Then he did the same to its partner and stood back to examine his work with a narrow critical eye. Eldric watched him, his immediate grief being slowly set aside by amazement at this display of both strength and skill.
As he moved to repair other pieces of damaged metalwork, Loman threw a piece of seeing stone to Fyndal, standing nearby. ‘I’m no hand as a rock judge, Fyn,’ he said. ‘But we should be able to do something about all this. Show that to some of the senior Guild members and get them up here quickly.’
‘We might be able to help with those, too,’ said Ate-lon, still breathless and flushed from his rampage through the building with the Goraidin.
With a grunt, Loman straightened another support. ‘Your own smiths can attend to most of this work, Eldric,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, we command the heights and we have our Orthlundyn shadow vision and our own simple seeing stones. Set men to plain, old-fashioned watching and let’s get the Goraidin and the Helyadin out looking for which way Dan-Tor has gone before we lose the light. If this place is empty then it means he’s launched his full army against the Muster: Mathidrin, militia, and your renegade Lords with their High Guards.’
Loman’s blunt summary brought Eldric and the others out of their preoccupation, and within the hour the Watch Hall was busy with stone and metal workers striving to undo the Mathidrin’s orgy of destruction. At the large windows stood some of the keener eyed Orthlundyn, peering through seeing stones into the gathering Narsindal gloom.
Outside, standing on a high, rocky outcrop, Loman waited for the return of the scouting patrol that had gone out in search of Dan-Tor’s army.
He found it hard to be patient and kept slapping his hands together and pacing up and down. Now that his caution in moving along the valley had proved to be unnecessary, he began to reproach himself for the delay and to fret about the harm that the Muster might be suffering at the hands of Dan-Tor’s army.
That he could have done nothing other offered him little consolation, though a small voice kept repeating it to him, adding, ‘And you’re too tired to think straight now.’
I should have stayed at my forge, came a counter-blast.
He kicked a small stone. Where was that patrol, he thought, yet again. It shouldn’t have taken them this long to find the trail of an army. What were they playing at? Had they perhaps fallen into an ambush?
He shook his head. No, not those troops, it wasn’t possible. But hard on the heels of this came an even darker thought: was perhaps this whole venture no more than an elaborate ruse by Dan-Tor to lure the allied army into Narsindalvak and trap them there?
He stopped pacing and his stomach turned over. It was a thought that had not occurred to him before. Just as he had been prepared to seal up Dan-Tor’s army, so also could Dan-Tor seal up his! That would leave him free to attack the Muster and to maintain command of the valley for a future invasion into Fyorlund.
Below him, he could see the almost chaotic activity swirling around the foot of the great tower as the army moved into its new barracks. His eye drifted upwards past the many windows, now lit and shining out brightly into the fading light. They also were bustling with activity.
The army was dispersed throughout the building and around the approaches to it. It was in no position to respond quickly to a surprise attack.
A determined charge up the valley would scatter most of those outside and drive the remainder inside.
Loman grimaced. He’d not been that careless, surely? He’d placed sentries and look-outs on such of the neighbouring crags as could reasonably be reached, but…?
Distant shouts began to break into his tumbling thoughts.
Look-outs!
Their message reached him.
‘Armed column approaching, fast!’
Chapter 26
Hawklan stood motionless in the craggy tunnel for some time then slowly drew his sword. The hilt was alive in his hand again. As he looked at it, the twisting threads glittered and wound their way far beyond his vision into the twinkling oceans of stars.
Andawyr moved to his side. ‘We’re back in the depths of our own time now,’ he said. ‘Into dangers that we can at least, perhaps understand.’
‘The Vrwystin a Goleg lies along here?’ Hawklan said softly, inclining his head along the tunnel.
Andawyr nodded. ‘Something of His does, and Islo-man has heard the rock on which it lives.’
‘Then tomorrow we go this way,’ Hawklan said. ‘What do you know of this creature?’
Andawyr looked at him unhappily. ‘A great deal, and very little,’ he said. ‘A great deal from our library about what it can do and how it uses the Old Power. But very little-nothing-is known about its… heart, its centre… even what it looks like. And these creatures are like the Uhriel, they exist in planes not accessible to us.’
‘Do you know how we can destroy it?’ Hawklan asked.
The question did nothing to ease Andawyr’s self-reproach.
‘Like Sumeral Himself, it’s mortal and it will fall to the right weapon, or if the force is great enough,’ he said.
‘It will fall to this, then,’ Hawklan said, hefting the sword.
‘Or Isloman’s arrows,’ Andawyr said, nodding. ‘Or the Old Power. It fears the Old Power turned against it. I know that since our encounter at the Gretmearc.’
‘But…?’ Hawklan prompted, catching the reserva-tion in the Cadwanwr’s voice.
‘But I daren’t use the Power for fear of Him,’ An-dawyr said. ‘Even though we’re deep here.’
Hawklan nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘We must tread carefully, and make no plans?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Andawyr replied.
Hawklan turned to Isloman. ‘This rock that you hear, Isloman, how dangerous is it? Is it what the Lords spoke of in their mines?’
Isloman nodded. ‘I only know of it from my lore,’ he replied. ‘And from faint murmurs in some rocks I’ve found. I don’t know how dangerous it is, but I do know that its power can’t be seen or felt and that its effects linger and will kill us eventually if we stay near too long.’
Hawklan sheathed his sword and turned to walk back to the camp. ‘So we must tread carefully, make no plans, and hurry,’ he said ruefully.
The following day, however, they set off in good heart. The prospect of nearing the end of their under-ground journey and, to some extent, even the apprehension about the creature they were seeking out, added a new purposefulness to their march.
Progress however, was not easy. As if through being nearer to the craggy surface of the mountains, the passages and tunnels that Andawyr led them through were jumbled and disordered. Frequently they had to squeeze through narrow gaps and crawl on their bellies beneath rock ceilings that lowered over them with crushing oppressiveness.
And it was wetter. Small streams trickled down some of the passages, and damp patches glistened in their torchlight, like great eyes in the tunnel walls.
Gradually, Hawklan began to realize that he no longer needed to follow Andawyr. The aura of corrup-tion that had come faintly to him the previous evening was guiding him forward now as if it were a rope tied about him.
Isloman however, despite his best endeavours, was becoming increasingly nervous, as were the other Orthlundyn.
‘Either it’s my imagination, or those rocks are bad,’ Athyr said eventually. ‘I’ve never heard rock song like this before. It’s… frightening, almost.’ Tybek and the two women nodded in agreement.
‘It’s not your imagination,’ Isloman admitted. ‘And I think it’s going to get worse before it gets better. Just keep moving.’
The brief exchange meant nothing to the Fyordyn, however, though the anxiety of their companions was necessarily infectious.
Then abruptly they were clambering into a long straight tunnel.
‘This is not natural,’ Isloman said immediately, his face pained.
He signalled Andawyr to shine his torch on the wall. As he ran his hands over the rough surface he frowned. ‘This has been torn out by uncaring hands a long time ago,’ he said. He wrapped his arms about himself as if suddenly chilled. ‘There’s such pain here. Even after all this time.’