‘It’s the same with Dilrap,’ Gulda went on. Suddenly, her eyes became distant and reflective. ‘As it is with any who’ve stood too near to Hi… ’ She stopped in the middle of the word.
Then the moment was gone and her eyes returned to Loman again. ‘Such people have seen into His true, awful intent, and they know the fate that will befall all of Ethriss’s creatures if He is not destroyed. And now, to sharpen the edge of her own intent far beyond any man’s understanding, Sylvriss has a child!’
She punctuated each of her final words with power-ful jabs of her stick in Loman’s stomach. Somewhat to his surprise, he found himself unbalanced; the old Gulda had returned.
‘Listen and learn from such as Sylvriss, smith,’ she concluded. ‘Listen and learn.’
Then she turned and stumped off out into the still crowded Vakloss street.
As he ran to catch up with her, the memory of Gulda and Sylvriss’s first meeting merged with that of their parting of a few moments ago.
The Lords were now familiar with Gulda’s ways and merely bade her a polite farewell as she prepared to walk back to the Orthlundyn camp; but Sylvriss, concerned at such seeming discourtesy, had offered her a horse.
‘I can find you one with a pleasant disposition,’ she said.
The Lords held their breaths in wide-eyed alarm, but Gulda had merely smiled strangely, and said, ‘A horse will be found when need arises, Majesty.’
Sylvriss had looked at her with an odd expression; surprise and… realization… as if suddenly glimpsing something profoundly secret yet blindingly obvious. Then she too had smiled, and inclined her head in a graceful acceptance of this refusal.
The clear light of the newly restored street torches glistened up from the damp, well-worn stones, as Loman fell in beside Gulda’s stooped black silhouette.
Listen and learn, he thought.
He had however, little opportunity for consciously doing either over the following days, as they were filled with a frenzy of activity. Somehow, the arrival of the Queen had been like the dropping into place of the keystone of an arch, and everything seemed now to be whole and stable.
One problem she dealt with before it arose was the matter of the command of the combined Orthlundyn and Fyordyn armies. It was a subject that hitherto had been tacitly, if uneasily, avoided by the principals involved, they being quite happy to immerse themselves in accommodating the many practical, operational, differences between the two forces.
‘The army is mine,’ Sylvriss declared without pre-amble. ‘I rule the Fyordyn, and it is the Fyordyn who were charged by Ethriss with the watching of Narsindal and the protection of Orthlund.’
‘That is certainly the Law, Majesty,’ Darek volun-teered hastily, ready to defend his Queen with learned argument should need arise.
But Sylvriss needed no such aid.
‘There is no Law for a people who go to war, Lord,’ she said quietly. ‘Except survival.’
A grim silence spread through the listeners sitting around the table. Coming as it did from the Queen, this pronouncement had a chilling starkness that no warlord could have invested it with.
‘However,’ she continued. ‘Our Law enshrines much wisdom, and imposes few restraints that an honest person would deem unnecessary or wish to see slack-ened and, while we’re able, we will carry it with us. Being under arms makes for some cruel necessities, but it allows no licence.’
She looked at her audience, though apparently more to ensure that they were listening than to invite questions. Then she bowed her head briefly. Her face was pained when she looked up. ‘At least then at some future time we can account to ourselves as we might to some other authority.’
The atmosphere in the room eased. ‘As for my command, have no fear,’ she went on. ‘I shall command as I intend to rule; with the consent, and after hearing the advice, of my various friends.’
She turned to Loman. ‘Loman, you will be my sec-ond in command. You shall have all my authority save that you will obey me, and you will have the true responsibility for waging this war.’ She smiled. ‘I’m an untried horse trooper, not a tactician.’
A small cry interrupted the proceedings. Sylvriss reached out and gently rocked the nearby crib.
‘Lord Eldric, you shall be the next in command,’ she went on. ‘Beyond that you may determine for your-selves.’
Both Loman and Eldric opened their mouths to speak, but Sylvriss released the crib and raised her hand for silence.
‘Loman, you’d affect to be just a shoer of horses from a quiet Orthlundyn village,’ she said. ‘But we haven’t the time for such protestations. You’re Goraidin; you led the Orthlundyn successfully against the Morlider; and you forged the arrow that struck down my husband’s tormentor. These are qualifications enough, but one more, above all, leaves you with no other road to travel; you are Hawklan’s choice, and he would have commanded all without question had he so chosen.’
Before Loman could reply, Sylvriss turned to Eldric. ‘Lord, does my decision offend you?’ she asked.
Eldric, taken aback by the sudden question, an-swered frankly, ‘Being honest, Majesty, I suppose it offends my… vanity… a little,’ he said after a brief hesitation.
Sylvriss laughed softly. ‘I find it heartening that you still possess such a young man’s trait, Lord Eldric,’ she said. ‘I trust you have others. Rest assured, I want no surly elders about me.’
Her easy laughter spread around the meeting table like a ripple across a pond, and washed away much of the uneasiness. Eldric cleared his throat gruffly, went a little pink, and did his best to accept the compliment graciously. ‘My vanity will survive the blow, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Especially if it’s to be a requirement of my continued service to you.’
Only Loman seemed to be having difficulty respond-ing to the lightened atmosphere. He leaned back in his chair and stared downwards bleakly.
Sylvriss laid her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry, Lo-man,’ she said. ‘Truly. We will help you bear your burden, but none of us can remove it, as, I fear, you’re aware. That you didn’t seek the leadership of the army and now would be free of it, is a measure of the correctness of my decision.’
There was an unexpected murmur of agreement at this remark that made Loman look up. As he did so, Eldric nodded approvingly and all the Fyordyn began slapping the table rhythmically. It was an acclamation.
Loman crushed his reluctance and turned again to face the task that he knew had been his ever since Hawklan asked him to prepare the Orthlundyn for war. He looked at the Queen and sought solace in practical matters.
‘What about the command of the Muster, lady?’ he said.
Sylvriss smiled. ‘First, let’s ensure they reach us safely,’ she replied. ‘Then leave my father to me.’
After that, attention turned to the final preparations for the assault on Narsindalvak.
Any form of surprise attack had been discounted at the outset. ‘Nothing for days around can hide from Narsindalvak’s seeing stones,’ Eldric told Loman. ‘Especially along the valley. They’ll know our entire strength before we even see the tower.’
But Loman’s main concern soon turned to Dan-Tor himself. ‘From what I’ve heard and seen of the damage to your city, to be caught in a valley would not even leave us the dubious defence of dispersion against such a weapon.’
He looked at Gulda, who nodded.
‘He was bound in some way when he faced us last… ’ Eldric said, though uncertainly.
Loman was blunt. ‘Times change, Lord,’ he said. ‘I was a smith, now I’m something else.’
He turned questioningly to Ryath, the most senior of the Cadwanwr who had returned with the Orthlundyn from Riddin.
‘We held the sea that Creost’s Power had sent against the Riddinvolk,’ the Cadwanwr said. ‘And Atelon here learned much from helping Andawyr in direct conflict against Creost. We can give you protection against Oklar.’
‘Are you certain?’ Loman pressed.
‘Of being able to oppose him, yes,’ Ryath continued. ‘Of victory, of course not. But like you, we’ve survived one battle and learned from it, and our doubts are only the same as yours about your own army; straightfor-ward and honest and not such as will corrode and impede.’