Loman nodded. ‘The Queen and her baby will have a special bodyguard,’ he said, answering Urthryn’s unspoken concern. ‘And the Goraidin and Helyadin will watch for any major gathering of forces behind us. Depending on what they report we’ll arrange our battle order accordingly when He finally takes to the field. A rear attack is only dangerous when you don’t expect it.’
A trumpet call interrupted their discussion. Sylvriss started slightly. ‘Just the night guards being set, Lady,’ Loman said reassuringly. Then to the others, ‘Duty calls, gentlemen. To your rounds.’
When Urthryn and the Lords had left, Loman turned to Oslang. ‘What do you feel in the air, Cadwanwr?’ he asked.
‘Him,’ Oslang replied. ‘His presence pervades every-thing increasingly. Those dank forests we passed through, the rivers we crossed, this damp, wretched wilderness we’ve reached.’
‘But He doesn’t assail us,’ Loman said.
Oslang shook his head. ‘Nor do the Uhriel,’ he said. ‘But they’re merely waiting. We think as you do. He’ll look to crush us all with one blow.’
Unexpectedly, Loman smiled. ‘That, at least, is not a matter of His choosing,’ he said. ‘That much, we determine, by not responding to his harrying of our lines and by moving inexorably towards His lair. If He chooses not to stand there, then we’ll take it down stone by stone.’
Oslang waved an anxious hand. ‘That rhetoric’s fine for the troops, Loman,’ he said. ‘But don’t begin to believe it yourself. I agree with what you’re doing. If we dawdle and fumble about here, of all places, He’ll destroy us piecemeal just with His army, but if we threaten Derras Ustramel, be under no illusions, He’ll set forth His power and if Ethriss isn’t there to shield us, then we’ll die-or worse.’
Loman dropped into a chair. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘But it’s as I said about the casualties. What we aspire to we tend to fall short of. I must have this image in my heart of Him under my sword, and His castle being tumbled into that lake. That way we’ll go further than if I see us just fighting His army, and waiting for Hawklan to… ’ He faltered. He had almost blurted out the truth about Hawklan’s mission. ‘… to waken Ethriss and save us all.’
Oslang caught the stumble. ‘I haven’t asked before,’ he said. ‘But just where have Hawklan and Andawyr gone on this search for Ethriss?’
‘You know as much as I do,’ Loman lied. ‘They told no one of their intentions so that no one would inadvertently betray them.’
Oslang seemed doubtful. ‘If we knew, it’s possible that we could help them in some way.’
Loman looked at him squarely. ‘Your task is to pro-tect the army against the Uhriel,’ he said. ‘Concentrate on that and that alone. I suspect it’ll take your every resource in due time-you lost one man facing Creost, as I recall. Let me attend to the fighting, and Hawklan and Andawyr to their tasks, wherever they are. I know nothing of the Power you wield, but I suspect you’ll do more harm than good if you go using it indiscriminately in His land.’
Oslang bowed. ‘I accept the rebuke,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I… we… seem to be doing so little. And His presence is so strong. I’m… ’ He paused.
‘You’re afraid,’ Loman said, not unkindly.
Oslang blinked owlishly. ‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I am afraid.’
Loman smiled and reached up to pat the Cad-wanwr’s arm. ‘Let me tell you what you already know, Oslang,’ he said. ‘Say it out loud to yourself every now and then. It won’t make you less afraid, but it’ll make you less afraid of your fear.’
Oslang’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m suppose to be the wise one around here, soldier,’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ Loman said unapologetically. ‘Go and talk with your friends. They’re probably all feeling the same way. This place is depressing enough for us so I shudder to think what it feels like to you. Tell them to sharpen whatever it is you people use for swords; it won’t be long now.’
‘I see I chose a good Commander,’ Sylvriss said to Loman after Oslang had left.
Loman looked at her. ‘Just tell me if you find I’m enjoying the work,’ he said.
Sylvriss returned his gaze. ‘Let me tell you what you already know then, wise one,’ she said, her tone half serious, half mocking. ‘You do, and should, enjoy the work, grim though it is and worse though it’s going to be. You have the opportunity to use your considerable skills to protect the less fortunate and the weak and defenceless from a foe who would not only destroy them, but every precious thing that exists in our three countries, and beyond. Take it and relish it, man.’
Loman just managed to stop his mouth dropping open. ‘Yes, Lady,’ he said awkwardly.
‘Good,’ Sylvriss said. ‘Now, where’s Gulda?’
A messenger entered. His eyes flickered from Lo-man to the Queen and back again. Loman nodded.
‘The horse has wandered off from the stables, Maj-esty,’ the man said.
Unexpectedly, Sylvriss turned away quickly and began putting her baby into its carrying sling. Loman watched her. It came to him suddenly that she did not want her face to be seen.
‘See that my orders are clearly understood,’ she said, her hands toying busily but ineffectually with the straps to the sling. ‘The horse is to be allowed to wander as it wishes, unhindered. If it seeks to leave then the gates are to be opened. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Majesty,’ the messenger said, and with a bow, he left.
Sylvriss turned round, her eyes shining wet in the torchlight. Loman looked at her helplessly, taken aback by this unexpected display of distress.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small stone disc. ‘Your brother carved this for me when we were in Eldric’s stronghold,’ she said. Loman looked at it. It was Hawklan riding Serian and it was unmistakably Isloman’s handiwork. Sylvriss’s hand was trembling. ‘Crude, he called it. But tell me, Loman,’ she said. ‘How does an Orthlundyn carver know more about the true nature of a horse than the Riddinvolk do?’
She wanted no answer, however, and waited for none. She took back the small carving. ‘Where’s Gulda?’ she asked again, before Loman could speak. ‘Why isn’t she here, keeping you all in order?’
Loman floundered slightly then cleared his throat. ‘She’ll be in her tent,’ he said. ‘She’s become… strange… lately. Withdrawn. As if she wasn’t needed anymore. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time… ’
‘I’ll go and see her,’ Sylvriss said, carefully position-ing the baby’s sling around her neck. ‘Just show me the way, I need no escort.’
Following Loman’s directions, Sylvriss made her way through the hectic, darkening camp. Despite the lights about her and the familiar Fyordyn and Riddin accents that she could hear, it was an oddly unpleasant place. There was an unhealthy dampness in the air which made her hold her baby tightly to her, and even the ground she walked on seemed to cling lingeringly to her feet.
After a few minutes she came to a small tent, stand-ing slightly apart from the others. As she approached it, the entrance opened and the characteristic silhouette of Gulda stood back against the torchlight.
‘Come in, my dear,’ she said.
It seemed to Sylvriss that as she entered the tent the aura of Narsindal fell away, and was replaced by one which she realized after a moment was like that she had felt around the sleeping Hawklan.
She took in the neat, simple quarters, with a single glance and sat down on the offered chair. Gulda sat opposite her and immediately reached out to take the baby. Sylvriss smiled and carefully handed the infant to her.
Gulda’s arms enfolded it protectively and Sylvriss felt a strange, reassuring peace as she looked at the tiny form swaddled in its white sheets against the deep blackness of Gulda’s robe.
Its eyes opened and it looked up at Gulda curiously. Then its mouth wrinkled into a smile and it released an indelicate belch. Sylvriss moued guiltily and Gulda laughed softly. She lifted her hand to chuck the child’s chin gently.
Sylvriss looked at Gulda’s hands. They were quite large, but very feminine-more like the hands of a young woman than an old one, Sylvriss thought. And yet despite their gentleness they seemed also to be muscular and powerful.