Yrain, her voice breaking.
Hawklan released her and gently helped her into a sitting position. She pushed him away, forcefully but not angrily, and began to nurse her injured hand. Tears were running down her face, glistening in the dull torchlight; but she was not sobbing and, though shocked, her expression was one of anger and bewil-derment.
Hawklan swung a menacing finger round to Dar-volci, standing by the crouching Andawyr. ‘Explain,’ he said, his own shock showing as anger.
Unexpectedly, Yrain reached out and touched his arm. ‘No, no,’ she said, still breathing heavily. ‘It wasn’t his fault. I think he’s saved my life. There was something on that… thing… and it was doing something to me.’ She shuddered.
Hawklan looked at her and then turned back to Dar-volci. Andawyr had placed his arm protectively around the felci.
‘Turn the torch down, Andawyr,’ Dar-volci said. ‘As low as it will go. And the rest of you keep a look-out in case any more come back.’
Andawyr reduced the torchlight to a dull glow and the group drew closer together.
‘Explain,’ said Hawklan again, more quietly.
‘We must get away from here, Hawklan,’ Andawyr said, before Dar-volci could reply. ‘We must get away while I’ve still some semblance of rock sense in this place.’
There was an urgency in his voice that Hawklan had not heard before. He nodded reluctantly. ‘Can you walk?’ he said to Yrain, standing up and extending his hand to her.
This time she took it. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll be all right if I keep moving.’ Hawklan felt her shaking as he helped her up and as they walked he supported her inconspicu-ously. He felt a grateful squeeze on his arm.
The group moved slowly in the low torchlight. At Andawyr’s request, they walked in silence, though Dar-volci kept muttering to himself and occasionally whistling.
At one point, the terrain they moved over was strangely flat, and Isloman bent down to examine it. He made no comment when he stood up, though Hawklan sensed some turmoil in him.
Eventually, Andawyr stopped, and began turning from side to side like a weather vane in a blustery breeze. His face was concerned.
‘Alphraan,’ he said.
There was a long silence, then, ‘This place is beyond us too, Cadwanwr,’ said the voice. ‘We follow you.’
The voice was full of awe and the words were sur-rounded by an aura of profound regret and self-reproach.
‘There are dangers in all the ways,’ it went on. ‘But do not fear your doubts. You are better armed than you know.’
Andawyr looked round at the group, patient silhou-ettes in the faint torchlight, then, his face unreadable, set off again.
The ground became increasingly more uneven and after a while they found themselves scrambling carefully across a rocky plain. Again Andawyr cast about, then Hawklan caught the faint Alphraan whisper, ‘Here, Cadwanwr,’ and a hint of the guiding note that had led him once into the Alphraan’s Heartplace.
Andawyr turned to follow it and within a few min-utes the group was entering what appeared to be a large cave. Andawyr stared into it and nodded to himself. His manner became noticeably more relaxed.
Isloman stopped and peered back regretfully into the hazy darkness through which they had just travelled. As he did so, he rested his hand on the wall of the cave. At once, he started, almost violently, and again Hawklan felt his turmoil.
‘What’s the matter?’ he said.
Isloman struck a torch and held it close to the wall without speaking. He inclined his head significantly, and Hawklan followed his gaze. The wall was rough and uneven, but here and there, even in the small patch of torchlight, thin, straight, joint lines could be seen.
He gasped and turned to Andawyr. ‘This is man-made!’ he said.
‘As was part of the pathway we trod,’ Isloman added, his voice almost shaking.
Andawyr looked at them. Though his manner was easier, his face was still agitated and Hawklan could sense that he was wilfully crushing some inner turmoil of his own.
‘Another time,’ he said eventually, his face becoming impassive. ‘Another time.’
Hawklan noted the phrase’s ambiguity.
Then, before anyone could speak, Andawyr began walking into the cavern, turning up his torch a little.
‘There’s no danger from the sphrite, now, is there Dar?’ he said.
The felci seemed preoccupied and Andawyr re-peated the question.
‘No, no,’ said Dar-volci, starting a little. ‘No danger to you now from… sphrite.’
He hesitated over the last word and then began chattering excitedly again.
‘When can we stop and get some proper light on Yrain’s hand?’ Hawklan asked, sensing that Andawyr’s own crisis had passed.
‘Very soon,’ Andawyr replied, and within a few hun-dred paces he stopped and turned up his torch.
‘Sit down, all of you,’ he said. ‘Just relax for a mo-ment.’
Hawklan crouched down by Yrain and gently took her injured band.
‘Tell us what happened,’ he said to Dar-volci as he studied it.
Andawyr nudged the felci, who jumped again, and Hawklan repeated the request.
‘They were sphrite, Hawklan, sphrite.’ Dar-volci’s answer babbled out, almost uncontrollably. ‘They still exist. After all this time… ’
‘Slowly!’ Hawklan said sternly, without looking up. ‘Tell us what happened. What were those things?’ He glanced at the felci. ‘And don’t say "sphrite" again.’
Dar-volci trotted over to him and stood up to look at the damage he had wrought on the woman’s hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, both to Yrain and to Hawklan. Yrain reached out and stroked his head. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I drew my knife on you, but… ’
Dar-volci whistled softly and flopped down gently on to her lap. Yrain left her plea unfinished.
‘They were sphrite,’ Dar-volci said to Hawklan, his voice much calmer though it was obviously with some effort. ‘They’re part of our… most ancient lore. In our games we tell of times when great swirling clouds of them swept down to the lure lights, and the deeplands would fill with leaping kin, feeding… gorging.’
Hawklan became aware that the rise and fall of the felci’s words were echoing strangely around the cavern. ‘Alphraan?’ he said, on an impulse. ‘What’s your part in this?’
There was no answer, but the air was alive with some inaudible dancing.
Dar-volci looked around and tilted his head on one side as if he were listening. ‘Yes,’ he replied to some unheard question. ‘The ways will be as never before. Can you carry back the news?’
The atmosphere changed. ‘No,’ said the voice sadly. ‘We are bound to the humans and we are too far beyond.’ Then, more optimistically, ‘But the ways are known. We shall return.’
‘Dar! Alphraan!’ Hawklan said as he began bandag-ing Yrain’s hand. ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about but you’ll soon be too far beyond my patience.’
Dar-volci shook his head vigorously, as if to clear it. ‘The sphrite used to be our… food,’ he said. ‘Long, long ago. Before the Alphraan, before Him, before even… ’ He stopped.
‘… Before… ’ he said softly, almost to himself. An ancient silence hung in the cave. Dar-volci returned to his listeners. ‘Then, later, He came. With His digging and delving, and his foul poisons, first seeping through the rocks, then reaching down to corrode the ways. Reaching even the deeplands and destroying the sphrite’s great breeding colonies.’
There was such venom in the deep, powerful voice, that Hawklan stopped his careful bandaging and stared at him wide-eyed. Andawyr too seemed taken aback by the felci’s passion.
‘And destroying us,’ Dar-volci went on. ‘Or those that didn’t flee and learn about the lesser ways.’
‘But I thought it was His creatures that drove you from your homes after the First Coming,’ Andawyr blurted out, unable to contain himself.