Loman acknowledged Ryath’s openness.
Thus, within days, the people who had turned out joyfully to greet their Queen were thronging the streets once more. This time, however, their mood was more sombre as they bade farewell to the first companies of the allied army of High Guards and Orthlundyn leaving to reinforce the regiments already guarding the boundaries of Dan-Tor’s northern estates.
Reluctantly, Sylvriss remained at the Palace. Despite her promise to stay and help with the rebuilding of the country, her immediate intention had been to sling her son about her neck and ride off with the troops. However, after a stormy clash of wills, Hylland had prevailed.
‘You, madam, can go to Narsindal in a handcart for all I care,’ he proclaimed furiously at the height of the fray. ‘But your son came too early. He is stronger than he ought to be, by rights, but he needs both you and a quiet, civilized existence for a while. The last thing he needs is to be bounced up and down on horseback for hours, and then to spend the rest of his time roughing it in an army camp. Especially in this weather.’ He flung his arm towards the rain-streaked window.
Sylvriss’s eyes narrowed for a final counter-attack, but Hylland moved in to massacre his weakening opponent. ‘I’m well aware of what the Muster women used to do, traditionally, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Drop their child behind a bush and then mount up and ride on! But I’ll wager it’s some time since any of them actually did it. And in any case, you’re no tough old Muster wife with… ’
‘Thank you, healer,’ Sylvriss said coldly and finally, through clenched teeth. ‘We have weighed your advice and have decided to remain in the palace for a little while, for our son’s sake. You are dismissed for the moment.’
Hylland bowed stiffly and retreated, victorious but battered and in some considerable disorder.
The army had fewer problems than the Queen’s healer as it made its way across Dan-Tor’s old estates. The new Goraidin that Yatsu and the other veterans had trained, had been reporting a marked lack of activity for some time, and as the army advanced it found only deserted campsites and abandoned villages.
The journey through the long, claustrophobic pass towards Narsindalvak was similarly uneventful, though they moved carefully and fortified their night camps for fear of ambush. On several occasions also, progress was slowed by the need to contend with areas that were still blocked by snow.
Eventually, however, the top of the great tower for-tress began to make fitful appearances through the mountain clouds.
Loman sought out Ryath and Atelon. ‘You’d better prepare your people,’ he said. ‘Presumably where Oklar can see, he can act.’
The two Cadwanwr looked at one another and smiled. ‘No,’ Ryath said, shaking his head. ‘It’ll be easier for him, true, but he could have acted against us already had he wished. We’ve been prepared for him for some time now.’
Loman bowed apologetically.
Nevertheless, despite this reassurance, he found it difficult to prevent his gaze from drifting towards the watching fortress as they drew nearer.
‘Why’ve they made no effort to harry us?’ he pon-dered during one of his nightly conferences with the Lords. Their continuing easy progress had been concerning him increasingly. ‘The terrain’s ideal for it. Small parties raiding at night, or good archers high along the valley sides. They could do a lot of damage in spite of our defences.’
Eldric shrugged. ‘Presumably he doesn’t want to risk his precious Mathidrin,’ he offered unconvincingly.
‘Perhaps he hopes to meet us in force nearer the tower?’ Arinndier offered.
‘The Goraidin have reported no preparations being made,’ Loman replied, shaking his head.
There were one or two further, tentative, sugges-tions then the meeting fell silent.
‘Perhaps they’ve already moved against the Muster?’ Hreldar said quietly.
It was a dark thought. Loman closed his eyes briefly. Hreldar, he had heard, had once been fat and jolly. Now, though still heavy, he was solid and hard, and the change had etched lines in his face that gave him a grim aspect, though it vanished like mist in the sunshine when he chose to smile. Loman had already learned that though Hreldar did not speak a great deal, when he did it was usually to some purpose.
‘I fear you may be right, Lord,’ he said, after a thoughtful pause. ‘It’s certainly the most likely alterna-tive.’ He slapped his knees. ‘Unless you’ve any objections, my friends, I propose we break camp early tomorrow, with a view to moving as soon as the light permits. We can leave a guard with the baggage train and the rest of us can proceed at forced pace. If Dan-Tor has gone to meet the Muster, then the reduced garrison at the tower can be easily contained and we can move to attack his army from the rear. If he’s still in the tower, then we can prevent him leaving and keep the pass open for both ourselves and the Muster.’
After the meeting had broken up, Loman turned to Gulda. ‘You’re very quiet,’ he said. ‘You’ve scarcely spoken a word at any of these meetings.’
Gulda smiled. ‘I’m only a teacher, young Loman,’ she said. ‘And there’s little more I have to teach any of you now; I suspect I’ll become even quieter as our campaign progresses.
Loman looked at her silently, his eyes narrowing distrustfully. ‘I don’t know who or what you are, Memsa Gulda, bane and terror of my enterprising childhood, but you’re certainly not just a teacher.’ He tapped his fingers on his chest. ‘I may not have the vision of those who’ve stood next to the Uhriel, but I know that even as I look at you I’m not seeing you truly. Nor ever have.’
Unexpectedly, Gulda’s smile opened out into a laugh. It was a happy sound and it filled the simple tent with its rich echoing enjoyment. For an instant, Loman saw again the proud and handsome-no, beautiful-face he had glimpsed when he had burst in upon her at Anderras Darion, his mind whirling with terror and dismay after the labyrinth had rejected him. He found he was lifting his hand almost as if to protect himself from the sight, but it was gone, vanished in some timeless moment, as strangely as it had appeared. He shook his head as if to recapture it.
Gulda’s laughter faded, and she stood up. ‘Forgive me, Loman,’ she said, laying an affectionate hand on his arm. ‘I’m afraid my circumstances obliged me to develop a… way… with men, I make them stand in their own light for their own good.’ The residue of her laughter bubbled out as a throaty chuckle.
‘Who are you, woman?’ Loman said, very quietly and very seriously.
The hand squeezed his arm powerfully. ‘Someone who’s either reaching the end of a long, long journey, or who’s about to begin another one, smith,’ she replied. ‘I’ll know which only when we reach Derras Ustramel.’
‘No riddles, Memsa,’ Loman said, almost plaintively.
Gulda looked at him again. ‘What you choose to see is what I am, young Loman. Truly I can tell you no more than that.’
And then she was walking out of the tent before Loman could question her further.
For a moment, he considered going after her, but rejected the idea almost immediately. She would be doing some necessary work somewhere and if he pursued her she would either chase him away ignomini-ously or let him trail after her like an uncertain puppy until tiredness got the better of him.
It came to him suddenly that the next time he saw her, he should say, ‘Thank you.’
That thought however, was the furthest thing from his mind the following day when Gulda’s stick poked him out of his leaden sleep.
‘Come on, commander,’ said a wilfully malevolent voice. ‘Time to set a good example.’
When Loman emerged from his tent it was to a chilly, misty darkness filled with the clamour of the waking camp and the mixed smells of damp mountains and cooking.
With the brief vividness that only a scent can bring, Loman was back in the mountains of Orthlund with Isloman, on one of their youthful camping expeditions, full of ridiculous laughter in an infinitely larger world, and long before they became men and were both drawn to the same blonde tresses and blue eyes; long before they quarrelled and were reconciled; and longer still before the coming of Hawklan and the opening of Anderras Darion…