Hawklan intervened. ‘If you remain standing on that Orthlund road, facing Aelang, you’ll betray us, Jaldaric,’ he said starkly. ‘And if you ever meet the man again he’ll kill you for the same reason; he’ll be here and you’ll still be there.’
Jaldaric glared at him but Hawklan offered no resis-tance to his reproach and anger, and Jaldaric felt it turning back upon himself. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Hawklan watched him silently, then continued.
‘We’ll live off the land whenever opportunity pre-sents itself, starting now,’ he said. ‘Sentry duties will ease the accommodation problem.’ He looked round at his companions intently. ‘Be aware, all of you, all the time, as never before. We’re very near the end now.’
After a short rest and a redistribution of their packs, the group set off again. Released from the confines of the tunnel, Gavor stretched his wings massively and launched himself into the air without a word. Hawklan smiled as he watched his friend climbing steadily into the pale sky. Soon Gavor was no more than a tiny circling dot.
‘What do you know about Derras Ustramel and Lake Kedrieth,’ Hawklan asked Byroc as they made their way down the rocky slope.
The Mandroc growled. ‘Only that it is a bad place,’ he said. ‘The lake is as deep as the sky is high, and the marshes around it are foul and treacherous, and full of dancing fires. And those who see His lair are changed forever.’
‘Do you know of any paths through the marshes?’ Hawklan asked.
Byroc shook his head. ‘There are no paths,’ he said. ‘The waters shift and change. There is only the road. His road.’
He pointed. Hawklan followed his hand. Far below he saw a thin white ribbon meandering gently for a little way then straightening out and running northwards into the mist.
‘We do not need it here, but at the end, only that can bring us to the lake,’ Byroc said. ‘If we are parted for any reason, follow it.’
The journey down the mountain from the cave was oddly euphoric for the group. There was little talking. Each seemed uncertain how to respond to the openness and the cold wind that was blowing after the rocky walls and roofs that had hedged them in for so long.
They made good progress however, and towards evening the mountains were behind them. Dark and ominous against the gloomy sky, the disordered ranks of crags and peaks rose up forbiddingly to deny unequivocally any easy retreat back to the south.
As the light faded, so also did the euphoria, and the pervasive unease of Narsindal that it had kept at bay, began to seep into the group.
They were subdued as they made camp in the lee of one of the large patches of twisted undergrowth that dotted the rocky landscape.
Byroc watched as they unpacked and erected the shelter. Once or twice he took hold of the fabric and rubbed it between his fingers or sniffed at it. When the shelter was completed he peered inside cautiously and curled his lip.
‘What’s the matter?’ Hawklan asked, standing by him.
‘Bad smells,’ Byroc answered. And without further explanation he lumbered off towards the dense undergrowth. ‘I shall be near,’ he said.
Hawklan was about to call after him when he sud-denly felt the Mandroc’s overwhelming loneliness. For a moment he saw the shelter as alien and unnatural, and his companions as flat-faced expressionless creatures hung about with angry and frightening memories.
‘Whatever you wish, Byroc,’ he said. ‘But the shelter is yours if you need it.’ The Mandroc, however, made no reply, and as Hawklan watched he quietly faded into the undergrowth.
Inside the shelter, Hawklan told Yatsu and the oth-ers the tale of their journey from the Caves of Cadwanen and of his intention to confront Sumeral. It caused little surprise.
‘I told you before that you were near to the player in this game, Hawklan,’ Yatsu said. ‘I’m glad you made the right decision.’
It was a remark that allowed no further comment.
Hawklan turned to Andawyr. ‘This place has a bad feel to it,’ he said, unknowingly echoing the words of generations of Fyordyn who had ridden the Watch.
Andawyr nodded. ‘Few things have ever lived joy-ously in Narsindal,’ he said. ‘The fear from His First Coming still entwines the heart of everything. Now… ’ He paused. ‘He’s all around again. Stronger than when I came only months ago. Watching, waiting, listening.’
‘Watching?’ Hawklan said, picking up the words in some alarm.
Andawyr shook his head. ‘No, He can’t see us now,’ he said. ‘He’s watching for Ethriss… watching for those small signs that might presage his awakening.’ He looked at Hawklan. ‘If I use even a vestige of the Old Power,’ he said. ‘It would be like a clarion call to Him.’
‘We knew that when we started,’ Hawklan said.
Andawyr nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But now it begins truly. I’ll need the help of all of you. I must reach out and be aware of Him, but I mustn’t oppose Him, not with so much as the weight of a falling leaf. Please keep what tranquillity you can in your own hearts, and protect me if you find me absent and withdrawn.’ He found a smile. ‘Treat me like a dotty grandparent.’
The brief flash of humour held little sustenance, however, and most of them slept fitfully through a night full of strange animal calls, to wake just before dawn, ill-refreshed and reluctant.
After they had eaten a silent and small meal, they broke camp. Gavor came gliding down out of the grey sky. ‘There are some strange-looking creatures in this place, but no people that I can see, though it’s not easy with all this mist,’ he said, settling on to Hawklan’s shoulder. ‘I suggest you go that way, dear boy,’ he went on, leaning forward like a figurehead. Hawklan cast a glance at Byroc, who nodded.
As they walked, they found that the mist came and went in accordance with mysterious laws of its own and with scant regard for the damp wind. Sometimes they could see to the horizon, at others, visibility was reduced to twenty or thirty paces. During such times, Byroc would raise his muzzle into the air and sniff rapidly and audibly at regular intervals.
The vegetation around them was stunted and seem-ingly deformed, as if it had fought some great battle just to struggle through to the surface. The dense patches of undergrowth that littered the plain and which loomed up out of the mist alarmingly on occasions, seemed to consist mainly of tangled brambles, as thick as tree trunks in places, and armed with vicious thorns.
From time to time, various animals bolted suddenly and startlingly in front of them causing a mixture of alarm and amusement. Hawklan frowned; for the most part the creatures were such as might be encountered anywhere in such wild terrain, but they were strangely altered. Teeth, claws and colouring betrayed powerful predatory needs, and eyes revealed constant watchful alarm. Occasionally he caught a brief snatch of speech, and that too was full of a mixture of menace and fear.
‘Is there nothing here that hasn’t been touched by Him?’ he said softly to Andawyr.
‘No,’ Andawyr replied, adding enigmatically. ‘In-cluding us.’
Hawklan looked up into the grey sky. High above, Gavor was circling, spurred and watchful. Around him the Goraidin and the Helyadin were moving silently, armed and watchful.
Did you think that the chief of the Ivrandak Garn could not recognize hunters? Byroc’s words came back to him.
He looked up again at Gavor. At least we have the eyes now, he thought. It gave him comfort. The combined skills of the group would keep them from the eyes of men, and Andawyr’s silence would keep them from His sight. Their presence was unknown and thus unlooked for.
Dan-Tor dismissed the exhausted and quaking Mandroc messenger. He sat silent for some time, a strange sensation stirring inside. When it emerged, he recog-nized it as amusement, black and rich. It bloomed to enfold the vision that had been tormenting him since the eye of the Vrwystin he had been holding had shrieked and, impossibly, died; the vision, fleeting but vivid, of Hawklan wielding the black sword of Ethriss and destroying his precious creature.