Eldric looked round with approval as they rode away from the Palace. The broken and exposed buildings lining the two great avenues of destruction that Oklar had cut through Vakloss in his assault on Hawklan had gradually begun to deteriorate and crumble under the effects of the weather, the many rescue operations, and various half-hearted attempts at repairs. The resultant aura of neglect and decay had earned them the inevitable epithet of ‘the rat-runs’ and it had been an almost unanimous decision by the Geadrol that these tangible signs of Oklar’s will should be obliterated as soon as possible.
It was an idea that for the most part chimed with the will of the people and now, despite the fact that winter would soon bring it to a halt, work was proceeding apace on replacing the smashed buildings with new ones. These were to be as similar to the originals as memories and the none-too-comprehensive archives of the Rede’s office would allow.
Work too was well under way with the new Palace gates and the great gap that Oklar had torn in the wall was filled with a cobwebbed archway of scaffolding, alive with clambering figures and ringing with the clamour of their work.
Thus, as the trio rode through the streets, they found themselves amid the City’s normal bustle, greatly swollen by craftsmen, labourers and apprentices, together with carts and wagons loaded with all manner of building materials, and no small number of idly curious spectators.
In his quieter moments at his stronghold and in his castle, Eldric had pondered sadly the seeming ease with which the Fyordyn had fallen under Dan-Tor’s dark spell. At such times it shook him to his heart that so strong and just and ancient a people could succumb so quickly and silently, and he was sorely tempted to let the sword slip from his own hand in despair.
Now he found himself amazed at the speed with which the people seemed to be recovering, in his mind it was as if for twenty years Dan-Tor had slowly lulled the Fyordyn into a waking sleep and then lured them into a grim mire. Then, some chance, if chance it was, had made him falter in his moment of triumph and, as the mud had closed about them, the people had reached out and clasped the root of some ancient tree. Now, after a desperate struggle they stood on firm ground again; battered and shaken, but wide awake and very angry.
Eldric looked at his companions and smiled. ‘The City’s recovering,’ he said.
‘It’s crowded,’ Dilrap replied with a worried frown, anxiously tightening his grip on the horse’s reins.
‘Don’t worry,’ Yatsu said, grinning, but pulling closer to the nervous Secretary. ‘There’s no room to fall off here.’
Dilrap was not consoled, and showed it.
Gradually however, they moved away from the heart of the City, into quieter streets, and thence into one of the great parks. The lawns and shrubberies looked damp and jaded under the overcast sky, but Eldric’s mood took him above such trivialities. He reined to a halt and took in a deep breath.
‘Cool and damp,’ he said, patting his chest. ‘Not a time of year that poets wax lyrical about, but every now and then I remember the claustrophobic smell of those miserable little rooms in the Westerclave, and then a single breath in the open air reminds me of what’s to be valued in life more vividly than any of our greatest works of art.’
His two companions remained silent. Both had known too many terrors in their own lives to intrude on his reflections.
Then Eldric clicked his horse forward again. ‘Winter Festival soon,’ he said. ‘It’s not something we normally make much of, but I think perhaps we should this year. Lights, music, dancing, a beacon in the middle of the winter darkness. After all, the Grand Festival was spoiled somewhat, wasn’t it?’
‘It’s a nice idea,’ Dilrap agreed. ‘It’ll serve to mark the end of a great unhappiness and the beginning of a new resolve.’
Yatsu nodded in agreement but added more som-brely. ‘It may also mark the beginning of cruel and hard times.’
Eldric looked at him. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘But Dilrap’s word says all that must be said. Resolve. That creature Dan-Tor poisoned our hearts for twenty years before we saw him for what he was. Now at least we have the opportunity to turn and face him-our true selves to his true self.’ He raised a hand to forestall Yatsu’s interruption. ‘I know. There are countless details to be planned, much information to be gathered; difficult, perhaps dreadful decisions to be made, but you know as well as I do that we’ve no true choice in the matter.’
Yatsu smiled broadly and spoke to Dilrap. ‘It’s easy to see the Geadrol’s back in session isn’t it?’
Dilrap allowed himself a chuckle.
‘You’re impertinent, Commander,’ Eldric said, though none too seriously.
‘And long may he remain so,’ Dilrap said. ‘When Lords would lead us into war.’
Eldric looked at the two men and then out across the chilly park. Then he raised his hands in surrender and laughed. ‘Well, you may choose not to accord me my lordly dignity, but I shall be using my lordly authority to ensure we have a Winter Festival the like of which we haven’t had in years, whatever its social significance. Defy me in that, if you dare.’ He offered them a jovial clenched fist.
They rode on for a little while in companionable silence, coming to a halt eventually on top of a small rocky outcrop at the centre of the park. The view away from the City was to the south, but the distant horizon was lost in the damp wintry gloom. At their backs, the lines of the Palace too were softened by the faint mist but the occasional torchlit window shone out to heighten the impression that the whole edifice was staring out as intently into the grey vagueness as they were.
‘So Hawklan is with us again,’ Eldric said, echoing all their thoughts. ‘And Sylvriss safe with her father. Causes for celebration in their own right. And some stories to be told, I suspect, for all the fullness of Arinndier’s messages.’
‘Many stories indeed,’ Yatsu said. ‘Creost and the Morlider, the Orthlundyn arming, the Cadwanol of all things, myth upon myth. And these Alphraan he refers to. Many strange threads are pulling together.’
Eldric nodded thoughtfully. ‘We must ensure that we’re ready to take our own place in the patterns that are being woven,’ he said. Then, brusquely, ‘We must hurry and finish the cleansing of our house so that we can turn resolutely to the north.’
Dilrap frowned slightly, unhappy about Eldric’s tone. ‘That cleansing involves the judging and punishing of our countrymen, Lord,’ he said with some reproach in his voice. ‘It’s not a matter for haste, but for careful assessment and consideration of all relevant facts.’
Eldric looked half surprised, half annoyed at Dil-rap’s criticism, but meeting the Secretary’s gaze, he lowered his eyes.
‘You’re right, Honoured Secretary,’ he said. ‘They were ill-chosen words. I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s such a wretched business and I long for the time when it’ll all be finished.’
He turned his horse and urged it forward down the small hillock. The others followed him.
‘It was bad enough with the Lords and the High Guards,’ he went on. ‘But at least it was clean-cut for the most part and the major offenders have gone north to join their erstwhile ally.’ He cast a quick glance at Yatsu, who at the time had forcefully expressed his views on sending soldiers and leaders to the enemy who were trained in the ways of the High Guards. The Goraidin, however, made no response and Eldric continued. ‘It’s dealing with all these pathetic specimens who were in the militia and the like that I find distressing. I honestly don’t know who’s the worst in some cases, the "crimi-nals" or the petty-minded and self-righteous creatures who are giving evidence against them. It’s very hard.’
Neither Yatsu nor Dilrap commented. Both were bystanders in this saga while Eldric was at its heart, being one of a group of senior Lords who had to decide on those difficult cases that the courts felt unable to rule on. Both sympathized with him.